Sour Puss

Another thing - the sour-faced people on the checkout in Morissons. I don't mean all the people. Most seem to be very pleasant "older ladies" all of whom are polite, friendly and welcoming. No, it's those other scunners. The spotty young ones. And again, I really mean the boys and young men rather than the marginally-less-sullen girls and young women. I don't ask for much, you know. I'm not looking for lifetime companionship from them. But if I say hello, I want a hello back. not a grunt as they see how fast they can pass a blurred barcode over the scanner. And I don't want my shopping thrown at me - I bruise. And I don't want my change and my receipt crumpled in my hand as he turns to the next victim. I've paid my money, I want my 3 to 3.5 seconds to balance the bags on my arms, back and head before Young Cretin starts throwing Poor Mrs Next in the Queue's frozen chicken at my shins. You know what I do? I tell them how rude they've been. Staggers them that someone speaks up. Now that, surely is a job for one of the "older ladies" if ever there was one...