MySpace a place for friends

Nothing turns acceptably intelligible people, en masse, anaplastic, like food shopping. Standing seemingly exclusively in gangways becomes the accepted norm, and precursory auto-lessons are doled out to children via trolleys, by otherwise responsible parents. Any persons of the non-full-shop variety are operating at a speed far enhanced in comparison with their full-shop counterparts, and are realistically going to find themselves constantly gotten in the way of. ‘Why is your fuck parent,’ or ‘Why are your fuck parents, allowing you to blithely career into my general vicinity?’ seems an acceptable question to ask a clinically-obese-parented, slavering, cake-isle-worshipping child. Employees opine the situation markedly, with ennui-ridden, dead eyed faces, and automaton pleasance. People converse exclusively where products that you need are situated, and offer unabashed (yet silent, aside from tut) contempt, at the inconvenience of being asked to vacate their Special-K™ location. Remembering that this is a Sunday, to even the most inculcated atheist’s reasoning, is an adamantine cross-examining of the whole day of rest thing. Paradoxically though, the generally-a-woman supervisor goose-steps up and down the checkouts with chutzpah indicative of incipient divinity. Orders are not so much barked at the sally of teenage exploited, as growled, via bureaucratic guidelines and the observance of aforementioned automaton necessity. There could always be that doting parental unit for instance, queuing at checkout-of-choice, and not even the hard-nosed, resilient to apparently everything, bit-of-a-see-you-next-Tuesday-if-staff-room-demeanor-is-to-be-observed supervisor, wants to be castigated in any capacity during the Sunday malaise that is any supermarket, anywhere in the westernized world, that is open. Something that often punctuates this self-inflicted throe of Abaddon is the bumping into, of someone that you know. This needs to be set apart from bumping into someone you like/bumping into a friend/friends, as the latter would act as some kind of solace, whereby banter in relation to the wasted human abattoir that you are co-inhabiting, at the behest of societal norm, could ensure at least some level of recompense. An ‘Anyway I’ve got to shoot.’ is instigated by some inherently selfish person’s interjection, who wants to (‘can I just’) grab a packet of tampons.