Dear Lady,
You seemed to be in a hurry.
Perhaps you had to go to the bathroom.
Perhaps you were rushing to visit your poor sick aunt in the hospital and visiting hours end at exactly 1:42pm.
Perhaps you had to bring your cart full of stuff over to the homeless shelter before another person went hungry....
But somehow I doubt any of those were the case.
I think you were just a rude, obnoxious wench who found it necessary to put your hands on my groceries and push them up on the belt so you could make room for 93 boxes of Lean Cuisine.
DON'T TOUCH MY STUFF!
DON'T EVER TOUCH MY STUFF!
You wanna pay for it, then ok, you can touch, but you didn't offer.
Not only did you TOUCH MY STUFF, you put both hands on my three loaves of bread (lovely bakery sourdough, cinnamon raisin swirl and 183 grain something or other).
You SQUASHED my loaves!
Did you catch the look I shot you? No, because your ginormous Yoko sunglasses were blocking your view or maybe you couldn't see over your Meg Ryan lips.
And I love how you found it necessary while furiously loading organic crap on to the belt, to push into my cart, which pushed into me, and demand that the checker check the price of your 323 load bottle of Tide.
WAIT YOUR TURN!!
I bet you're the kind of driver who doesn't believe in alternate feed.
I want you to know that I got immense pleasure out of discovering that I didn't have enough cash in my wallet to pay for my junk food and insecticide covered fruit.
You know I slid the credit card through the reader incorrectly on purpose, all 7 times.
HA!
That'll learn ya'.