Let's Be People Found in a Typical Supermarket 2

I am OP, and I have started many threads on DL but never one as popular as this one. Who knew?

I am Cheryl, blithely ignoring the aisle that contains the feminine hygiene products.

I'm the customer who went in again today to buy bread and the racks are still empty. Is this fucking Russia?

I'm the customer who is confined to a Jazzy scooter. It cost $2,000 but I got it free because of my Type 2 diabetes caused me to lose a leg.

I use the basket on the front of my scooter as a shopping cart. Other helpful shoppers will help me with items that are out of my reach.

After I check out, you'll see me driving the Jazzy home in the middle of the road like it's a car, because it is my primary mode of transportation.

OP/R1 You go gurl!

I'm the professional housewife that allows her children to pick fruit off of the shelves and eat them during her shopping "errand" so that she doesn't have to pay for them at the till. I become VERY OFFENDED when an employee calls this out because I CANNOT be expected to discipline my children. That would be ABUSE. How DARE they force someone to pay for a CHILD to eat!

I'll make sure that they know how BUSY I am by holding the youngest of my children--they could be 12, 13, 14, 26, 35--in my arms before I pay so they can see how "desperate" my situation is and how HORRIBLE their act of calling out my thievery is.

*slams their cart into you repeatedly, scowling, so that you get out of their precious way*

I'm the desperate single woman buying 12 cucumbers.

I'm R8's closeted gay son who has already hidden one under his bed.

"children-of-the-pilfered-corn"

ha, ha, R6!

I'm the bearish management trainee who has been checking me out for over three years. I'm nervous around you and fumble every time you come through my check-out line, or ask me a question at if I'm manning the customer service desk. I don't know that you find it cute and endearing. I also don't know that a big guy like me could be considered attractive and I won't ever actually dare to hit on you.

I'm a married father of two shopping alone for the first time. I have no experience with this whatsoever, so 50% of the things I bring home will be the wrong brand or the wrong variation, leading to tears and arguments when I get home. Just as long as they never find out about my use of the glory hole in the men's room stall.

I'm the skinny, bald, middle-aged queen in charge of the wine and liquor department. I am super bitchy to other gay men only but sweet to everyone else. If a gay man dares to tell me he didn't care for one of my selections, I treat him with disdain from then on.

I'm a teenage girl who just got dumped by the quarterback of the high school football teams. Next stop, the ice cream aisle.

I am the one who spends too much time selecting yogurt. I get in everyone else's way. I don't care. I take yoga classes and am wearing yoga pants.

I'm the one that brings the entire encyclopedia Britannica of flyers to the till and holds the line up while I have the cashier price-match every single thing that I've selected. If they don't want to match it, I will make a scene.

I'm the crazy woman at the No Frills on St. Clair avenue in Toronto that has a problem with the current sex-ed legislation. I'm going to make a huge scene about this right underneath the "guaranteed price of bananas" sign above the checkout area and shout things like "did you know that babies masturbate?!" at the top of my lungs while I argue with other customers. You can find on the bench outside after I've been forced out of the store via collective death stares from both the customers and the employees while I chain-smoke and mutter to myself about the state of the world today in my wide brimmed decorative hat.

I'm the fat twentysomething receptionist who picks up a dozen low-fat yogurts that have as many carbs as a milkshake. [italic]Breakfast at Tiffany's[/italic] is on TCM tonight, and they'll all be gone before Buddy Ebsen shows up.

I'm the late teens to late twenties (black don't crack) male who thinks its fine to walk around in public with a little funk. The irony of the proximity of the deodorant isle while I wait in line for my generic medications will go completely over my head. I will vote in this upcoming election.

I'm the skeletal, ancient socialite in the Albertson's in Santa Fe, NM. I am miserable because I haven't eaten anything solid in 172 years. I wander at a glacial pace in the middle of the aisle, drifting in front of you every time you try to pass me. I'm currently complaining to the pharmacist because he doesn't know if my husband's enema is gluten-free. I make my maid buy my 100-proof Smirnoff while I wait in the Land Rover.

I'm the pharmacy assistant. Whether there are two, four, six or eight of me, it matters not because we're all scurrying, constantly in motion. At our frenetic pace, you'd think that you, the customer who wants your prescription to be filled in a somewhat timely manner, will certainly get his wish. Nope. You'll wait. You'll wait some more. You'll be told that we're anywhere from 15-40 minutes behind. You'll grimace, return through the line a second time, but be told that, "they're about to 'check' your order now--have a seat." You'll sit and curse, not always under your breath. Most of all, you'll wonder how we're able to move so fast, often in concert with each other, yet still not have YOUR prescription ready in an expedient manner.

This thread is the best.

These threads are a big reason why I love you all at DL.

I'm the heavy set lady who makes a big show about buying salads and fruits for my lunch because it's so hard to control my weight with my thyroid condition. I'm not even going to be able to eat any of these delicious pastries I bought to take to work. Later I'll be seen sitting in my car at the far end of the parking lot eating all the pastries.

I am the customer who demands to know if the baby lettuce mix on the salad bar has been washed. I say it has been even though it has not been washed because it says it is okay to serve it from the bag. I didn't wash my hands, however.

I'm the bored straight guy, skinny as a stringbean, who seems to spend an inordinate amount of time checking other men out in the produce aisle.

Gay men respond to me, and some even think I'm attractive. But my demeanor throws them off. They can't decide whether I'd take them home to suck my dick, or if I'd pull a "put the lotion in the fucking basket" moment on them.

I'm the rich, bored fortyish housewife in the wine aisle at 9:00 in the morning.

I am the worker who has to push a large flat bed of merchandise around a customer who won't get out of the way. They pretend to ignore me as they linger over which tuna brand to purchase.

We're the two college douchebros who are both wearing mesh workout shorts that are clinging to every crease and crevice. We're being followed around the story by the horny gay guy who is transfixed by our round, perfect asses.

I'm the only black male employee in the store. I'm courteous and polite, I work hard, get all my stocking done, always show up on time and never miss a day, but women still move their purses anytime they see me coming down the aisle.

I'm the guy who takes his shopping cart into the smoke shop taking up the already limited space. I'll be damned if I'm going to leave my cart in the foyer because I know someone will steal my groceries, (I hope no one notices the two packs of toilet paper under my cart that I didn't pay for).

I'm the old people who obviously have raging gambling addictions, hogging the customer service counter with their Lotto purchases when the patient guy behind them just wants to buy a quick pack of smokes. Fuckers.

^^^Some of them spend more on lottery tickets than groceries. It's sad really.

[quote]I am the worker who has to push a large flat bed of merchandise around a customer who won't get out of the way.

You need to be more aggressive. I am your counterpart in another store, pushing a five-foot-wide dust mop so purposefully that even frail old grannies leap from my path.

I'm the straight idiot who thinks it's ok to wear mesh shorts that outline my obvious erection while at the store with my little girls

I am the self-righteous SJW type who gets in your face if your cart hits a car by accident.

i am the old elegant frau in Ferragamo shoes, and heavy gold jewelry weighing down my twig thin wrists. i am with my old husband who is standing next to me confused

I'm the display of impulse purchase items strategically placed in the middle of the aisle to make it impossible to maneuver a cart around the oblivious chatters who pick that spot to socialize.

I'm the unattractive middle age guy who asks attractive female if an item on a shelf is healthy.

I am the customer who picks up a big bag of kitty litter. It's too heavy, so I drop it. It spills everywhere. I walk away, as if nothing happened.

I am the customer who has a leaking bag of chicken. I leave a trail of chicken juice all over the store. You can see I stopped and lingered in the personal care aisle! I am oblivious when a n employee approaches me with a plastic bag for the chicken.

I am the employee who must now go around the supermarket with a mop, cleaning it all up. "Hey, the customer stopped for a long time at the HBA section!!", I say to the people up front in courtesy. They smirk. We hate the customer.

I am the obese sow in a scooter, screaming at my six multi-racial children by six different fathers "NO! The fucking STAR CRUNCHES you stupid little asshole!"

I am wearing nasty, stained PJ bottoms decorated with Betty Boop and am braless underneath my current just-out-of-prison "boyfriend's" ICP T-shirt----never mind the fact that my huge,sagging udders merge into my ginourmous gunt. I am also wearing slippers or flip-flops, depending on the weather, due to my fat feet.

I will pay for my Star Crunches, jugs of sugary "drank", Hot Pockets, Cheetos, Mountain Dew and Pop Tarts with my food stamp card. You will shake your head and mumble something under your breath while my out of control crotch droppings play on the metal dividers like monkey bars. I will then argue with the cashier about my expired coupon for ice cream sandwiches.

Ugh. I ran into r42 at the store last week. Literally, with my cart. I made it look like an accident, but there were just so many of them.

Those white trash girls with all the kids are the worst. I used to be able to avoid them by going to Target or Stew Leonards, but they've migrated over there now. Ugh.

I'm the employee who didn't hose down the parking lot and entrance by 6:00am like I was supposed to, suddenly jumping into action at 10:00 because the manager's about to show up any minute. I'm in such a hurry that I don't bother posting "Caution: wet floor" signs because the customers can see it's wet, right? This is my last day.

I'm the little old lady who orders two micro meter thin slices of Swiss cheese from the deli. There HAS TO BE a paper in between BOTH slices!

I will also question the freshness of said cheese: "Is this FRESSSHHHHH? It doesn't look very fresh to me! I want it FRESSSSSSHHH!"

I also disregard the "Take A Number" machine, barge in front of everyone else then have a fit when I'm ignored.

I'm an ubiquitous woman shopper in TJ's on Saturday mornings. I am required to bring my husband along because he wants to choose what we'll be eating for dinner this week. I know he's the nastiest human being the other shoppers will ever have to be around and that his favorite occupation is giving everyone foul looks, but I can't afford to get rid of him until next year.

I'm hoping when I finally murder him some of the people who've seen how he acts will show up to be witnesses for my defense.

I'm the cute college stoner dude who works there on the weekends.

You think I'm friendly and smiling because I like you and/or I'm nice, but I'm friendly because I'm stoned out of my gourd. And I'm smiling because I jacked a load all over your cart handle right before you grabbed it.

(heh heh heh beavis and butthead laugh heh heh heh)

[quote] lady who orders two micro meter thin slices of Swiss cheese from the deli. There HAS TO BE a paper in between BOTH slices!

Also, I'll order three or four slices of EVERY FUCKING THING THE DELI CARRIES.

I am the cashier who starts to open a new plastic bag for the next customer as I say thank you to you. I really am not thankful, I just don't know if you are a secret shopper or not.

I am the employee who has several union pins on my work vest. It looks tacky as heck, but I wear them with pride. I also wear a perennially nasty, hardened expression on my face. I look far older than I am.

[quote]I'm the little old lady who orders two micro meter thin slices of Swiss cheese from the deli.

I think I know you. Once you have your Swiss cheese (FRESSSHHHHH), do you then head to the bakery department for bread to make a cheese sandwich? And do you spend 20 or 30 minutes repeatedly examining EVERY! SINGLE! LOAF! before making your selection? Thought so.

In the vegetable aisle, I am the obviously overweight middle-aged woman in skin tight jeans and chartreuse slinky shirt with bra straps hanging half-way down my arms chatting loudly in Spanish with my identical-looking gf with the neon pink hair so everyone can be entertained while they shop while my two angry-looking teenaged daughters eat their way through the fruit aisle glaring at everyone glaring at them...

I'm the turd filled and leaking diaper little Madyson was wearing when she was sitting in the child seat of your shopping cart.

You put your deli selections in the child seat because you don't know that.

I'm the lady who squeezes six loaves of Wonder bread to see if it's fresh. Wonder bread! I then take a bag I haven't squeezed.

I am the massive display of vegan mayonnaise. I am NOT the soy-based version that has been around for years. I am a new version that a major food label tried to introduce. Apparently it has failed, as the discount/job lot places sell me for 3 jars for a dollar. How bad can I be?

Should I name the brand? It is known by another name west of the Rockies.

I am the customer shopping in the job lot/ discount grocer. They offer free coffee. I have a disappointed look on my face when I find there is no more coffee.

I had new neighbors and I wanted to get them a welcome present so I asked in the supermarket for some important Irish cheese that wasn't the Kerrygold level of trash. So they told me to wait and finally after about fifteen minutes a store employee with a running nose came, wiping her nose on her sleeve, and handed me something which was $13 for about 3 oz, labelled "whiskey cheese" and smelled like fucking Limburger. I thought about it, but I didn't know if it was even supposed to smell like that and I thought, I cant give this to people I don't know, so I threw it out.

I'm the fat fuck on the store loaner electric scooter who goes full speed toward you cuz I know you'll jump out of the way

I'm the display of gluten-free goods.

Other than a few boxes of cookies, I sit untouched and must be thrown out when my goods expire.

I am the cookies and other items of dubious nutritional merit that are displayed in the so-called wellness center.

I am the Paleo shopper, rigorously examining ingredient lists on meal replacement bars instead of buying meat and produce like I'm supposed to.

I'm Francine, and I'm here to give you samples of this great new diet cookie!

I weight 240 pounds, but am shocked, I tell you, shocked when no one approaches my display.

Bump...with a shopping cart. I do that, and pretend to ignore you.

DAMN YOU R64 YOU HAVE RUINED MY DAY!!! WHERE IS THE 30 SECONDS OF MY LIFE I WILL NEVER GET BAAAAACK?

I'm one of three overnight employees that is heading to my second job when I get out of work at 7 am. I know that I won't have time to go home to shower before heading to my second job. I am heading to the deodorant aisle, where I will open one of the deodorants (never the same one), take off the plastic top, swipe it over my pits, and put it back on the shelves. As I am leaving I see the other two coming to do the same thing.

I'm Francine and I'm 80 years young shopping on the seniors' 10% off day. I use my cart as a combo walker and battering ram.

The reason I'm angry is because my friend Betty has a gay nephew who does her shopping for her.

We're the grandparents in our late 70s taking our four grandchildren shopping with us. We never thought we'd have to take care of kids at this age but our daughter would rather work at a clothing store that her friend owns than stay home and take care of her kids.

I'm the worst or worst, i live off fake lawsuits. I walk into the meat department and grab a package of chicken. then quite slyly i poke a hole in it and walk down an isle while the chicken liquids drips out.

once i know i've made a faux safety hazzard, i walk back through the same isle and "slip" on the liquid. I hit my head on the ground and "pass out". The EMT's are called in and i tell them i can't see well and i hurt real bad. They take me to the hospital in an ambulance.

little did i know that the whole thing was taped by closed circuit TV. when my shitty lawyer demand money for the corporation owning the market, the market shows him the CCTV and i go to jail for fraud.

I'm the person who complains loudly when I go to Aldi's and have to cough up a quarter - temporarily - for a cart.

I will be the same fat whore who will absentmindedly let my cart loose, which will in turn, damage another person's car.

I am the customer who lingers at the holiday section. I open all the candles and smell them. My fav is pumpkin spice. Yes, I am a frau. I live in Ohio.

I am the holidays at your favorite store. (Yes, I know that's not a person, but a "thing".)

I am the pre-feeding frenzy that descends on the store a day or two before Thanksgving. The aisles are packed with people who forgot to order the pre-brined turkey and who are desparately trying to find the gluten-free olives for Janice, the vegan lesbian.

I am the plastice Christmas trees, already up and ready for December.

I am Halloween. I am already forgotten.

I am the cardboard in the aisle. I fell off the flatbed that the diary worker was working on earlier.

I'm the day old bread, as old, stale and tired as this thread.

I am the dumpster in which the bread will be tossed. We don't get donated to food banks as often as the supermarket says we do.

I am the thread that will soon die completely and also be tossed. How the mighty have fallen, faster than last decade's hottest number.

NEXT!!

Bump...as the bread is tossed into the dumpster.

I am the Salvation Army kettle-person near the entrance in December, scorning you as you scorn me, you cheap bastards.

I am the customer who shops at several different stores, encountering a Salvation Army person at each one. I give to the first, explain to the second, and ignore the rest. I will reverse my route next time, and my responses.

I am the red Salvation Army kettle. My bell ringer is a 20-something girl in a ridiculous knit hat which resembles a pink kitten, pink Uggs, and white leggings. She's more interested in playing with her rose gold iPhone and barely mumbles a resentful "thanks" when people bother to toss some money in me. I am sad.

I am the DL contributor who cannot go into the market without keeping an eye out for all of the above!

I am the Salvation Army bell-ringer in front of the downtown Santa Barbara Ralphs, who, during a lull, looks around to see that no one's watching, reaches into the kettle, takes out a few dollars and goes into the store to buy a pack of smokes.

You mean me R42?

[quote] I'm the customer who is confined to a Jazzy scooter. It cost $2,000 but I got it free because of my Type 2 diabetes caused me to lose a leg.

Oops, my bad.

[quote] I am the Paleo shopper, rigorously examining ingredient lists on meal replacement bars instead of buying meat and produce like I'm supposed to.

I'm the guy who successfully lost all my excess weight. Epic bars saved my cheat days from turning into cheat weeks.

I'm the gay guy who puts a wooden nickel in the Salvation Army pot and gives actual money and food directly to the homeless guy who's always standing out by the main highway while the smarmy homophobic fatass playing Santa does neither and just stands there ringing that fucking bell, shouting "Ho Ho Ho" and trying to force artificial cheer on an increasingly cheerless world.

I'm the millenial guy who has been in a long term abusive relationship with my violent girlfriend. The cashier is waiting for me to pay for my things, but I have to make a last minute call on my mobile to my girlfriend to see if there is anything else she needs. I don't care if the people in line are getting annoyed at me; it's nothing compared to the anger I face daily at home.

I am the young Asian woman at the newest Shop Rite in town. I'm holding my iPad up and Facetiming with my boyfriend. He is helping me shop. This is so much better than using a grocery list.

I'm the old person of either sex who holds up the entire checkout line by counting out 97¢ worth of nickels and pennies from one of those goddamn plastic change purse things they all seem to carry.

I'm the guy adding up the prices on his smartphone's calculator as he puts each item in the cart. I accidentally clear it and start over, trying to remember the price of each item and going back to check if there isn't a sticker.

Is that,is that THING in R81 breast feeding ?!?

I am my mother, going through every single package of T-Bones, one at a time, over and over, until I finally choose "the best". "See?!? It's supposed to look like this!" I say to my bewildered 8-year-old daughter. I will do the exact same thing with tomatoes and lettuce.

I am the fat ass on the scooter

I'm the ambiguous looking, most likely latino fella, canvassing for some cause right outside the store. This is year its registering people to vote.

I'm the interracial couple getting dirty looks by bigots and black women.

I'm washed up pop diva muslim being a fatty again. Hope no one recognizes me.

I'm the nice gay couple who rushed over to help R91 back onto her feet. We're so nice and helpful, we make sure she's okay before going on our way.

She thinks we're nice young men and has no idea we're going to tell all our friends at dinner about the fat cow who fell off her Rascal, and laugh and laugh.

We'll even post a photo on a gay website to ensure her humiliation

I'm the woman spending 15 minutes looking through identical packages of weiners as if there might be more in one package than the other. Meanwhile, my crotchfruit have disappeared to another part of the supermarket where they are pulling things off the shelves and onto the floor.

I'm the 60-year-old ex-Vietnam Vet who's spent my whole life working as a stock boy. Truth is, this is the only job I can get because of my PTSD. It's not that I can't do the work, it's just that they're the only employers in town who look the other way at the fact that I need weed to control my flashbacks. I tried prescription pills but they just made it worse and they cost me two marriages. Hopefully my state will actually legalize weed before I die because I can't afford to just pack up and move to a green state.

I'm the short, brown-skinned person (man or woman), wearing some kind of all-white uniform, with a red cross somewhere on it, but with no other recognizable insignia, holding out a can for money, saying something like, "It's for the children," but with no other explanation. (When asked what organization these people are working for, they repeat, "It's for the children.")

I've only seen these people outside of stores on the West Coast, more so in Southern California.

I'm the customer who gets pissed when he sees that his favorite self check out machine is occupied by someone with 3 or 4 items who will undoubtedly take 20 minutes to finish.

I'm Todd Bridges, cutting the ribbon at the opening of a rehab clinic down the street. Before the ceremony, I walk by R94 and don't notice her at all.

I'm the out-of-state guy at a supermarket in Connecticut who is horrified that wine and liquor are forbidden in Connecticut supermarkets. All I can get is beer, and sales have to stop at 9pm. I make to with beer, and rush to the register because it's now 8:55.

I'm the gay, middle age cashier who doesn't scan an item or two for that cute twink who comes in once a week. I'm hoping he'll notice and start flirting with me so I can ask him out. When will he notice? Why doesn't he notice? Please notice me!

I am the shopper who needs groceries. I come here regularly, as if I need food on a regular basis.

I’m the tacky man or woman who eats the produce without paying for it...and yes, I’m white.