Once again, the time had come for me to go to the commissary. I tell you, if it weren't for the fact that I *easily* save 30% on my groceries by shopping there, I'd say the hell with it and go to Wal-Mart or Kroger. But tax on food in this BRAIN TRUST state is 8% (9.5% on non-food items...they don't have an income tax but they'll tax the single unemployed mom with 4 kids and no money on milk and diapers...smart, really smart...but I digress) so I suck it up and go. I think, after today's adventure, I'll try to go every OTHER week and not every week.
The Husband says I should write a book. I think he secretly enjoys my trips to the commissary just so he can listen to me rant when I get home. Sadist.
I decided to try Sunday while church was in session. We are in between churches at the moment. The one we were going to and thought would be a good one for us just didn't work out. So we didn't go this weekend. I figured most people would be in church this morning so it would be a mellow time to go. Nope. Seems that all the other pagans were there too. Great. I have Little Man with me (he's easy to bring along...it's Princess Trouble that gives me migraines at the commissary) and I'm schlepping him to the entrance to get a cart. Ahead of me is a family (mom, dad, and THREE babies under the age of 3!) trying to get a cart too. The first cart they tried was hung up on the one behind it (I HATE those seatbelts they have in the carts now). Then the next one was a small one - too small for them. Not quite sure why the commissary has two different sizes of carts but I'm sure there is an AR (Army regulation) behind it somewhere. They finally get a cart that they like and move on. Meanwhile, my hand has fallen asleep because the blood has stopped flowing to it because I've been holding Little Man's car seat on my arm for what feels like an eternity. I go to take the next available cart and this b*tch (and she was - she had NO redeeming qualities) snatches it out of my hand and walks off in a huff. I suppose she was tired of waiting her turn and decided that the mom holding her son's car seat could wait a moment longer so SHE could get her shopping done more quickly. Had I not been so stunned by her rudeness and audacity, I would have decked her. It's a damn good thing I don't carry a gun.
Things were going pretty well until I got to the freezer section. I'm not sure WHY the commissary people insist on lining racks up in the middle of the freezer section aisles - where you have to open DOORS to get things out, thereby blocking the entire aisle - but they do. Add to that a Tennessee Vols fan - decked out in Hunter Safety Orange Vols gear (so you don't miss him...as if it's hard to miss someone who insists on parking his cart DIAGONALLY in the aisle and then spending 5 minutes contemplating salted vs. unsalted mixed nuts) who drove his cart like I suspect he drives his car. He had no awareness of anyone else around him.
He probably wonders what the purpose of the mirrors and turn signals on his vehicle are for too. Idiot. And it was just my luck to be stuck behind him. Constantly. I once made the mistake of praying for God to teach me patience. He is - every single time I go to the commissary. I could not get away from this moron to SAVE MY LIFE. And he was always in front of me. I'd skip aisles...he'd be there in front of me. I'd double back to pick something up, there he was. He was my albatross. An albatross decked out in Hunter Safety Orange. God help me. At one point, he walked out in to the middle of traffic in the aisle that runs along the back of the store by the meat section and STOPPED. And stood there for a few minutes rearranging his cart. He held up traffic in THREE different directions. I didn't know that there were people on this planet who are truly that dumb. Oh, and did I mention that he had his equally clueless wife AND HIS FATHER IN A MOTORIZED WHEELCHAIR with him? And they INSISTED on walking down the aisle side by side. Not enough chlorine in that gene pool. Again, a good thing I don't carry a gun - that Hunter Safety Orange sure would have made it easy to hit him.
I finally managed to shake genius in the orange and had to head back to produce to grab a red pepper. Seems that many other people were going that direction too. Fine. I get in the line that is headed that way and as I'm waiting, this little old lady bumps me in the hip as she's coming out of an aisle. Do people NOT understand that aisles are like roads with stop signs? You wait until there is no on-coming traffic before you pull out. It really isn't that difficult of a concept to grasp. I just kind of glanced over at her and left it at that.
Until she hit me again.
At that point, I looked at her and said (once again, in the Teacher Voice), "Excuse you!" and she looked at me and said, "Back up - I need to go that way." Huh? She seriously wanted me to back up and let her in line AFTER she hit me...TWICE. ON PURPOSE. Um, NO. Not only NO...HELL NO. She says, "I'm old - you need to let me go ahead of you." (Kris - I swear she was the same one you dealt with the other day). Keep in mind, there was no one behind me. She could have very well waited for me to get past her and simply walked behind me. It wasn't like there were 15 people behind me waiting to head to the produce section. I told her she could kiss my butt - I am a parent with a child and she had just hit me...not once but TWICE with her cart and she could get her skinny old butt in line behind me. She didn't like that much. I didn't care. Until she ran her cart up on my heels. At that point, I stopped being civil (and yes, I WAS being civil - she had already hit me twice). Once again, using my Teacher Voice, I told her if she touched me again with her cart I would see to it that she was arrested and charged with assault and battery. Boy - words like that (in a loud voice) sure do quiet down a crowd quickly. The entire meat section stopped moving and no one made a sound. I then lowered my voice and said, "Have a nice day" and turned to go to the checkout. The red pepper can wait.
Yeah, I think I'll see about hitting the commissary every OTHER week from now on. Gotta let these bruises heal.
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