Saturday, 12 May 2012

How the other half live

Since moving to York, I have become a tad addicted to the joys of the Waitrose shopping experience. It's just so clean and sort of celestial. And everything is Fair Trade and they have lots of different kinds of everything nice. And even buying normal brands there just feels nicer. Everyone is much more polite and less frantic than in the less salubrious supermarkets. People whisper "excuse me" as they strain to reach the organic mung beans and artisan rye brocht from shelves packed to overflowing with all the ingredients necessary for a truly middle class Guardian flavoured meal time. I bloody love it. The aisles are wide and clutter free and the price match notifications are subtle and apologetic, as if they don't really want to, you know, mention the likes of Tesco but everyone else seems to be going mad for price matching and there is, of course, a double dip recession happening but they still really want you to enjoy the unsqueaky trolleys and choice of 52 flavours of Green & Blacks on offer so they'll just pop the price match info down here in muted colours.
The contrast to the gaudily decorated alternative supermarket I visited today is immense. Here, there, everywhere a BOGOF deal. Also it turns out it wasn't a great place to visit for someone like me who is always wanting to lose weight. Not just because there are cheap sweets, chocolate and lard based confectionery on every corner, but because the clientele are mostly massive. Seriously. In Waitrose everyone looks like they exist on frou frou salads and the odd avocado. In this place, they look like they must consume at least 12 family sized pizzas a day. Which has the knock on effect of making me feel slim because I am literally the smallest person I can see. This makes it even harder to resist the nice food in favour of salad and vegetables.
I got very confused looking for the hummus incidentally. It wasn't with the deli stuff, it was on the gargantuan pizza aisle. How? Why?
Anyway, needs must when you've spunked a lot of money on new haircuts recently and it is most definitely cheaper than the lovely Waitrose. And I learned to close my ears to the ubiquitous screaming child who seemed to be dogging my progress through the store.
I hate it when kids scream, cry, whinge and mither in public places. I have zero tolerance for it. I hate it. It sets my teeth on edge and makes me uncomfortable. I just want them to shut up. I know, I know, I'm not a parent so don't understand the pressures of controlling offspring, but to be honest I don't care when all I can hear is that mewling.
I happened to look up in disgust at this one. And I saw her little face screwed up in pain as her mother twisted her small arm the wrong way and shouted at her to shut the fuck up. The mother just kept shouting. The girl just kept crying, her eyes big and frightener. I saw them intermittently around the store. The hulking, thuggish husband pushing a trolley full of beer and shit, the mother, hard faced and dead eyed bullying her tiny daughter into the ground. It was horrible. And I found myself empathasing with the girl. Go ahead and scream love. Maybe one day someone will hear you and save you from the damage your parents are unquestionably going to do, if not physically, certainly mentally to the small child they chose to bring into this world.
People should have to have a license to breed. Perhaps then there would be fewer fucked up adults in the world fucking it turn for their offspring.
Still, the shopping was extremely reasonable.

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