Carol’s Column

Supermarket shopping the new warfare

Many years ago, in the pre-global-warming days when the moon looked like Stilton cheese and the sun shone true, shopping was leisurely and pleasurable.

I thought this yesterday as I participated in my usual weekly expedition.

There I was, in my local store, debating whether to buy chicken chunks or slivers of liver, when an overladen trolley smacked me into a great pile of stacked birdseed, which collapsed in grand fashion.

As luck would have it, I was thrown against a fetching display of washing powder, which burst all over the show.

So there I lay, not in little distress, covered in soap powder, with a dislocated ribcage, cracked left upper molar and a swallowed uvula, when a trumpet-like voice sounded: "You clumsy clod," it hooted. "You're a menace. You shouldn't be allowed to drive."

Those who know me well will be astounded to know that for once in my life I was speechless. Then again, it is not easy to speak with a mouth full of intelligent washing powder - yes, I kid you not, there is a washing powder billed as intelligent.

By the time I'd struggled to my feet, spat out the intelligent washing powder and retrieved my uvula, the trolley hog had vanished into cabbages and cauliflowers.

Good heavens, this isn't a supermarket, I thought to myself, this is a battleground. The Battle of the Baked Bean, the War of the Wors, the Slaughter of the Spaghetti - wherever I looked, there were skirmishes in progress.

Beside me, warriors fought nail and knuckle over a stuffed, spicy chicken, while just along the way, two trolleys were locked in deadly combat.

From the next aisle, I heard the warcry: "Grab the pitless prunes, they've been discounted!"

Why is it, I wondered to myself, that supermarkets have been designed to make shopping as uncomfortable and hazardous for the consumer as possible?

Take trolleys (except who would want to?). There is no nightmare quite like a four-wheel-drive trolley, unless it is two or three four-wheel-drive trolleys. And true, there is valour in discretion but not when items are so discreetly marked that prices are invisible.

Then there's the common supermarket pyramid principle. The one which involves a highrise pile of toilet paper, oranges or buttermilk rusks. Do the logical thing, dare to remove an eyelevel item and witness instant chaos.

Or how about the bedlam created by advertised specials - Buy three tubes of toothpaste and get a pair of false teeth free?

Or the inter-aisle traffic congestion? Only yesterday I heard that one major supermarket chain had come up with the idea of employing traffic officers to alleviate the situation. However, when they approached the relevant authorities, they were turned down due to possible injury which might be caused to on-duty officers by uncontrollable trolley rage.

And talking of injuries, have you ever negotiated the supermarket entrance mats, in which high heels stick for life? Or attempted to extract a solitary trolley from its line of neatly stacked brethren? It is a fact that the unusually high incidence of hernias in South Africa stems from trolley-pushing-apart activity forced upon frustrated shoppers.

Which is why you'll so often see customers pushing at least three or four trolleys around.

Contrary to popular belief, the trolley liberation movement is minimal. It is stuck-together, not stolen, trolleys which account for the country's endemic trolley shortage.

Finally, there are the checkout queues, which go on for ever.

However, like everything in life, there is an upside.

I heard of a homeless guy who moved into a supermarket queue two weeks ago and, to date, he's finding the accommodation quite comfortable.

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