It’s rather crappy to blog about things that happened in Sainsbury’s, but I promise not to make a habit of it.
This afternoon, after further lawyer/bank related pains of hell, I nipped into Sainsbo’s just for a couple of odds and sods, not a big shop. Trouble is, when you do that, your shopping basket just screams out “Sad Old Git Living On His Own”. (Madame has gone down to London.) Only two of the five items were alcoholic (I’m drinking the second one as I write). But I felt like declaring to everybody: “I’m not a middle-aged alcoholic saddo! I’m married! I can get my leg over! Look, here’s my wedding ring!”, except it wasn’t, because I threw it at the Iron Buddha during our last row, and she picked it up and Put It Somewhere, as wives will.
Anyway, one advantage of having a small, sad-bachelor shopping basket is, as I thought, that one can take it through the “10 items or less” check-out. Thither I sped, and during the roughly five minutes I was waiting, three people, one in front of me and two behind, tried to unload enormous baskets full of stuff, and had to be told by a patient-but-rapidly-growing-less-so checkout assistant that they were only allowed ten items at a time. What’s with these people? There were three large-print signs up, and all the little plastic prisms dividing one punter’s shopping from another bore the same legend. What part of “10 Items or Less” don’t they understand?
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