I was in my local supermarket this afternoon and at the checkout and like the plonker I can be forgot to get that all important, soon-to-run-out ‘one last thing’. I paced with purpose and not a little haste back to the detergents aisle and left my trolley in the queue while those before me completed loading out, paying and loading up. I came back to the checkout not 40 seconds later to discover my trolley abandoned mid-floor in front of said checkout and random punter piling his fetid collection of goods on the conveyor belt ahead of me.
Christ, I would say 40 seconds; no more, and I am pushed unceremoniously out of the way to make way for a man not much older than my own 34 years and a small child. I stand firmly at my own trolley trying to recover some space in the race to pay a faceless corporation my hard-earned. When ‘push-in man’ notes that I have returned to my rightful place in the queue, he has the gall, nay the effrontery, to turn to me and say:
“Aw, yeh, sorry. My kid started loading up like…”
(Unlike Swearing Lady, I am not in Cork and so ignore the unnecessary insertion of the L word.) I grunted back at him in full knowledge that my response told its own story without me having to say things such as :
“Well at least I don’t use my child as a battering ram but you know that’s OK, this isn’t a race…”
“Oi fuckface, I was in the queue before you and merely went back to get something I had forgotten.”
“Isn’t this shopping thing a waste of all our time? Wouldn’t it be a better place if we could produce our own food and forget all about these products flown in unsustainably from Mexico? Oh yeh, and by the way, what you’ve just done barging in like a prick with your child is tantamount to child abuse. Have a good day sir.”
I didn’t say any of these things though. What’s wrong with us now? It’s a bank holiday Sunday. Can’t we all just get along?
Something similar happened the last time I was at a very large funeral and when standing at the back of the church, noticed that a woman led her child in front of her bleating her excuse me’s thinking that the presence of a child meant automatic entry. Please, your child is not a social cattle prod.