Heather Christena Schmidt

The following is an open letter to that annoying bitch that is always at the grocery store when I am there.  She occasionally is old, sometimes young; she always pisses me off.  If you are her, please take note.

Dear Grocery Store Lady,

Our unfortunate acquaintance began each time you cut me off while I was politely waiting for that big S.U.V. to pull out of the parking spot I intended on pulling in to.  Flipping me off and acting as if you were entitled to the spot was probably unnecessary.  I noticed you had one of those ‘Coexist’ stickers on the back of your station wagon, which is ironic given the fact that you clearly have no idea how to coexist with anyone.

It never fails that when I then park about three blocks from the grocery store, in the only other space available, and make my way into the store trying to forget you, you make this impossible for me.  As I walk into the store, you are always blocking the entire doorway with your cart as you read through the sale ads and tear coupons from the ad, as you clearly lack the forethought to do this at home before coming in.  Ma’am, some of us do have places we need to be.  If you could get your big, coupon-clipping ass out of the way, we would all greatly appreciate it.

Then there was that time I was in the cereal aisle, deciding what cereals I wanted to pick for the week and you smashed your cart into me, ripping the skin from my ankle.  One time you actually pushed me.  I know there is only a short period in which the free samples of Jimmy Dean’s newest chocolate chip ‘Pancakes and Sausage on a stick’ will be available for sampling in the meat department, but if you could please stop abusing me while I shop I would greatly appreciate it.  Or, you could at least say you are sorry (which you never have).

I really enjoy standing in line, hearing you ramble on and on, and on, about Uncle Tim’s hemorrhoid flare up, and how everyone thinks your daughter is going to be discovered by a modeling agency any day now, but if you could keep your loud, stupid, and obnoxious cellular phone conversations out of the grocery store, we would all appreciate it.

…. and on the note of standing in line, ma’am, “15 Items Or Less” does not mean 15 categories.  Doughnuts, pound cake, Oreo cookies, and double-chocolate fudge brownies do not count as one item, just because they all fall under the “things that attach themselves to your ass” category.  Please be a little more considerate of those of us that actually only have fifteen items.

That about sums up our relationship, dearest Grocery Store Lady.  Contrary to your wholly egotistical viewpoint, you are not entitled to my parking place, nor are you the only person trying to wedge their way through the door.  Common courtesy does exist, even in the universe which revolves itself around you.  And no matter how you try and sweet talk your way into it, your 143 items really don’t belong in the Express Lane.  I hope your doughnuts and Oreo cookies, and your Jimmy Dean’s chocolate chip ‘Pancakes and Sausage on a stick,’ really do attach themselves to your ass.

Sincerely,

Fellow Shopper