“When women are depressed, they eat or go shopping. Men invade another country. It’s a whole different way of thinking.” Elayne Boosler
When I am waiting in line somewhere and when a customer ahead of me starts to chew the fat with the checkout girl, my tachometer starts to rev up alarmingly.
There is a time and a place for everything, and tying up shopping traffic during business hours is neither the time nor the place.
When it is time to pay, pull out your plastic and get out of the #@&*% way.
If a truck gets stuck on a bridge and prevents a convoy from going through, many people would favor kicking the damn thing overboard.
The same thing applies to a gabby customer.
I can picture a giant robotic hand coming out of the celling, picking up the flibbertigibbet (excessively talkative person) and dumping her (men are usually not as verbose) somewhere far from the madding crowd.
Or (I am an accommodating fellow) I could picture three different checkout stations.
The first one would be for plodding customers.
The second one would be for “run of the mill” shoppers.
And the last one would be for no nonsense buyers.
And there would be signs identifying each station.
The first sign would say: Plodders. Take your time; tell me about your family.
The second sign would say: Cruisers: Will it be cash, debit or credit?
And the last one would say: Bruisers: Apple Pay, move it, move it.
Women don’t shop because they need something; they shop for the sake of shopping.
For most men shopping is a chore, and we want to expedite that job as quickly as possible.
Personally, (j’aime joindre l’utile a l’agréable) I like to shop from the comfort of my toilet seat.
So ladies, when you are dream walking in a store keep in mind that “one woman’s joy is another man’s sorrow.”
At the cash register, please keep it snappy!
Alain