Held Prisoner in Hampton Roads

I don't mind grocery shopping . . . really, I don't. Most of the time, I really do enjoy it. It's just that some shoppers drive me absolutely, completely insane. It seems to me that they believe that they're the only people of consequence in the store.

I realize that male shoppers have their foibles, but, since most of the thundering herd is composed of members of the female persuasion, women get the hit today. Nothing implied by the thundering herd descriptor, by the way. Don't read more into it. Or, if you do, perhaps some self-assessment is in order.

I wonder if other shoppers can see my little thought balloons?

Balloon 1: Lady? Excuse me, lady? Laydeeeee . . . If you would put your freakin' coupons down, you could use both hands to put your groceries on the conveyor. Or, perhaps you could hold the coupons in both hands and use your teeth. It couldn't be much slower, and it certainly would be more entertaining.

Balloon 2: Ma'am? I know you love to bring your doting husband and your three adorable children shopping with you. I also know, by the angelic expressions on their faces, there is nowhere else they would rather be. Unfortunately, with his basket behind your basket, and each of your charming offspring lined up with their "shopper in training" carts, you're blocking off - by actual measurement - at least a furlong of the meat cooler. While you're examining every package of boneless, organic, free-range chicken breasts on display, the steak, sausage, turkey, ham, salt pork, bacon, lunchmeat, soup bones, ribs, lamb, veal and back bacon are all in no-man's land. Can I just grab a pound of hamburger, please?

Balloon 3: Ma'am? Obviously, your eight-year old son is at the head of his class, a math prodigy, and destined to publish the Grand Unified Field Theory before he graduates from high school, but he doesn't seem to comprehend the self-checkout machine . . . and nether do you. Granted, I can't see very well from back here, seventh in line, but perhaps it might be more productive if you went to see Britney in lane 2 or Lindsay in lane 5, since: a) you have no clue about the machine, and b) there isn't enough room on the bagging shelf for the 45 items in your cart - let alone the 30-pound bag of cat litter.

Baloon 4: Miss? Oh, Miss? Since you just put the last of your 4,967 items on the conveyor, might you consider taking your checkbook or credit card out of that Chief Petty Officer's seabag you seem to be carrying as a purse? I assume it has dawned on you that eventually you may need to pay up. Or, perhaps you would rather look embarassed, and enlighten the ten of us behind you with " I know it's in here somewhere!!! "

eom

Retaliation is expected.