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Before I start, today marked one of many anniversaries of having made that fun transition from foetus to small and noisy child. Yay me. Age += 1, and all that.
And now, somewhat more important stuff.
And today's post content? My impressions of the hell that is christmas shopping. And why do I leave my shopping so late? Could it be because the pressure helps me find things?
Well, yes, actually.
In all fairness, there are things I don't expect from my christmas shopping experience. These include, but are not limited to, uninflated prices, space to breathe, short queues, staff with time to actually render service, joy and goodwill, peace on earth, toe-curling orgasms or, indeed, basic human decency. And still, without fail, the reality always manages to disappoint. In particular...
Aisles. More than just the spaces between the shelves, these are walkways. Access routes. Occasionally, thoroughfares. At this time of year, frequently thoroughfares. So, I want you to get my full meaning when I (and everyone else looking to get about unimpeded) find myself enraged at the ever-so-precious (and ever-so-ambulatory) seven-year-old pacing about in a trolley being used to blockade the whole aisle. The child can walk. The child is walking. The child walks in the sodding trolley. Whatever is wrong with this clearly ambulatory child using his wondrously acquired skills in bipedal motion to use his damn feet? Furthermore, why is it necessary to park your seven-year-old ambulatory roadblock in the mouth of the aisle when you're browsing the end of the bay of shelves? If these behaviours continue, there will be slayings. Swift, messy slayings. And the slain will be piled neatly to one side so as to minimally obstruct others.
Public transport. It's used by many people, and I can see why governments might be upset about that when it costs them money. Still, didn it maybe occur to someone, somewhere, sometime, that changing the timetable three weeks before christmas might have been at least a little bit stupid? It's an interesting experience being made to feel like a shopping-laden sardine - and by interesting, I very nearly do mean 'oh god, oh god, we're all going to die'. And while there's likely no easy solution to agitate for, this does little to satisfy my increasing desire for slayings. Swift, messy slayings. The slain may be piled up in the disused buses that previously might've almost coped with some of the pre-christmas traffic, mostly because it'd amuse me if they were piled there.
Checkout queues. Yes, push and shove in the aisles. Kill one another for the last MC Hammer Elmo or Rehab Barbie or 100% Unnatural Pretendy Chemicals Confectionery. That's fine by me. But the checkout queue is sacrosanct. You do not violate the quueue. Line up quietly, line up neatly, line up without blocking front or centre aisles, and - most importantly - line up at the end of the queue. Do not then seek to advance in the queue by means unworthy; those losing their places in the queue shall do so by leaving to select further goods, or by making their purchases. Do not seek to enrage others in the queue by having loud conversations with friends about your holiday in southern Europe in 1987. Do not ever let a sizeable cadre of your acquaintances insinuate themselves into the queue about your person. Do, if you must, read the magazines on the impulse rack, or browse the neatly-arrayed 75% Unnatural Pretendy Chemicals Confetionery or the Hammerpants Elmo collectible keyring. Violate these rules on pain of slayings. Swift, messy slayings. And the slain will be piled one after the other in the order they got there.
Post office queues. Which are much better behaved, and really quite lovely. Full points go to the nice person who gave me the stamp I needed when I joined a post office queue today, thus saving me about an hour of waiting. There may need to be slayings. Swift, messy slayings. The slain will be piled on a trolley and clearly addressed, and the resulting vacancies in the queue will save the nice stamp-giving people of the world many minutes of standing in queues.
And there's more, but those were things I didn't write down and have thus forgotten with much forgetfulness. Oops. So, instead, I'll point out that post 400 draws nearer, and I've picked a happily complicated theme that sounded so much better in my head but which I nonetheless refuse to discard in favour of questions that are easier to write. Oooh, cryptic. Well, cryptic-ish.
And once again, that's it for another entry. Whee. *clicks post*
And now, somewhat more important stuff.
And today's post content? My impressions of the hell that is christmas shopping. And why do I leave my shopping so late? Could it be because the pressure helps me find things?
Well, yes, actually.
In all fairness, there are things I don't expect from my christmas shopping experience. These include, but are not limited to, uninflated prices, space to breathe, short queues, staff with time to actually render service, joy and goodwill, peace on earth, toe-curling orgasms or, indeed, basic human decency. And still, without fail, the reality always manages to disappoint. In particular...
Aisles. More than just the spaces between the shelves, these are walkways. Access routes. Occasionally, thoroughfares. At this time of year, frequently thoroughfares. So, I want you to get my full meaning when I (and everyone else looking to get about unimpeded) find myself enraged at the ever-so-precious (and ever-so-ambulatory) seven-year-old pacing about in a trolley being used to blockade the whole aisle. The child can walk. The child is walking. The child walks in the sodding trolley. Whatever is wrong with this clearly ambulatory child using his wondrously acquired skills in bipedal motion to use his damn feet? Furthermore, why is it necessary to park your seven-year-old ambulatory roadblock in the mouth of the aisle when you're browsing the end of the bay of shelves? If these behaviours continue, there will be slayings. Swift, messy slayings. And the slain will be piled neatly to one side so as to minimally obstruct others.
Public transport. It's used by many people, and I can see why governments might be upset about that when it costs them money. Still, didn it maybe occur to someone, somewhere, sometime, that changing the timetable three weeks before christmas might have been at least a little bit stupid? It's an interesting experience being made to feel like a shopping-laden sardine - and by interesting, I very nearly do mean 'oh god, oh god, we're all going to die'. And while there's likely no easy solution to agitate for, this does little to satisfy my increasing desire for slayings. Swift, messy slayings. The slain may be piled up in the disused buses that previously might've almost coped with some of the pre-christmas traffic, mostly because it'd amuse me if they were piled there.
Checkout queues. Yes, push and shove in the aisles. Kill one another for the last MC Hammer Elmo or Rehab Barbie or 100% Unnatural Pretendy Chemicals Confectionery. That's fine by me. But the checkout queue is sacrosanct. You do not violate the quueue. Line up quietly, line up neatly, line up without blocking front or centre aisles, and - most importantly - line up at the end of the queue. Do not then seek to advance in the queue by means unworthy; those losing their places in the queue shall do so by leaving to select further goods, or by making their purchases. Do not seek to enrage others in the queue by having loud conversations with friends about your holiday in southern Europe in 1987. Do not ever let a sizeable cadre of your acquaintances insinuate themselves into the queue about your person. Do, if you must, read the magazines on the impulse rack, or browse the neatly-arrayed 75% Unnatural Pretendy Chemicals Confetionery or the Hammerpants Elmo collectible keyring. Violate these rules on pain of slayings. Swift, messy slayings. And the slain will be piled one after the other in the order they got there.
Post office queues. Which are much better behaved, and really quite lovely. Full points go to the nice person who gave me the stamp I needed when I joined a post office queue today, thus saving me about an hour of waiting. There may need to be slayings. Swift, messy slayings. The slain will be piled on a trolley and clearly addressed, and the resulting vacancies in the queue will save the nice stamp-giving people of the world many minutes of standing in queues.
And there's more, but those were things I didn't write down and have thus forgotten with much forgetfulness. Oops. So, instead, I'll point out that post 400 draws nearer, and I've picked a happily complicated theme that sounded so much better in my head but which I nonetheless refuse to discard in favour of questions that are easier to write. Oooh, cryptic. Well, cryptic-ish.
And once again, that's it for another entry. Whee. *clicks post*
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no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 01:40 pm (UTC)Also, welcome to the hell of Christmas shopping!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 01:45 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 01:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 01:56 pm (UTC)Also, eek. I dislike christmas shopping, apart from the fun and the pressure and the... yeah. It's the other shopperpeople who suck.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 02:09 pm (UTC)My main problem with this time of year is that even though I've done almost all of my Christmas shopping, my normal shopping (popping into town for lunch, etc) takes 5 times as long as I navigate the Christmas hordes.
Swift, messy sleighings indeed (the initials for which are SMS, which now makes me want to be able to kill people via text message)
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 02:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 02:17 pm (UTC)I agree whole-heartedly with the slayings. Luckily I don't have that many people to shop for, but even then, the weekend just past was a terrible, terrible experience.
I particularly dislike our nearby shopping centre, because it's where all the 'trendy' people go. So you have the ginormous four-wheel drives searching for carparks and the drivers in general being arrogant and impatient and rude... then you finally get inside, and they've all got their monster prams (the huge ones with three wheels, probably they need their four-wheeled drives just to fit the things) EVERYWHERE... and you try to get past and they give you the eyeball if you come anywhere *close* to touching their precious darling's monster pram.
Grr! I hate Christmas! Slayings! Slayings, I tells ya!
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 02:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 07:47 pm (UTC)Come Christmas shopping with me. Then we'd both have someone to chat to in the queue at the register. Or something like that, anyway.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 09:46 pm (UTC)It's easier for two to hide the bodies. I think that has to count for something.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 07:10 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 08:12 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 11:45 pm (UTC)So your rant on the idiocy of people strikes home manyfold. Particularly the bit about people with prams. Gah! Also, how many people have twins in those twin-pram things? Judging from the amount of people pushing the damn things around, EVERYONE.
I'm ready to start with the slayings, me. Yo ho ho.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-18 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 05:52 am (UTC)People suck.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 07:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 02:37 am (UTC)I mean, my birthday's in august and I still haven't collected a bunch of presents, and probably won't till after new year.
no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 07:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-12-19 08:00 am (UTC)