We went to the grocery store yesterday, but my husband fell into such a tizzy when I disappeared down the laundry aisle that he called me on my cell phone (that incidentally plays "Evil Ways") to share his angst. I didn't pick up, but that meant I forgot the egg whites.
So off I trudged this afternoon, to another grocery that has the misfortune of being attached to the local WalMart. Meaning, of course, there is always a battle for parking, the clientele have that harried look, and you can always find an open pack of cookies.
Not that I eat them. I'm diabetic. If I want a cookie, I'm going for the good stuff.
But I digress. What I must bellow about today is this store's cashiers. Why oh why are they incapable of packing bags of food? Isn't it easy enough to put the cold things together? To put the soapy things in a little bag home of their own, and not in with the lemons and cauliflower?
And why the fuck can't they manage a simple thank you?
I grew up working in a supermarket, and if I had treated customers with such disdain, my ass would've been out the door and the manager would've had my mother on the phone. And we would've been forced to shop somewhere else out of pure shame.
Whatever happened to shame?