Life In The Slow Lane

This mornings mission, which I accepted before the tape self-destructed after five seconds, was a trek to Morrisons supermarket for a few food essentials. Although, admittedly mine was by no means the impervious tasks delivered secretly by tape to Impossible Missions Force agents in the Mission Impossible movies.

Well, not unless I’d been ordered to undergo my shopping task within an hour. In which case I’d have been unlikely to meet my objective. Dawdling pensioners causing such aisle congestion I could’ve probably completed a round trip to Manchester in the time it took to navigate this South Leeds store’s alleyways.

Although not state pension age, as I’m in receipt of a private pension, technically I’m a pensioner so should perhaps exhibit a great level of tolerance to my fellow retirees. However, when you get stuck behind a couple of trolleys (two abreast) proceeding at snails pace it ain’t easy exhibiting the magnanimousness spirit I endeavour to display on a daily basis.

I’d swear while navigating the dairy produce aisle the old geezer in front was merely pretending to walk; akin to a mime artist. His legs were moving, however bizarrely he didn’t appear to be making any headway forwards. Witnessing the episode making it feel like I was procuring my comestibles trapped behind a Marcel Marceau tribute act.

The guys elderly wife wasn’t much livelier on her feet, or indeed at decision making when choosing which product to purchase. I got stuck behind this lady’s shopping trolley while she checked every chuffing egg box; yours truly assuming she was ensuring there weren’t any cracked produce within the packaging.

Despite the vast majority of boxes being untainted she didn’t add any to her trolley, leaving me to conclude her oeuf investigation was undertaken to merely kill time, unearth something to complain about, or merely just piss me off!!

To be fair to the lady in her dotage, she did apologise on a later occasion after causing aisle gridlock by stopping opposite a parked store trolley laden with goods for the shelves. Cheerily proffering “I’m sorry for blocking you, young man.”….. I flashed a disingenuous smile in return, but only after covering the egg box in my trolley with a large pizza box. A move GJ Strachan felt prudent in the event she required another egg box checking fix.

Even being called young man didn’t cheer my mood, nor did witnessing her husband miming at being stuck behind a panel of glass…… Well, I thought he was miming, until I walked face first into the perspex display!

Nursing a sore conk from colliding with the perspex, I eventually managed to overtake the couple in their dotage. My glee, though, short-lived after the plot-line evolved into now being stuck behind a rotund middle-aged man on an electric scooter/chair.

I don’t know if this guy had recently taken delivery of this vehicle but, for whatever the reason, his mastery of the controls left a lot to be desired. This ineptitude at managing the brake, gears and throttle meant his chariot would move sharply for 3 feet before he broke heavily upon (I assume) realisation he’d not got control of the carrier.

As a consequence of this fella’s gracelessness, on at least two occasions, I banged my shins against the bar underpinning the chariots chair. Another set of injuries which, along with latency of movement during my shopping trip, resulted in a barrage of cursing beneath my protective mask.

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity, I’d secured all the required comestibles and with a massive sigh of relief at shortly being able to leave the store, I headed to the checkout.

The checkout process went off without a hitch, which, along with a trouble free drive home, meant I returned home with the happiness level similar to that of a woman over 30 upon taking delivery of her 3rd cat….

However, this brio turned out to be short lived when, during unpacking, I found one of my eggs had cracked…….. Aaaarrrrrgggghhhh!!

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