Check Out The Checkout.

This is an exercise in writing a post very quickly.  So quickly that I've no idea what I'm actually going to write.  This exercise into the unknown sentence after this sentence, is another way to see if I can work through this ridiculous fatigue that I've been experiencing.

Got into my car.  Started car.  Drove car to the supermarket.  Parked car.  Strolled towards supermarket.  I pass by somebody I don't know but recognise their face from all the others times I've passed by then but don't actually know them. They don't know me either but recognise my face. This means we give each other that slight recognition head nod that people do who don't know each other but recognise each other's face.  We both very quietly whisper "hello."  It's always a whisper to somebody you don't actually know but recognise their face.

I'm now grocery shopping.  Milk, cheese, eggs, pasta, juice without sugar and sparkling water from some Scottish mountain stream.  I see the kid riding the front of the shopping cart.  I see his parents pushing the cart and think what f**king idiots!

I notice the one checkout open is devoid of shoppers.  By the time I get down the aisle, the checkout is no longer empty.  It seems that everybody was hiding at the end of the aisles waiting for the opportunity to get to the one checkout that was no longer devoid of shoppers.

The store manager realises that another checkout needs to be opened.  As soon as the checkout beside the checkout I'm at opens, I insist that the lady in front of me with only one item, goes ahead of me to the the newly opened checkout.  She thanks me.  As soon as she's about to head to the checkout, some asshole with his full shopping cart, swoops in front of her and proceeds to put his stuff on the conveyor belt.  In my mind, I meet the dude out in the parking lot and beat the crap out of him.

I patiently wait for my turn at the original checkout.  I go a bit ballistic when I notice that the basket I'm about to put on the stack of other baskets will not go on properly because some idiot has left the handles of a basket inwards.  I re-stack the baskets and mumble something about it being one of my pet peeves.

My turn and I have a nice chat with the lady cashier.  She states, "Judging by your accent, you've been a broad."  I reply, "Nope, as far as I know, I've always been a male,"  She giggled and I realised she actually meant "abroad."  "Where does your accent come from?", she inquired.  "Well, it starts at the bottom of my throat and works its way out of my mouth."  "Very funny!", she replied, "Where are you from?", she then asked.  I actually got to tell her it's a Canadian accent.  Rather different from the number of times I've been asked what part of the States am I from!   "How long have you been here?", she asked.  "About ten minutes.  Oh, you don't mean how long have I been in the store.  Okay, on and off, since October, 1987."

Took my groceries and wandered past the self-serve, so-called, express checkout.  The queue to use the self-serve made me glad I used the checkout where you can converse with a human.

Put my groceries in my car and headed back home.

I look at this sentence and notice that this has taken twenty minutes to write.  Should I check it for tipos, um, typos?  Nah, just publish the darned thing and see what happens.....Take that, fatigue!!!