Picking your choice of chicken is simply horrific. Slick slabs of meat, wrapped in a clear and air-tight plastic skin...yes, that it what I want to see...my chicken swimming in a pink mucusy liquid. If I walked up to some bird on the street and lopped its wing off (not that I would), I am quite sure I would never see something with the color or consistency in which poultry is packaged.
The dusty fruits are all the more scrumptious being as how every person in the city has found the need to poke and push or, in one way or another, molest something I thought sounded good at one time. I wonder how many people picked their nose or scratched their hole and then said, "Hey, how fresh is this tomato? Let me see..."
It's almost as disturbing as being in a restaurant and wondering how many other people used that same fork to eat with....hmmm.
But back to grocery stores...
Heaven forbid you have to pee...I am guessing people savor the idea of holding it all week so they can take one toilet bowl smearing dump during a shopping trip. I always walk in after a person, either shit out a dead cat or Satan himself chose to sit on the throne, because the smell is horrendous. It doesn't matter what store I go in...the smell...dear lord, the smell! What do people eat that creates such terrifying excrement? Coal? Plutonium?
I am quite sure it takes several days off my life each time I use a grocery store's bathroom.
Today, I was blessed with having a child sneeze on my leg. Yep, my knee got pasted with spittle and snot from some little bastard as I waited to reach for my Raisin Bran. It wasn't one of those quiet and polite ha-choo's. It was an all out blast. A snot shooter...the breed that would have sent crap flying across the room and you need to time to recover from. Good thing I was there to stop it or else some old lady might have fallen from the slicked floor.
My body quivered with equal amounts of anger and repulsion.
"Sorry," said the mother, once she felt the heat of my stare.
Really? Sorry? That's all I get? How about I spit in your ear? Or vomit on your child's head? I need to disinfect my leg and you are sorry...whatever.
If I were a Catholic priest, I'd have had the youngster clean it off. Instead, I shook my head and slowly walked to the bathroom...I could already smell what was waiting for me.
Oh, I how I hate grocery stores.
