Sometimes I wonder what people are thinking…

They stand in supermarket lines with this glazed over look that says “I’ve been stuck in my miserable workplace work for eight monotonous hours, and now I’m here in this godforsaken food line waiting to cash my overtaxed-underfunded paycheck so I can overpay for my slightly-organic-but-not-really-organic-because-companies-fucking-lie vegetables and this thirty-two ounce bottle of fermented escapism which will leave me dry-tongued and dehydrated in a way that your average alcoholic would drink to.”  Their robotic loading of the conveyor belt with the plastic stick-thing that separates their dinner from other people’s dinner, set authoritatively upon the counter, and the perfunctory placement of various foodstuffs such that the glassy-eyed checker, with the breath that proves Tic-Tacs have an expiration date, can methodically move them through the line with the least possible hindrance.  The down-turned lip and anticipatory stare as they watch the ascending numbers on the digital screen, performing some cranial computation about how many hours of work it’ll take to pay off this week’s meal plan and wondering whether a brief hunger strike or dietary change might offer some relief.  The slow slide of the ATM card through the electronic terminal followed by the quick leftward glance at the bleary-eyed post-work sufferer in line behind them as they wonder whether this innocent looking bastard is surreptitiously stealing their password and is planning on battering them over the head with a baseball bat somewhere south of parking structure level three.  The Rewards Card decision, knowing it won’t save them squat but running it through the machine anyway because it’s too hard to explain that they haven’t purchased anything of real value.  The frustrating pull to the right of that ridiculously designed grocery cart wheel that makes them appear drunk or very uncoordinated in a way that your average alcoholic would toast to, again.  The unloading into their backseat of paper bags that are completely inappropriate for weighty glass items that will inevitably spill all over their car and make them repeat this grocery story trip over and over for years on end until they decide that hunters and gatherers probably had it right and maybe this whole convenience thing is a complete farce and perhaps, just maybe, it’s time to plant a fucking fruit tree and buy some chickens and get on with life.

…And sometimes, I just think for myself.

By ccxander

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