Have you ever noticed that every time you decide to “quickly” run into a store, it somehow turns into a full-blown expedition? I’m talking about the kind of adventure where you go in for a loaf of bread and end up leaving with three houseplants, a new set of towels, and a slightly existential crisis over the number of snack options available. I swear, grocery stores have this magical ability to make you question your life choices while also convincing you that you absolutely need a blender with 12 settings.
The worst part? The self-checkout. It’s like they handed over the responsibility of the entire store to someone with no qualifications: me. Suddenly, I’m a cashier, a bagger, and a part-time therapist for the machine that keeps screaming "unexpected item in the bagging area." Lady, I am the unexpected item in the bagging area. I always feel like I’m one awkward beep away from setting off some kind of store-wide alarm.
Then there’s the shopping cart. Why does at least one wheel always seem to have a secret desire to go rogue? You think you're in control, steering down the aisles like a responsible adult, but no. That one rebellious wheel has other plans, dragging you into the canned goods aisle when all you wanted was a gallon of milk. And don’t even get me started on the people who park their carts diagonally in the aisle like they’re trying to perform some kind of vehicular ballet.
By the time you finally escape with your “essentials” (read: unnecessary items you’re now financially committed to), you feel like you’ve survived an obstacle course, minus the prize at the end. Except, of course, for that bread. The bread you forgot to grab because you were too busy wrestling your cart back into submission.
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