Let's Be Your Grocery Store Experience

I am the road rage walking behind people in the aisles

I’m sorry but there is always some ghetto obese bitch holding up the line with some complicated drama.

I'm the smell and grime in my neighborhood Safeway.

I am the name brands that I like being replaced by the inferior store brand (Meijer has been doing this, I now have to go to a smaller store across town for my Rold Gold pretzels and Zesta saltines)

I'm one of the two retired queens in the dog food aisle, bickering over which wet dog food to buy for Cary and Randolph, our beloved French Bulldogs. The vet recommended this one, but the other one is Rachael Ray and Terry just HAS to have it!

I swear, if I don't get my way this time, I'm going to "forget" to pick up his Odor Eaters and Viennetta on the way out.

I'm the lady in baggy sweats haggling with the cashier over coupons and savings. After ten minutes of back and forth, a manger intervention, and the store giving into her demands,

Her card gets declined.

Here we go again....

I am the self checkout. I have detected something wrong in the bagging area. Sorry. I need to call an employee over to press a magic button so that you may continue.

I am the oblivious frau in leggings with the FUCKING DOUBLE STROLLER parked in the middle of the Cookies, Candy, and Chips aisle. I am talking on my phone.

Bitch get away before I pistol-whip you!

I am in a state which no longer allows plastic bags. We are back to brown paper bags which will rip and tear before you are even out of the store. Paper bags are not as strong as they used to be.

I am the son who needs to buy his mother’s Poise pads and they are hard to hide with the pink packaging.

I'm the jackass who leaves the cart directly behind your car because I'm too fucking lazy to roll it to the cart rack a few spaces away.

I'm the shopper holding one item, waiting in a register line behind a shopper with an overflowing cart, even though there is a self-checkout open.

I'm the self-checkout customer slowly feeding paper bills into the machine.

I am the dry, flavorless sheet cakes in the bakery department that will end up in an office to celebrate a joyless birthday.

THE SELF CHECK OUT IS TAKING JOBS AWAY!! I REFUSE TO SELF CHECKOUT BECAUSE I SUPPORT AMERICAN JOBS!!!!!

TRUMP2020!!!!!!

I am the supermarket with 20 cashier lanes but only 2 are open

I'm the clueless person Facetime without headphones in the middle of the damn aisle

I'm the one pound pack of Kroger ground chuck that in 2000 cost $1.89 that tonight the website shows costing $5.29

You're at the checkout ready to pay. Oh you didn't bring reusable bags? We'll CHARGE YOU for them! How many do you need?

Idiot at R18, that’s a 24 year difference.

I’m the deli worker who stares at you blankly with every request. My fingers come dangerously close to that spinning blade when cutting your roast beef extra thin.

I'm the mother who let's her kids run wild throughout the store with no shoes on

I’m the old person writing a check! I hold up the line an extra 4 minutes.

I'm the nice little old ladies who politely ask if I can reach something for them.

whoops r20 you got me. That was supposed to be 2020, based on a one pound pack I found hidden and forgotten in my freezer a bit over a year ago.

I'm buying beer at the self-checkout trying to flag down someone to come verify my age so I can pay.

I'm the Trader Joe cashier who wants to know more about my dinner plans and who LOVES the chocolate I'm buying.

I'm the MAGAt with low simmering rage who blames every negative aspect of my Grocery Store Experience today on Mighty Joe Biden because I know a diaper wearing grifting raping traitorous ersatz Hitler will Make America Great Again.

“Wahhh my groceries are too expensive. Darn that Joe!”

I'm the shoplifter strolling out with a full basket of steak and laundry liquid while the security guard has to just watch.

I’m the defiant one bringing my dog into the grocery store. No store employee will say a word about it to me.

I am the online order grocery pickup parking on the side of the building. If you use me, you dont have to go inside and deal with the ratchedness

I'm the 250 lbs., 4 ft.-wide woman who takes us a zipcode's worth of dead space just standing motionless in front of that section of the one otherwise empty aisle where you want to look for that one item sold there, made harder by the fact that her extent blocks several different item and brand types; and that you run into again when you turn with your cart into a different aisle later only to find that's where she's decided to stop with her cart, oblivious to you and any other shoppers that the center-end of an aisle isn't the place to decide to stare down at your phone or shopping list--but, hell, none of you have anything to do with me, right!? :)

I am the bag of store brand sour cream and onion potato chips with a neon orange “50% off” sticker. You know you want to eat me.

I’m the item that you normally buy but can’t find anywhere because the grocery store finally had it on sale.

I’m also the fact that the kind that you want is also out of stock at every other store on the area so you have to buy the “weird” version of it.

I got a red weirdo and this old lady I’m with won’t stop talking about Spanish sow-sage.

I am the look of absolute puzzlement when you place your reusable bag on top of your groceries on the conveyor belt, followed by abject annoyance at even having to make the effort to simply place the bag beyond the scanner, which summarily says "I don't pack bags; you do."

I’m the Aldi recording.

“Dear customers, we are opening register 3. Dear customers, we are closing register 3. Dear customers, we are opening register 3.”

Ad nauseum.

I'm a bitter and unfucked prisspot nevertheless trying to make an effort to be diplomatic or at least disengaged with every horrible creature in this goddamned hellhole supermarket, as well as keeping my hissing and lipsmacking under control near the random hottie.

I’m the out-of-stock items the website said were all in-stock.

I am the 8 dollars that Albertsons is charging for Heinz ketchup.

I'm the person that actually says "excuse me" or "I'm sorry" when they realize they are in he way.

I'm the Wegman's that just opened in Manhattan, proving that all the years of good press and awards are justified.

I'm the morbidly obese person on the scooter huffing and puffing when I have to stand up to reach for the Family Size bag of chips.

I'm the store app that as of Jan 2024 you need to download to get the best deals - App Only savings!!

I'm the boor at the Deli Counter holding up the line because he has to "sample" the cold cuts and cheeses he ordered before he gives final approval to go ahead and start slicing.

I'm the mother with the autistic son I apparently keep running into;

Early last year: I was picking a bottle of wine when I heard a kid behind me say "mum it's really cold down here I feel like I'm dead" as I turned round in interest I heard a sharp voice reply "STOP TALKING LIKE THAT! You're not dead! (then to me ) I'm sorry he's autistic".

Just Before Christmas: Walking down the tinned aisle. A kid is walking towards me down the centre of the aisle making race car noises as he pushes the trolley not being overly in the way but still. A women walks round the corner "THOMAS STOP THAT! (then to me) I'm really sorry he has autism"

Either I run into a lot of autistic kids while shopping or this one women really wants everyone to know.

I’m the unattended child who thinks it’s fun to squish all of the ramen packages in their hands to break all of the noodles.

I’m the big-bellied asshole who uses it to shove people out of the way.

I’m the club soda and I can’t believe you’d actually walk in here expecting to find me after the interminable searches my forebears went through with you, just sitting there, waiting.

You should know as well as I do that every store categorizes me differently and that any kid you interrogate as to my whereabouts is going to send you to some godforsaken aisle that holds nothing but ENERGY DRINKS.

Oh, just the thought of it is depressing.

You’re hopeless and, frankly, the maraschino cherries and even the lemons agree with me on this.

I am the pile of frozen dinners and pizza, and soda, chips, and store brand ice cream, on the conveyor belt, placed there by the customer in before you.

Across the plastic separation bar, across the pile of your own neatly stacked vegetables and mineral water and fresh bread I whisper softly

"Judge her"

I'm the Gen Z shopper who hasn't added the mobile app to my phone ahead of time in order to take advantage of the store's digital coupons, so the rest of the line will just have to wait as the checker instructs me on how to do it right now. .. Ooops. .. Maybe the third time we try to have it go through, it will finally work.

[quote] I'm the mother who let's her kids run wild

Oh, dear!

I'm the young married couple. They examine each item's ingredients carefully making sure it doesn't offend any of their imagined dietary concerns. Inevitably one of them will shriek at the sugar content in something and put it back as if it were hot dog shit.

I go when they open. If that's 6 am, it's 6 am. It's also fully stocked and more or less empty at that hour and not unpleasant at all. Getting up's a bitch, but not shopping.

I am standing to the side of the self checkout screen because I hate how I look on camera. Why do we have to check our groceries, bag them, and then endure being photographed against our will? Pay me, Kroger !

I'm the ubiquitous Greengrocer's Apostrophe: "Potato's 5 lbs. $3.99."

I'm the 600 pound couple that has to tag-team to go shopping. We will be back tomorrow or Wednesday.

I am Pepsico laughing all the way to the bank.

I'm the store cleaner still working in shopping hours rather than having it done before customers arrive. I leave piles of garbage at the end of each aisle.

I’m the broccoli. An entire industry comprised of nutritionists, yoga instructors, personal trainers and life coaches works tirelessly to convince you of the health benefits of choosing me and what do you do? You make a beeline for the chips and popcorn aisle as I sit here and wilt.

We're the fading and scratched up social distancing floor stickers.

I am the suburban mother in a Skida cap and skintight leggings. I have a full cart, two toddlers, and I am using self-checkout. The "kiddles" -- my own nickname for them that I came up with, despite what Marissah next door says -- are darling when they come up to me with candy and treats they want. Maybe I do spend too much time explaining why they can't have them, but they're so cute!

I am ignoring the people giving me evil looks. I have just as much right to shop at Hannaford as they do! Oops! I forgot my wallet in the Toyota Highlander. Sorry! I'll be right back!

Later, I'll go to my job as HR Manager for an artisinal cottage cheese distributor.

I'm the shopper who ran in for one item and now is in line trying to juggle 7 items in their arms.

I'm the employee completing the mobile orders. I am looking for the worst produce available just to show your lazy ass!

I am the customer abandoned cart because too much is missing from the shelves. Sure, it's "in the back" but we have ToGo orders to finish. restocking happen later.

I'm the final realization that self check-out just doesn't work as my corporate bosses thought it would.

(Sidebar: I've started seeing signs at ShopRite that self check-out is soon going to be used as "express check-out" i.e. 20 items or less. It's about fucking time.)

I'm also the very sweet, overly made up octagenarian cashier who has an actual work ethic and takes her job seriously. I do tend to get a bit flustered when I have to delete something off someone's receipt.

I'm the 14 store tote bags still in the car, waiting for our stupid owner to come back and get some of us.

I'm the Driver's License required to buy wine for my 74-year-old holder.

I'm the Wegmans restroom where the soap, water, and air come out of hands-free dispensers.

I’m the 75 year old man replacing the expired milk, day after day, at the London Terrace Gristedes

I’m the only non-Spanish speaker at the Ideal store on 9th Ave, by the projects. I like it there: good prices and the young cashiers are polite and friendly.

I'm the location in the poor section of the city. All of my produce looks old and battered, while the produce in the store located in the wealthy suburbs is immaculate!

For you, r56:

I am a can of mixed vegetables. But you can call me Mitch.

I'm the bold colorful sticker on the shelf advertising the sale price with an exclamation point! If you look at the smaller print at the bottom you will see you are saving 10 cents!

I'm Publix where shopping is overpriced overstaffed and understocked unpleasurable.

I'm the hordes of people waiting to pounce on the reductions section when the worker has finished putting the labels on.

I am the weekly flier promising sales and many BOGO's which are always gone by the time I get there.

DLers in this thread should stay home and order from Instacart. Grocery shopping is too traumatic.

Although it’s not Joe’s fault because he doesn’t set money policy or the prices of groceries, R18, that same lb of hamburger cost $1.79 at a Smith’s/Kroger store in early 2020.

I'm the instacart shopper running over everyone as they race up and down the aisles looking at their phone as they shop for 3 different customers at once.

I'm the 19 year old POC female, 5' 3" and 250 pounds wearing clothes that are way too small for me so you can see all my flab. I'm in front of you in the very narrow check-out line, and I've decided to do my interpretive dance moves to the music I hear in my head. Ahead of me is my younger half sister who's the same size as me, and has decided to do her high school cheers before we get to the register. Neither one of us have rhythm to carry it off.

I'm the obese family of four lumbering along side by side down the center of the parking lot aisle, forcing me to drive behind them at 1 mph like Jaws stalking its prey. We're totally oblivious to anyone else around us.

R81 bigot go away

R79 the original example actually disproves the point I assume R18 was trying to make by blaming it on Biden.

The price of everything has risen thanks to inflation. It takes $3.65 today to equal the purchasing power that $1.00 had in 1980, meaning that all else being equal, that $1.89 ground chuck should now cost more than it does.

We're the Shelf Team! We've removed every product from this aisle and we'll put it on THAT aisle today, even though it's supposed to be done overnight. You needed shaving cream? Hah! You'll never know where to look for it now! Maybe it's in a pile on the floor. Or heaped in a cart. Oh and you're in OUR way, sir.

"Thanks, Bidenomics!"

(I actually heard someone say this in Whole Foods. Isn't Jeff Bezos one of the wealthiest people on the planet? Yet somehow it's all Joe's fault that they're at the pricey store getting gouged.)

R47 I'm them guy who avoids the corn aisle.

I'm the stock person you're dancing with trying to find the right flavor and size product while I'm stocking beneath your gaze.

I'm the bag of cilantro the surly checkout gal holds up and sez: "Whut is this, parsley?"

I'm the special needs worker bagging your groceries. I'm one of the hardest workers in the place. And I am courteous and focused.

I'm the distraught-looking customer exiting the store with way too many individual items to carry. I actually look like I just looted the store. Its because, in principal, I refuse to pay for a bag, no matter how insignificant the cost is in relation to looking like a cheap-assed fool walking down the street.

I'm the onion left in the freezer. Or the abandoned cart full of chilled items.

“Hold on. I think I have the exact change. 77, 78, 79….”

R81 Where are you? That would be more entertaining than the dead people I see in Walmart.

I'm the container in the doorway marked clearly that it is only for plastic bag recycling. I am full of trash.

I'm the nosey cunt freaking out because the person in front of me using food stamps.

I'm the Chlorox wipes holder at the store entrance. I ran out of wipes in 2021 and they haven't refilled me yet.

Getting raped in the restroom

I am the impatient man in line with nothing but a bottle of Thunderbird to buy. I think it is a violation of natural law that there is anyone in line in front of me, as I'm in a hurry to go home and fuck my girlfriend/boyfriend/dog/all three, and give an exasperated sigh when the checker delays things by asking the previous customer if she'd like to buy a ticket for next week's Fire Dept. raffle.

I'm the guy who buys a bottle of vodka and a pack of painkillers first thing in the morning.

I'm the hot Latino guy working produce. We Hispanic guys know are fruits and vegetables. I don't interact with any of the other employees in the store. This is my domain, and I'm in charge. And don't come in here and start rearranging my bananas.

I’m toilet tissue

I'm waiting at the checkouts as some idiot is not prepared and only after their groceries are checked and packed, then and only then do they decide to look for their fucking wallet! You should have had that sorted as you waited to be checked out. Another 3 minutes of my life wasted by an idiot.

I’m the cute young guy stocking one of the aisles with a quiet, masculine confidence. You’re unsure of my age and whether it’s appropriate to be checking me out.

You think you might have spotted a tattoo which would indicate I’m over 18. You’ll swing around the aisle one more time to double check.

I'm the previous customer's shopping list left in the empty cart.

I'm the empty number machine at the deli.

I'm the Coinstar, coin exchange kiosk at the front of the store. I take 11.9% now!

And if I look dirty, it's because I am!

[quote] Getting raped in the restroom

This thread took a turn...

I’m the shelf full of indoor plants. People look at me and think about buying a snake plant once and a while, but never end up putting one in their cart.

I’m the no fee change machine, I’ve been out of order since late 2022.

I’m the no fee ATM which charges $4.00 per transaction.

I am the second bag the bagger automatically uses to reinforce the first bag, now that, as R9 points out, paper bags aren't as strong as they used to be.

I'm the cake decorator in the bakery. Trust me, you don't want me to decorate anything.

I'm the 20 minutes until the rotisserie chickens are done but also done is the rest of your shopping, so now what?

I'm the cart you get mad at because I'm missing that plastic flap that prevents items from falling out of the top tier.

I'm the Cashier Shift Change just waiting for you.

I'm that Check-out Last Question: "Round Up?" "Agree with Total?" "Add to Total for Charity?"

I’m the couple who just moved out together, slowly walking while holding hands and giggling as they compare their tinned food choices, oblivious to the traffic jam behind them in aisle 5.

I'm the dirty Pamper found in the carriage.

I'm every cashier at Trader Joe's who asks you if you already checked the eggs in the carton.

I'm the teenage clerk that asks you for an ID because you are buying Barritt's Ginger Beer ...

I'm the magazines everyone reads - but no one buys - in the checkout line.

I am the basic last minute shopper. I came just before the store closed and grabbed that item I now have discovered I am risking my life for as I walk out of the empty store to a darkly lit parking lot with my car sitting alone where I parked forgetting I'm in a dangerous neighborhood. I am now wondering if anyone sees me as my foot steps echo while crossing the parking lot to my car...

We're the markers made out of duct tape that were put on the floor during COVID to show how far apart you should be while standing in line. Some of us are starting to be rubbed off, while others are still hanging on for dear life!

I'm the Thomas' bread salesman in the bread aisle, stocking up on Thomas' bread inventory ; English muffins, Bagels and Swirl bread. I'm warning you: don't make eye contact with me.

Don't ask me where you can find McCormick spices, don't ask me where you can find the Dunkin' coffee, don't ask me where you can find the Starkist Tuna...don't ask me anything. I work for Thomas', not the store. If you interrupt me for any question other than Thomas' products, I promise you - it won't be pretty.

I'm Oprah! My face is on at least one of the magazines at the checkout. I'm thin and you should aspire to be me.

I'm the store manager. I have no say on anything but I still get the complaints from both, corporate and the staff. Nobody prepared me with people skills. I never learned how to interact with staff. I only know that Smuckers preserves need to be on the second shelf from the top, not the third. At least I don't get the customers' complaints because you'll hardly see me on the floor.

I'm the surly teenaged deli counter employee. I know I'm getting fired, so I jizzed in the potato salad.

I'm the transplant to the northeast and contrary to R42's experience, I really do say excuse me to everyone whose path crosses mine, even if I'm not in the wrong. Yes I'm overcompensating but someone has to teach these Yankees manners.

I’m that cheesecake. Yes. THAT cheesecake. You know you’ll buy me, I know you’ll buy me, and every time you come in here you act like you’ve never eaten anything remotely like me and couldn’t be less interested.

Why don’t you just drop the pretense, grab me, remove my cover in the car, and eat me whole before you get halfway home? You know you want to.

I'm the "It's Wine O'clock!" bleach blonde skank with two bottles of Stella Rosa Rosé (aka alcopop) at the fucking self checkout huffing and tapping my toes while loudly complaining that "this machine doesn't work." (Then some dumb store employee overrides the machine so I can buy alcohol at the self checkout despite the numerous signs that say one cannot do that.) I'll be back and do the exact same thing in two days' time because I am special.

I’m the exhausted teenaged mom, whose face looks closer to 30, with Dirty Q-tip dyed hair and baby puke covered sweatpants, schlumping along miserably to the diaper aisle.

I am Mein Selbstbedienungskasse Kampf

I'm the avoidance of self-checkout.

I’m romaine lettuce. If you want me naked, you have to pay organic prices. Otherwise, take your skank ass over to the mushy bagged salads and see if I’m included with the Southwestern or Caesar.

I'm that package of discolored ground beef that no one's going to buy.

I'm waiting for the butcher to take me to the back room and make some store-made meatballs out of me or something.

'Butcher'. Ha. You have no clue how supermarkets work. That shit will just be thrown out.

OK then. I'm the garbage-eaters. The people digging in the dumpsters. There was even a cult called that.

I'm the employee who's stacking the shelves and gives all customers an angry look when they want to get near the same shelf.

Moving out of the way temporarily to allow the customer to get what they need is too big of an ask.

I'm the employee who really is not paid enough to kowtow to the prisspot gay who is angry at me for not immediately moving.

I'm the "store" bakery aisle in the low-priced or mid-market supermarket chain. I'm overlooking with hundreds of colourful moist-looking fresh tempting cakes, pastries, cookies, muffins, etc, all probably somewhat tasty, all baked with the cruddiest possible industrial ingredients that can still manage to be palatable.

[quote]all baked with the cruddiest possible industrial ingredients that can still manage to be palatable.

I hope you never eat out because it's even worse in restaurants aside from the top dollar ones. They buy the cheapest ingredients and ply dishes with salt, fat and carbs. A cardiologist told me that he always asks patients how often they eat out...

I'm one of the freezer fillers who wears a fur-lined jacket and gloves, and is sneezing.

I’m the gunshots and victims.

I'm the cashier at the checkout, who mindlessly sends your merchandise down the conveyer belt with little thought to the building pile causing a backup. She will make no effort to help you pack the bags, even after she's finished ringing everything up!

I am my cook's assistant returning from the butcher with four fine Long Island ducks to hang for a dinner party early next week.

I’m the pilled out housefrau taking phone calls and blocking all entry points and walkways with my cart wherever I go. I’ll think about moving it out of your way but you have to say excuse me at least three times.

I’m the highly advertised “love it or your money back” policy.

No employee follows this.

I'm the group of three overweight / menopausal fraus who decide to converge with their carriages in the "Breads and Bakery" aisle, and explain to each other why they all left Weight Watchers. They are totally oblivious that they're blocking the aisle for other shoppers, and don't really care. The 'too strict rules' of WW is why they left.

We're the Valentine's Day products in the seasonal aisle on 12/26/23.

I'm the old dear insisting on paying in cents, and I am in no rush at all, even though I know it's lunchtime, people are in a rush, and I could have picked any other moment of the day to go to the supermarket.

I'm the obese customer who rides around in the motorized scooter / shopping cart , thinking I'm ten years old again playing 'bumper cars'. I get away with everything in this thing because people think I'm handicap and obese. Don't you dare give me the raised eyebrow, because I'll cause such a scene, you'll never grocery shop in this town again.

I'm the "fresh" berries display. Some of the cartons of strawberries are moldy. The blueberries have been frozen and defrosted, and are tough as leather. They're all mostly tasteless anyway.

I’m the 70 varieties of whole grain bread available when you just want Rye

I'm all the professionally printed signage in the produce and bakery departments, though I try to give off the appearance of being scribbled on a 'chalkboard', for that 'old town' grocer's look. Look closer and you shall see no chalk or chalkboards were involved.

John Waters needs to make one last film, and it needs to be about a trashy supermarket and its cow customers.

I'm R152, and I don't comprehend how "Let's be" threads work.

I'm the aging gay guy, loitering in the fresh produce section, convinced he'll finally meet his life partner in a spontaneous and wholesome way today.

[quote]I’m the pilled out housefrau taking phone calls and blocking all entry points and walkways with my cart wherever I go. I’ll think about moving it out of your way but you have to say excuse me at least three times.

Next time, try the Datalounge-approved, "Move it along, Toots!"

R153 Let's be your balls. They're as dusty and overlooked as a case of Canada Dry Tonic Water.

R155 Or my preferred "Shift it, sister! This ain't Calcutta!"

I'm the music of Natalie Merchant playing while you pick out oranges in the produce section.

I'm in the south, so it is contemporary Christian music being played!

I'm powdered Purex, used for product placement in "The Stepford Wives" remake.

No, it's not realistic that such wealthy Connecticut fraus would cheap out on their laundry detergent, but who's going to care?

I’m the unassuming, slow old man with a cane. I ask young high school boys if they can please help me reach small items on the very top shelf. When they do, I get a gander at their firm buttocks and ample loins inside their tight dungarees.

I can do this for hours. I’ll be back tomorrow!

I'm 161, and my trips to Price Chopper are the reason DL gets quiet every day at the same time.

I’m the oh-so-together smartypants who has been using the same self-checkout kiosk in the same store since the day they were installed. I’ve got this whole machine down to a science! I can scan, bag, and pay for my groceries in almost two minutes flat. You’ve never seen hands move so fast! I grab my receipt out of the machine right as it’s printing and whizz right out the automatic door with a smile on my face and my head held high, and yes I hope you all were watching! I can’t believe you dummies can’t figure out this machine, like me. Because I’m smart.

I'm hits from the 80s being played over the in-store MuZak.

It used to be songs from your parents' generation.

Now you know you're old, don't you?

I’m Publix and I’m so expensive now, that Whole Foods is cheaper.

Food Circus

I’m the obnoxious mist hoses above the chilled produce racks that go off without warning all over your hair and glasses. Hope you like your bushel of fresh parsley sopping wet as you try to squeakily wrangle it into a plastic bag as it, and the bag, rip to shreds. Then you try to find somewhere to dry your hands. Progress!

I’m the sticky handle of the cart that you picked that gets your shopping experience off to a bad start.

Corn, r87? CORN??? Why must you taunt me!

I'm a canned good with a dent.

Is anyone going to buy me and take me home?

I don't want to end up at some food bank.

I'm the sad display of discontinued and expired items for a dollar at the back of the store by the employees only entrance.

I'm the empty wrapper from a food item that someone ate while they were pretending to shop in the store.

I'm four aisles over from my original home.

I never thought my life would feel so trashy.

I’m the happy old guy with a stroller who does not shop aisles in any order. I smile and say, “Hi” to everyone. I’m going roll along until there are four people behind me and then I’m going to stop, back up, turn the stroller around, and fuck up flow.

I said, “Hi!”, and I’m happy and none of you young fucks are going to hassle me about it. I’m hopefully going to boost wine.

I'm the happy and enticing sale notification on the shelf proudly announcing "3 for $5" with tiny print admitting "must buy 3 for sale price." Don't get me started on "7 for $7" (same conditions).

I'm the lifelong sense of apprehension and dread whenever I see the doors to the receiving and inventory storage areas. I already can hardly walk past the meat section in the store with all the butchered raw cold carcasses on display. Lord knows what kind of slight of hand goes on in those back areas!

[quote]I'm 161

But you don't look a day over 120!

I am three feet of stanchions and velv-ish ropes at the wine sampling area.

Security to Zone 4, security to Zone 4

I'm the filthy conveyor belt at the check-out that's also not working.

Just keep pushing your groceries down through that sticky gunk!

I'm the Mommy of the toddler at the checkout line. I'm negotiating with little Braeydon, who is overwhelmed by all of the candy options. I ask him repeatedly what he wants and he throws a tantrum. We're oblivious to the other people in line behind us.

We are the 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘈𝘤𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘴 protesting the closing of our last local grocery store. The company suggests it's because our community has been shoplifting the hell out of it but we know it is closing only because Jews hate us.

We demand the store be forced to remain open and a new department be added for Air Jordans.

Forgive the slightly-off-topic memory: When I was younger we were stuck with some less-than-welcome long-term houseguests from Argentina. They loved to got the grocery store every Saturday with my mother and me, but they created havoc by stopping unexpectedly and standing in the middle of the aisle to gawk at something or to simply have a conversation. Nary a week went by without an embarrassing traffic jam. They finally went home, but thereafter whenever anyone was being inconsiderate in the grocery store my mother would hum "Don't Cry For Me, Argentina."

It's my mom's birthday this week. She should be turning 82, but she died at 60 from cancer. OP, you inadvertently recalled a fond memory -thank you. :)

R182, 🤗. Your Mom's humming would have cracked me up!

I am the plastic wrapped container of bottled water that can't be moved from on top of or below or beside its companions.....struggle, people, it's fun to watch.

I'm a rack full of Soap Opera Digests from last summer.

I'm the "Schvoogie Buzzer" the former manager of the Safeway at R181 installed before he was forced into retirement. The buzzer goes directly to the stockroom, and is used to summon help up front.

One buzz means "One person needs to come help."

Two buzzes means "All of you need to come help."

Three buzzes means "Run out the back and call 911!"

Grandpa Irving only buzzed me when Black people would enter the store.

I'm the small assortment of overpriced condoms sitting next to the feminine hygiene products. WTF.

I'm the unsold Magnum condoms in the Asian supermarket.

Cruel r188, cruel. :)

Stupid because many Caribbeans shop in Asian markets.

I’m that three foot gap in the checkout line so that shoppers can pass as they go about their business.

I cause anxiety; some dipshit may use it to cut in line. Then the cuttee must be the bigger person who sighs a lot or the jerk who calls out the dipshit.

I'm the dairy case. Grocery workers use me as the designated fart locker, on account of the positive pressure that blows a gust of air onto anyone who opens the glass door.

I’m the insane woman who insisted that I intentionally rammed my cart into her legs and the apparent stranger who insisted that he saw me do it.

(I bumped into her (barely) by accident. She was ambling in the store’s long exit lane.)

We’re the only black people in a 100 mile radius of this very white town.

We will yack loudly on our speakerphone the entire time we shop, bring a pit bull on a leash, enter through the Exit Only doors and leave our empty cart next to the exit, blocking anyone from leaving.

R194 must really hate The Blacks. How sad.

r194 is oddly specific (and a tad racist).

Well, he does live somewhere there aren’t any Black people.

The truth is bigoted. Stop the truth.

[quote] Well, he does live somewhere there aren’t any Black people.

Chappaqua, New York?

Well this thread is imploding in classic DL fashion.

I'm the two black women who somehow manage to obstruct the aisle so effectively that the shoppers end up lined out the door trying to get in.

Oh, I'm sorry.

I thought this was the RACIST TRUTHS thread.

R200 I'd ask if I could have its stuff, but I have so little use for a farted-up caftan and a freezer full of Lean Cuisine.

I'm the memory of COVID mania when stores would only let 10 people in at a time, and other protective measures.

I'm a black person in the grocery store. Apparently this is a noticeable even shocking and destabilizing experience for some Dataloungers.

I get the bad cart Every Single Time.

I'm the very gay cashier who slightly flirts with you

I'm the obese mother of four who complains about hoe expensive everything is, but continues to buy junk food that is $5 a box.

You got destabilizing and shocking from that R205? I know gays like to dramatize and embellish but even the frauiest frau wouldn’t exaggerate to that degree.

I’m the chubby homosexualist cashier who insists on singing for each customer. I’m really bad at it, but I was the only boy on the Flag Corps, so I know I’m a star.

I act like this is American Idol, but I’m really just reinforcing Middle America’s hatred of sissies like me.

I'm the teenagers in pajama pants yelling and screaming as we decide how to spend our collective ten dollars on chips and candy

I'm the lack of eye contact and avoidance of human interaction by the employees under the age of 40 at Whole Foods.

I’m the middle-aged gay man buying a fresh cucumber. Took me a while to find the right one. But I’m also buying a head of lettuce, tomato, red onion and some croutons, see? Because I’m making a salad. Really.

If it wasn't a salad, he'd have been buying an English cucumber, though.

I’m the horn of plenty

I'm the S&H Green Stamps dispenser.

I’m the produce when you decide to go during the evening on a weekend that looks like it was set upon by a pack of wild animals.

I’m Spanish Dinnah. Some ancient crone in white gloves is going to come in tomorrow buying all the ingredients to make me. And she’ll buy some Pepsi-Cola too, for obvious reasons.

I’m the camera man right outside the automatic doors filming a commercial for Cheese Pleeze.

“Just look right into the camera and say it tastes like real cheddar cheese!”

R219, it tastes like shit.

I’m the two charity workers with a table right outside the doors, trying to corner everyone who enters and exits. We make people wish assault was legal.

We're the fake shoppers coming out of the Ralphs in Glendale, California with pre-loaded shopping carts playing our part in the Food Network's Supermarket Stakeout. Boy that Alex Guarnaschelli sure has a big butt!

I'm the divorced dad of one of your most hated high school classmates. I have a red nose, a loud laugh, and an arrest record as long as your arm. But you won't figure that out until later. You bag my groceries every weekend, and hope I don't bring my insufferably weird son in to force small talk with you.

After a few weeks, you realize I buy more cheap beer than food, and it explains why I'm divorced and why my weirdo son sulks around like an emerging school shooter.

I’m in the shortest line at the grocery store yesterday morning with only one shopper in front of me, a sweet-looking, chubby little old lady of about 80 almost as wide as she is high. She looks like any senior citizen on a limited income unloading her cart.

Until help arrives. “Help” in this case being a muscular 29-30 year old Hispanic guy in jeans and a ball cap who appears to light up when he sees her and jumps in to help bag and stow her groceries after she gets a big hug and a kiss from him, she pays, and they leave together with him pushing the cart and hugging her.

She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t well dressed, her hair wasn’t done and I don’t think Mr Hotty is her grandson. But she looked like she had a great time shopping.

Such relatable experiences, R223 R224

I'm the old guy who doesn't see many people, so I view the supermarket as my sole opportunity for socialising. I'll shop every day, despite not really needing anything some days, and will go out of my way to engage staff and other shoppers in noisy/pointless conversation, usually with bad jokes thrown in for good measure.

If I was less annoying, I'd be endearing, but sadly that hasn't occurred to me.

I'm the smoked ham and Swiss cheese croissant pockets that are like crack cocaine to you. You know you can't buy them. You know you will eat the entire fucking box in two days. As you see them in the freezer section, your willpower disappears and you throw the box in your cart. Damn you smoked ham and Swiss cheese croissant pockets, I just can't quit you! You are too delicious!

[quote]I'm the boor at the Deli Counter holding up the line because he has to "sample" the cold cuts and cheeses he ordered before he gives final approval to go ahead and start slicing.

These people should be shot.

I'm the pick-your-ethnicity herd family (mom, dad, grandma, grandpa, four kids and perhaps a niece or nephew or three) that approaches grocery shopping like pack animals in an unfamiliar wilderness. Each item is taken off the shelf, carefully inspected, discussed as to whether or not it should be purchased and then either placed in the cart or back on the shelf. Then we move on to the next item, with wide-eyed trepidation.

As we do this, we block all of the other shoppers in the aisle.

We're the other shoppers being blocked from moving in the aisle because of the pick-your-ethnicity herd family. We think horrible, awful, terrible thoughts about them and feel guilty about it. We're not prejudiced, we swear we're not.

But JFC COME ON! Move your asses and get out of our way FFS!

I'm R226 and after I've returned from my outing to the store, I will fix myself a nice cup of Sanka, log on to DL, and start a thread about how much I hate self checkouts. It will be very popular.

I'm the self-check-out stands I religiously avoid when shopping

R232 Enjoy standing in line behind the other cave creatures. Moron.

I'm the ridiculous blue laws still in effect in CT and NY that prohibit wine and liquor from being sold in grocery stores. It's so uncivilized and idiotic.

I can only buy beer in a grocery store in these states? I'm not white trash godammit!

I'm the senior citizen "box boy."

I may be a grumpy old man, but at least I don't put canned goods on top of your bread.

And I could give a shit if you say, "Thank you."

I'm the customer who conveniently forgets the items under the cart until the cashier helpfully points them out.

I'm the item that is reduced but doesn't scan on the self-checkout and that gives you the momentary thought of stealing rather than waiting for a staff member to scan for you.

I'm the free floor show entertainment for the people waiting in line

I'm the best routine about a grocery store ever!

I'm the seeming shopper who slinks along the aisles, mysteriously whispering the prices of selected items into a cellphone. Am I talking to a spouse at another market who is comparing prices? Am I a competitor checking on things for the home office? Am I a representative from one of the mega food corporations on the phone with the legal department at corporation HQ, seeing if some contractual minutiae are being violated? Nobody knows. Nobody asks. I am a Man of Mystery.

I’m the woman in a large wide brimmed hat who goes off about the new sex education program in the checkout. “Did you know that babies masturbate?!?!” I scream.

I’ll be outside, sitting on a bench and muttering to myself a few minutes later.

I don’t even have a bag so nobody knows why I was in the store to begin with.

Ha!

Having laser holes drilled into the back of my head from the dude behind me in line who is intentionally invading my personal space to rouse a reaction out of me which may or not happen depending on my mood at that very moment.

I'm the Security Guard.

Thank god for cell phones, because this job is BORING!

I'm the self-checkout at my local Weis store. I announce to everyone what you just scanned. "Please remove your WHITE ONION and place it in the bagging area." I also think your ass moves too slow. How many times do I have to tell you WHERE your change is dispensed, to REMOVE it, and REMEMBER to take your items and receipt?! What is taking so long, lard ass! Move it!!

We're the walkie-talkies the staff used during the height of COVID restrictions. Lots of Roger's and Copy That were spoken.

I'm the nickel that never actually gets put in the box attached to the Brach's cany shop.

*candy

I'm the lady in line right in front of you who looks and smells like she hasn't taken a shower or washed her clothes since the Clinton Administration. You are breathing through your mouth and trying not to be sick from the funk emanating off of her.

I am the mother who home schools her three kids but I dragged their asses out of bed to go shopping with bed hair, school work can be done when I get around to it. It isn't like it is all that important.

I’m the bagels in the bakery section outside of New York/ New Jersey. We sit in plastic containers separated by type and we are never, ever fresh.

I'm a Florida grocery store. At least once in my life a naked person will go on a meth-feuled rampage, throwing produce and knocking over displays. Sometimes they take a shit in the frozen foods aisle.

I. Want some CANDY!

I'm the Time Machine R247 takes to shop in 1980s supermarkets.

We're the frenetic team of workers in Trader Joe's restocking and rearranging products and clogging every aisle as you're trying to shop.

I'm the evil kitten who made everyone's life miserable so they took me to the store and dropped me and ran like hell. Yes I'm cute. Then some well meaning, tender heart will "rescue me" and take me home and name me Agatha and I will make the entire family miserable for 20 years.

I’m the kid selling candy bars for school at the front door.

I’m the Prime sale signs at Whole Foods that make an item regulär priced rather than cheap. You only get me if you subscribe.

R105 absolute treasures