Excercise Ten

I just wrote this for fiction class, I think you'll enjoy it.

There’s nothing I hate more than shopping. So logically that’s why I’m here. I hate shopping on the weekends it’s always too busy and the worse of it all is the fact everybody is in such a rush to get nowhere fast. The sullen face on the checker doesn’t help my experience either. My cart is filled with a cornucopia of vegetables, most of which the average American wouldn’t possibly know the identity of. They all sit in plastic bags with the obligatory green printed logo with fruits and vegetables running a race. There are at least five instances of the word fresh on the bag. Which I guess did apply, but it did so in an annoying fashion.
I carefully placed the items in such a way the bagger could easily group the items based on either their temperature or their crushability. The checker seems to be lost now and trying to call for help on the intercom. Just my luck I get a kid that has no idea what he’s doing.
I scan through the candy rack and the guy in front of me has a gaggle of children with him all screaming for some of the sugary and nutritionally deprived foodstuff. The balding and graying man of course is more interested in poking fun at the tabloids. “Alien Attack! Elvis saves us at the last minute!” Of course, everyone knows its junk, the only reason people buy those is to make fun of them. Of course that, in turn, only ensures that the false publication stays in print.
Trying to drown out the nagging of the little kids, I try to take in the sights. Hopefully something will help sooth my irritation. There’s the pile of the man’s food. Wow, all junk. Potato chips, cheese puffs, frozen pizza, and popsicles are what contents of his order. Then there’s the dividing stick. I wonder where they manufacture those things. It seems every grocery store I’ve ever been to in my whole life has the same exact rubber stick. Its black and its worn down edges ensure curious children don’t gouge their eyes out. Well, I’m thankful the man actually used them. Somehow most people assume the cashier is psychic and knows which items belong to whom.
It looks like the kid on the register is still calling out for help. The management behind the desk seems to be chatting among themselves and laughing, ignorant of the plight and the lifeblood of their whole business, the customer. I get more irritated. It’s not like I want to stand here in line all day. Far from it! I’m getting nowhere fast while the poor cashier is hitting buttons frantically hoping one will do what he wants it to do.
In front of the store are a bunch of machines. Populating this area of the store is the store-brand pop machine, a gumball machine, the scratch off lottery machine, and a DVD rental machine. All of which have the required child frantically pounding on the buttons hoping to hit some secret sequence for free stuff. Where are these parents?
Then it dawns on me. Of all the people in the store, it’s only the children that seem to be enjoying themselves. Even though it is annoying to the rest of the population, they are having the time of their lives. It just comes to show life is in the hands of the beholder. I guess a trip to the grocery store isn’t all that bad. Almost.

Ciao 'Corpsters