Tuesday, June 10, 2014
Dear Grocery Store Line Encroacher,
You don't know me, but I'm the woman whose ankle you bruised while you were trying to inch your way closer to the checker in the line at the grocery store. I'm the one who had to squeeze in between the front of your cart and the handle of mine because you, believing it would get you out the door faster, left me no room to move my cart. I'm the one who gave you a dirty look and asked you to back away from the electronic signy-thingy so that I could finish my transaction and you could start your own.
Now, I realize that your time is valuable and I, too, am looking for the fastest way out of the hell I have to deal with weekly at the store. But I am sorry to tell you that inching your way closer to the cashier and into my personal space is a very risky move on your part.
You should have figured that out when the checker scanned those maxi pads and that super-sized bag of Hershey's kisses.
In short, I realize that it seems like you're moving faster when you ram your wheels into my feet, but you're really just slowing down the process. Now that I'm limping while I load my toilet paper and laundry detergent into my cart, you will now have to spend extra milliseconds in the store in order to buy that one jar of pickles.
P.S. - I hope that you're married to the guy who stops three car lengths behind the car in front of him at every red light.