Supermarket Silliness

For those of you who are wondering, there are three types of morons who should not foul the space of the supermarket.  Those people are:

1.  The cretins who can't stow shopping trolleys properly.  I don't mean the old chook who tried to shove one between my arse cheeks a few weeks ago, as we were queuing at the check out.  Let me paint a picture: it's nearing Christmas, and every man and his mutt are out shopping, and you finally see an empty car space.  You put on your blinker, make to manoeuvre your car into that space, only to find some selfish, brain-bypassed imbecile has left a shopping trolley in that space!  That pisses me off to the nth power.  I know theoretically one could climb from one's car and move that trolley, but the fact that one has to thanks to some cockhead really is infuriating.

2.  The foul-mouthed beasts who think the rest of us enjoy listening to their repetitive, and abusive, use of the F-word.  I am aware I use the odd F-bomb in my writing.  Sometimes in creative writing it works quite well, and I make judicious use of it.  What I don't do is get up from the outdoor bench, as my lift is pulling over, and berate the driver about how fucking long I've been waiting and how the fucking ice cream is melting and does she know what fucking time it is and how the fucking Dow Jones fell three fucking points.  Truly, do these home-inked guttersnipes whose inked designs are usually amorphous outlines that appear to be amoebae, and whose acquaintance with toiletries is nodding at best, not realise how pathetic they sound and how offensive they are to the rest of the populace going about their shopping?  I guess they don't, and I'm sure the no-class example yesterday
didn't either.  'Lovely,' muttered a man to me as we walked by this spectacle, on our way to the supermarket entrance, and we both rolled our eyes.

3.  Shit-heaps who are inconsiderate about disposing of their rubbish.  Yesterday, after walking past the aforementioned cursing bogan, I spotted a couple placing their toddlers into the seat of a trolley, and the wife put her rubbish - comprising an empty milk shake cup and a waxed box of the type that contains chicken nuggets - into the trolley next to them.  The proper receptacle was only about six metres away.  Honestly, how bloody lazy and ignorant can you get?  Yeah, one of the kids was screaming.  I've tried shopping with a tantrum-chucking toddler, and it's enough to send you onto the roof with a gun; I KNOW all this.  You just want to zoom around the aisles, throw what you need into the trolley, pay, and get the hell out of there before the kid's screaming shatters a window.  But I also know it is utterly rude to just put your used takeaway containers into a shopping trolley and leave it there, especially when the bin was So. Bloody. CLOSE.  Couldn't the she-slob just give the rubbish to the he-slob for the appropriate disposal, whilst she made a start on the shopping?

Maybe these people just need a reassuring, encouraging pat.  Across the face.  With a cricket bat.

I have a milestone birthday coming up.  It's not for a few months, but I thought I'd make a start on arrangements.  Thinking of the lovely Sydney Harbour, I enquired with a cruise company.  It's damn near impossible to get a booking around my birthday.  I asked the clerk what might be available, and she said, 'We have a lunch cruise, and there's an Abba tribute band playing.'  I resisted the urge to point out that an Abba band will make me want to do nothing so much as climb over the railing and throw myself into the brine.  Sigh. The idea with which I am now toying is to just book a restaurant; the idea is for me to catch up with my friends, most of whom are in the Big Smoke.  Maybe a few drinks first, then a meal, and then a few drinks later.  There will be no greater gift than to see my family and friends, and it doesn't matter if we're not cruising around the harbour.