Nemesis

Monday nights are great for doing the 'big shop'. The superstore is practically empty of other customers, the shelves are generally well stocked (I'm guessing Monday is a delivery day as they wouldn't have any on a Sunday... Maybe?), it's quiet and peaceful. I don't have to ram anyone or fight over the tomatoes or stab anyone in the eye for the last pack of falafels. It makes, what I find to be, quite a stressful experience into something a little less of a chore.

All fine and dandy indeed, all apart from that is, my nemesis.

My nemesis, were you to pass him on some sunny southern English street would probably not look like the sort of person that deserved to have his shins kicked in. He is middle-aged, greying round the temples (which is all that is left of the hair on his head as the rest has left him, presumably some time ago). Wiry of body, he wears Cosby sweaters and shorts and sandles and socks. He looks like any good Daily Mail reading member of the middle classes. He also, and I don't say this kind of thing lightly, must be destroyed.

I don't know how we time it, week after week, it must be that he sits in wait for me; louchely chillaxing by the hand whisks and Il Divo CDs, just flicking through a copy of 'For Crying Out Loud' by Jeremy Clarkson, blending in to his surroundings and making no sudden moments biding his time, waiting for me to approach the tills with my trolley, at which point he jumps into action and secures the spot behind me. He will allow me the courtusey of piling around 70-80% of my goods upon the conveyor belt. Each week I am lulled into a false sense of security, thinking that I've got most of the bits up there and he wouldn't possibly cross me again. But he does. He does the oddest and most infuriating thing. He reaches over to get the customer goods separator thing (I have no idea what's it's actually called) and puts it on the belt and STARTS PUTTING HIS THINGS ON. Before I've finished putting my stuff up there! Leaving me no space to finish getting my items checked through the till! WHICH SLOWS THE WHOLE PROCESS DOWN! I do not understand. The only explanation is that he is encouraging me to shoplift for some reason, trying to get me to join his Fagin-esque 'Cosby sweater' gang. Otherwise, I'm stumped. There are RULES and REGULATIONS. They are unspoken but they exist. Rule number one of supermarket etiquette is let the person in front of you unload their trolley before you start unloading your trolley. Rule number two of supermarket etiquette is LET THE PERSON IN FRONT OF YOU UNLOAD THEIR TROLLEY BEFORE YOU START UNLOADING YOUR TROLLEY. It is not hard. It makes sense to have this order. It does not speed the process up to do it simultaneously IT SLOWS IT DOWN. SO WHY ARE YOU SO RETARDED COSBY SWEATERED FAGIN?!?! WHY?!

To be fair, it's only happened once before today and I'm not even sure it was the same dude (but who else does that shit? Really?) and today he was with his wife and as soon as he put the separator thing down she must have seen my face and jumped in to move it off the belt almost immediately. She understands the primal, territorial language of supermarket shopping. Regardless, I still am seething now that he would attempt such a manoeuvre a second time. I went the whole way home replying the event in my head, thinking of how I could have cut that bitch up good by smashing a bottle of Harveys Bristol Cream sherry and used the pieces for some good ol' fashioned shiv practice. Or, just, you know, said something. So, Cosby sweater Fagin - watch out. I've thought of some really good zings for our next encounter that'll have you cowering in fear (example no#1: 'What are you doing?' TAKE THAT (and party) BITCH!)