1. You drive a Subaru. I'm assuming it's a 4wd? Tyre rotations are your friend. Also, you want to keep all four tyres the same. Your Subaru will thank you.
2. Shopping is woman's work. However, since no woman wants me for anything other than meaningless sex, I do my own shopping. In Auckland, I go to the open all hours type deal, usually when the human soul is at its lowest ebb. Being an insomniac has advantages. I park as far from the trolleys as possible. I set a timer for the approximate time of Europe's The Final Countdown. And then I complete my monthly shop by the end refrain. Jogging is permissible, as are elbows. The Rocky theme also works, although shadow boxing got me in some hot water once in a country far from here.
3. The clue is the type of vehicle. If it's a rich person's car (meaning a BMW or a Merc, or worse, an Audi), they truly think they own the road. But, here's a secret. Most people who own a very recent rich person's car don't. It's owned by a finance company and they juggle credit card balances to pay the monthly.
4. If you can see the driver's face in the dark, it's because the cell phone emits a spotlight towards the user. Just saying.
5. Aisle etiquette is simple. If they're in the way and being an asshole about it, tell them to move. If they're a family of nine asian people arguing over the price of rice, then the route is effectively blocked. This can lead to an overtime jeopardy situation on the Final Countdown. Be warned, there is no easy solve for this without Dame Susan Devoy penning a very mean NZ Herald comment.
I find that momentum helps. That and elbows, and a willingness to tell people to move their fat ass. Works especially well with chicks.
6. WoF guys. I'm not saying they're all fucktards, because they're mostly not. They will often get told to target specific things for a while. But they'll always let the 1994 Toyota Corolla that Nana Irene drives through because it gets driven once a week to the old people's bad smelling diaper store. Never mind the fact that the brake fluid is the original fluid injected on the assembly line. Find a good WoF guy and bring him your vehicle, treat him with respect, and don't blame him because you're too cheap to rotate your tyres. He's the one under your car ensuring the brake fluid isn't making a bid for escape via the cracking rubber lines.
7. Fucking women you meet in a supermarket. This is never a good idea. Although the sex is always good since they know it's a one time deal. People think you need to buy drinks and hit the clubs, wiggle to the music and make fabulous repartee. Instead, I recommend the supermarket. Always smile at the women with bad hair and no make up at 2 am. They're buying ice cream and batteries. I'll let that sink in for a moment. If you want to be a battery replacement, then listen up buttercup. These women are always single, and the bad hair is the clue that they've given up. A few minutes of making them smile often opens.... Doors. This is the important part, Buckweed. Always go back to their place. Otherwise they return. This can be awkward. Ask me how I know.
The dilemma here is the danger factor. The danger factor that the Final Countdown will peter out, and you'll still be in the supermarket. This is very dangerous because it's a small slide to a Minivan full of kids and a wife with permanent bad hair and anger issues and two trolleys for shopping and daylight hours and two hour shops and standing in clusters talking shit with normal people and no more one night stands with women who actually like to fuck.
Give me a moment. Panic attack subsiding.
The fastest queue. At 2 am, the self serve machine allows sub 60 second check outs. Faster if stag becomes duo.
It’s diametrically opposed to the sanitised existence of the Lemmings around me in the Dilbert Cartoon hell I live in; it’s life at full volume, perfect colour with high resolution and 10,000 watts of amplification.
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