I usually shop at my local Aldi, and what I cannot get at Aldi is normally sourced from Coles. I generally avoid the Woolworths at my town because the car park is an expanse of comber-like swells and humps and mounds, and the outdoor section is on a slope with a gradient of about 85 degrees. It's a real laff-fest when I take elderly people to do their shopping occasionally. Try guiding someone with a mobility aid over that obstacle course. It's an work out session that might negate my need to visit the gym.
But I'm starting to not like going to Coles, notwithstanding the relative flatness of the car park. If you've been following my ranting, you will be aware that last week some silly old moo mistook my butt crack for a trolley bay. Today I almost passed out in there. It was okay at first, I was pushing my trolley and then it hit me like a slap in the face: a malodorous stench that transcended the natural laws of acceptable foulness. How in the blue blazes can someone walk around stinking like that, instead of being unconscious? Seriously, this unadulterated pong had a life of its own, and would probably have needed an exorcist to remove it from the supermarket. If I could have found the breath to call out, instead of saving my breath and avoiding the calamitous stink, I would have shouted, 'Hey, as far back as the 9th century they were using a type of underarm deodorant in Baghdad! The modern day deodorant was patented in 1888! It's not that difficult to get hold of! It's commonplace and not expensive! It's not hard to apply! IT'S BACK HERE IN THE AISLE LABELLED 'HEALTH & BEAUTY', YOU STINKING BEAST!'
Truly, there is someone in my town walking around in some ghastly fug of which he is apparently unaware. Does this putrescent life form not mentally connect the dots when blowflies drop down dead from the sky when he is within ten feet? The stink, which comprised an evil and malevolent presence that even Stephen King could not imagine, lingered and wafted for at least four aisles, from when I placed the rolled oats in my trolley right up to the butter fridge. I was afraid it would embed itself in my hair, like cigarette smoke in a nightclub. I understand smoking is banned; I wouldn't know as I haven't set foot in a nightclub in years. Or maybe it's just pubs it's banned in. I worked in an office where people were allowed to smoke for a while, and one of the solicitors was this thoughtless prick who would occasionally light up a rancid cigar. I once asked him were his underpants on fire. Fed up with his inconsiderate behaviour, two of the junior clerks sprayed the contents of a can of fart gas in his office, and slammed his door shut. He returned from court, entered his room, and then stormed down the back to where the juniors congregated and demanded to know who 'sprayed fucking fart gas in (his) office'. Between guffaws and denials, one of the juniors snorted, 'Aaaah, come on! Admit it: you did a bad one in there!' If you've ever smelled that stuff, you'll know it's enough to make you puke. Well, this bloke in Coles today was on par with a can of fart gas.
I didn't see the contents of the stinker's trolley, but I really hope they included soap, deodorant, and disinfectant. He probably needs a good blast from one of those disinfecting sprays that you get before you step off the aeroplane to kill the ecosystem festering in his armpits.
Tomorrow's chores will probably include getting another copy of my manuscript run off, and I will go through it AGAIN, and it will hopefully be third time lucky and I will be happy to send it to the publishers. Meanwhile, click on the links provided in my info, and read the first chapters to my other novels. Then, if you're of a mind, order or download 'em. I seriously need money; my car is up for rego.
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