I went to Costco to shop. It was such an unpleasant experience, I decided to recycle this piece from a few years ago:
When I go shopping I am on a mission from God. I have my list, gas in the car, coffee, and my oversized reusable shopping bags. I plan my trip when traffic is lightest.
Shopping is not an experience. I do not need ambiance. It is not a recreational long-term excursion. There are no luggage racks on shopping carts. Shopping is a chore. Something to be completed.
Shopping is a necessary task I want to perform with speed and alacrity. I want to go to the stores, get my stuff, pay my money, and get out as fast as I can.
There is a phenomenon in stores. This peculiarity is an uncivilized cultural anomaly brought about by savage over educated twenty and thirty-somethings. These primitives believe shopping aisles are gathering places, like wells, cooking fires, and village squares in primitive tribal nations.
Every place they casually run into each other is an excuse for a community meeting, social Kumbaya moment, or group grope.
Store aisles are not for socializing. They are for shopping.
These primitives congregate, sometimes with their bratzillas, to hold gabfests in the store aisles. While merrily hugging, air kissing, gossiping, and sipping their lattes, they effectively block anyone else from using the aisles.
They are oblivious to the needs of civilized people who want to go down that aisle to shop.
In the old days, this would not be a problem. One would just crash through them or loudly tell them to get the expletive deleted out of the way. Unfortunately, intellectual idiots of academia indoctrinated a couple of generations of so-called humans to respect the over tender sensitive feelings of others. They infected them with political correctness, sensitivity awareness, inclusiveness, and non-confrontational behavior.
Americans are now cowards, nice politically correct, sensitive, non-confrontational cowards, but still cowards. They will fearfully turn around to find another aisle, go all the way around back to the same aisle to get what they need, then turn around again in order not to confront the primitive rubes and bark chewers blocking the aisles.
They will avoid confrontation at all costs, no matter the inconvenience. If primitive people want to block shopping lanes, who are they to offend them?
Shopping aisles are for people who are buying goods and spending money. They are not village squares where village idiots gather to catch up with each other’s dull meaningless lives. If this cultural trend continues, these people will start holding a form of tailgating, shopping cart parties, in the aisles.
Imagine, twenty and thirty-somethings grilling brats, drinking artisan craft beer and having a wonderful time in aisle 6, while their crumb crunching crawlers gambol on the floor.
Since I come from the last generation of America the Brave, I do not care about anyone’s oh so tender sensitive feelings. I do not care about their toddler sproglodyte’s sensitive feelings.
I am on a mission.
You are in my way for no good reason.
You will be offended.
I will get through.
I am not a total boor. I will approach you, tap your cart with mine, and say something like, “Please, do you ever so mind moving so I can get the expletive deleted whatever it is I came down this aisle for.” I do not stop moving.
If you hesitate or show offense to your sensitive feelings, I will be pushing your cart out of my way. Too bad if your nose mining devil spawn is in it.
If you are just a gaggle of geese honking your soup coolers, I will wade in with my cart so I can get my needs. Your feather brained flock is an obstruction to be conquered.
Worse, there are people who leave their carts, blocking aisles, to gather someplace else and socialize. I like taking one of the carts, preferably the most loaded one, and moving it to the other end of the store. If it has a rug rat in it, so much the better.
These tactics work effectively. You see, I usually have a two-day growth of beard, bloodshot eyes from winus-headus, hat hair, and I am dressed way down. I look as crazy as they are inconsiderately stupid.
Oh, and if you even think of criticizing my civilized behavior towards your savagery, be warned. Look up vile in the dictionary. The first definition is my name. I will send you out running and screaming for your mommy if you have one.
If I know one of the store employees or managers, I will ask them how I can arrange a picnic or shopping cart party in aisle whatever. When he gives me a look of the pathetically obtuse, I will explain about the gaggle of geese having a great time in that now closed down aisle.
I was thinking of getting one of those canned air horns and a large battery operated blinking light. That would liven up their social community gathering experience when I come barreling down the blocked aisle, blinking and blaring.
Store aisles are traffic lanes. They are for movement and picking out goods. They are not social space you block to talk about something called a Kardashian, the color and odor of diaper contents, the hot personal trainer at the gym, or the latest human pet trick your sperm and egg omelet can perform.
Aisles are for moving through and picking out, not a group discussion on lawn care, plucking and tweezing versus threading, waxing your nether regions, or the latest reality show. Main aisles are for getting from point A to B to C… eventually to the checkout lane.
Shopping is just that, shopping. Stores are not places where you loiter, blocking the aisles like gangbangers on a sidewalk.
Call me rude, call me insensitive, call me anything you like. But, I will shop. I will move you out of my way, verbally or with my cart. While you are complaining to your oversensitive friends about being oh so offended, I will be in the check out line.