Supermarket's (Missing) Sweep

I came home today, on a Mother's Day visit, only to find I was home in time to help my dad with the weekly shop. Oh the joys.

I dread helping my parents with this. Not because I'm a lazy c*nt who only gets forced into doing my own weekly shop when I have run out of absolutely everything and begin eyeing up my flatmates' food and promising them in my head that whatever I take I shall replace immediately...no sir. I detest helping out the folks because I used to work at the local supermarket and my experiences there still terrify me.

Correction: it is the people who still work there that terrify me. I used to be a Pharmacy Assistant and it was my first ever job. I hated every minute of it. It was the first time that I was ever bullied at work and for some reason, that went on to be a common theme with all the jobs I've had and plus it was so soul destroying serving the general public of St Albans who are even moodier c*nts than me. God, retail seriously is one of the worst professions. Ever.

We start off in the fruit and veg section. I immediately spot a guy who was working there even before I was and whose sister I befriended when she used to work on the check-out. He is the most miserable, short, grumpy and muscly man I have ever met. A really weird combo, I know. I've seen him around for almost a decade but he still gives me the same 'f*ck off' stare everytime his piercing, black eyes look my way. I used to get really angry about this but then I realised today that I would give out exactly the same look if I was laying out 2lbs of bananas everyday for my entire life and rearranging the courgettes everytime a grubby fingered old man literally fingered them. That would drive anyone bananas.

Off we go in search of some fresh bread. Ah yes there he is. The Italian baker whose name has surpassed me dusting flour off his apron. Jesus, he's worked here for at least a century too. Plus he looks like Postman Pat. Argh I need to get out of this place NOW!!

I remember when I used to be standing on the Pharmacy counter doing the late shift on a Saturday (3-10pm, bloody awful) and the only thing that would be of some mild entertainment was when the trolley boys would pick on the cleaner and hide her stuff in random obscure parts of the building e.g. bucket down fire escape and mop in the staff canteen. Ok that might sound harsh but you've never met the cleaner. She was some godforsaken 'woman' (gender never really distinguished) in her 50s who looked like she'd eaten a toad and it in turn had become her face. She was a mean, psychotic, lump of a person whose name again, I can't remember. Actually I do remember it. We all used to call her Murderer.

She was nowhere to be seen today. I had a good look for her considering my dad took about two hours to buy 20 items.

Murderer, where are you? I hope you're ok. I missed you today.