You get to the supermarket and your first goal is to find the nearest parking spot. You don’t know why, it’s just something that’s been ingrained in you from an early age… probably from watching your mom do it while calling people “idiots” as she drove around the lot looking for one.
You might have a bloody heart attack if you have to park fifty feet away and walk. Forget that in the time it took you to circle around and around the row of parking spaces so you could nab that spot in front, you could’ve parked further out, gotten a shopping cart, and completed half your task already. Who cares though? Parking in the closest spot possible has prestige; it makes you feel more accomplished, like you’re a winner!
After you get your coveted spot and start making your way toward the entrance, don’t forget to give the person who pulled into the handicap space a once-over to make sure they meet your standard of what constitutes deserving it. If they don’t, oh boy are you gonna give them the stink eye.
“He doesn’t look handicapped to me. If he can walk from here to there, why can’t he walk from there to here?!”
Your next task is having your feats of strength tested: Pulling a shopping cart apart from the rest of the other shopping carts. If you can’t, it means (you’re a loser) you’ll have to go to the next line of carts over to do the pull-apart-cart of shame, just hoping you don’t get the cart with the clubfoot. You know what I’m talking about right? The one with the fucked up wheel that stops spinning every few feet and skids along the floor, making a horrible noise, which in turn, makes everyone in the store turn around and snicker, like you’re a moron.
Oh, and don’t forget to grab a sanitizing hand wipe for the cart either, because for some reason, someone idiot thought the handle of a shopping cart was a lot filthier than the hundreds of doorknobs, computer keyboards, ATMs, public restroom stall handles, and dollar bills you touched previously.
Okay, now that the stress of the parking lot is behind you, you enter the supermarket and face the enemy: The assholes that had the gall to come shopping the same time you did. In an instant, the goddamn cart with the clubfoot that you hate has become your best weapon; you’re prepared to mow down anyone that get in your way while simultaneously blocking any jerk from heading down the same aisle you are…
The cookie aisle.
Thaaat’s right, that’s exactly where you’re going first. You’re gonna get a package of goddamn cookies because you’ve already had a rough day and you deserve them… earned them even, because you worked out for 30 minutes three days ago and you’ve been cooped up for two weeks with a family that you’ve discovered you actually could dislike more than previously thought.
Shit. Someone got there before you did; some woman who is attractive and more slender than you… a lot more slender. In fact, she makes you look like Bigfoot, and on top of it, she’s eyeing the shelf where the best gourmet cookies are; the ones you wanted. But your first thought isn’t how to politely ask if you can reach around her… your first thought is “How the hell does that skinny bitch eat goddamn cookies and look like that?”
Uh oh, she turned around to look at you, so you immediately change that murderous look on your face to one of amiable camaraderie, and you manage to blurt out a friendly “Hi” without sounding like a goddamn psychopath. She beams a beatific smile at you because, why wouldn’t she? She’s skinny, great looking and can eat a goddamn package of cookies without worrying about how her fat stomach is gonna look in a tight dress the next day, because being skinny means your life is perfect compared to everybody else’s.
And she’s never had a fat stomach.
Now’s the time to take a look around you and spot the privileged skinny bitch and admit your life will never be as good as hers.
You decide it’s better to move out of the cookie aisle and come back when there isn’t this giant threat to your self-esteem standing between you and the cookies that are gonna make you feel better. Instead you head over to the bakery department to see if there’s anything there to take the pain away. At this point, you’ll consider cornbread, donuts… even granola.
You spend the next thirty minutes perusing the aisles, looking for food to buy that won’t make you feel guilty because with two packages of butter in your cart, you’ve decided you will bake that giant tray of lemon bars you’ve been meaning to make; fuck the cookies.
Once you’ve completed your shopping…
DON’T FORGET TO BUY ALL THE FUCKING TOILET PAPER!!!
You’re finally done with your hunting and you spot an open checkout lane… bingo! So you start towards it, when you realize some lady on the other side of the store sees the same checkout and starts to head over. She’s the second biggest threat to your shopping excursion, next to the skinny bitch at the cookies, because she stands between you and your groceries getting the hell out of there and into your car so you can stuff your face with the cookies you decided not to say “fuck the cookies” to!
You have the edge though because you’re just the tiniest bit closer to the open checkout lane than she is, so you start walking faster. You both realize you’re in competition with one another, and it’s ever so subtle, but you see her speed up her pace all while pretending she doesn’t notice you heading in the same direction.
But you’re ahead of the game, baby! You’re coming in fast and there’s no way this Cowgirl is gonna beat you to it, and as you approach your final destination, your chin up, an air of satisfaction on your face because you’ll make it before her…
…some asshole comes out of aisle four, cutting you off at the pass and heading straight into the open lane with the most annoying look of satisfaction on his smug, disgusting face, casually strolling up to the register with a cart stacked full of food.