Off my trolley.

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I cannot stand doing the grocery shopping. I mean, I break out in a sweat and my neck starts to itch as I put my gold coin into the shopping trolley and yank it free from its metal confines. I start seeing red when I push that trolley through the automatic boom gate thing and find myself in hell.

Hell that is the music, the incorrectly set air-conditioning temperature and the huge displays of products that are there to somehow make my life easier. My feet drag, as I join the other shoppers as we wander about in a confused fashion, going from one end of the store to the other, to seek out the toilet paper.

And that is the only time that I actually do go to the supermarket, is to buy the toilet paper. You see, I am a long time fan of the online shopping experience, where the only irritating thing is the 3 hour window that you need to be home to receive your order, and the text message that you get at the last minute of the third hour, telling me that my delivery is running approximately 9 hours late. Despite this, I keep doing my grocery shopping online. And I do this because of a little something…

It is called a SELF SERVE CHECKOUT. It is the one thing that can instantly raise my blood pressure to catatonic levels.

So last week I ran out of toilet paper, and I also noted we needed a few things in the fridge, so that I could continue to exist and provide my family with some sort of sustenance. I pushed that trolley around in the freezing air, listening to a pop singer sing Rocking Robyn, but changing the words of the song to Lower Prices…CHEAP CHEAPY CHEAP.


I gathered my things and went to the checkout to discover that there was only one checkout open, and there was a huge queue. The alternative was to approach the SELF SERVE CHECKOUT, and put myself through the complicated torture that is… checking myself out.

There has not been one time that I have used the self service checkout that it hasn’t disagreed with me, and let out loud beeps to alert other shoppers that there is a moron in their midst. But the truth is, I am not a moron, well not a fully-fledged card carrying one anyway.

The beeping alerts the lady in charge of the area to take her sweet damn time to swan over, roll her eyes and furiously punch in a series of numbers to make that machine shut up.

And then it happens again.

And again…. Then one more time before I furiously dump all of my groceries back into the trolley, turn on my heel and march back to the one open human-supervised check out that is still in operation. And it is in this line that I sit in and stew in my own frustrations, which are elevated when the person in font of me gets to the end of her exchange with the checkout chick, before declaring that she has forgotten something and spends another 12 minutes running around the isles.

During this time, I pick up one of those dreadful Women’s Magazines and flick thought to discover which ex Home and Away actress got her baby body back by doing sweet fuck all, but who really trained for 12 hours a day while existing on a kale leaf.

The checkout person is either a lovely older lady, of who you can have a decent chat to, or some pimple-faced gormless teenaged boy who has left school in year 9 and now does shifts in between riding his skateboard around the suburb. He will no doubt drop the two litres of ice cream from a great height onto the expensive bunch of grapes you are about to pony up for.

Grocery shopping has changed over the years. You used to know where to go, you had the choice of milk, or skim milk, and you used to be able to do it without having to download a Deepak Chopra podcast to get you through the rest of the day.

In your opinion, what is the most irritating thing about doing the grocery shopping?