I hate you. It's over.
What? Don't I at least deserve an explanation?
Hope we can work this out,
Reasons I hate you include but are not limited to:
1.) Having to fish out my id card just to walk through your doors. Come ON!! Like you are sooo exclusive and uppity. In case you hadn't noticed...You display your products on PALLETS.
2.) I cannot stand your sorry excuse for a milk jug.
3.) Your checkout lines make me want to commit myself to an insane asylum for suicidal tendencies.
IS THIS SERIOUSLY THE BEST CHECKOUT LINE YOU COULD COME UP WITH?!?
You have an enormous warehouse.
You have hundreds of customers pushing these wide-load carts overflowing with gigantic products.
AND THIS IS THE BEST YOU COULD DO??
Ten checkout lanes, yet only 5 are actually open.
Lines winding so far back, they are into the product aisles.
And just in case I haven't slit my wrists yet, you now have the self-checkout lane option. "Hey, you know what? Check yourself out. We are way too busy checking membership cards at the front door. Good luck scanning that pallet of rice, buddy."
4.) I know this isn't very green of me to say, but why can't you just throw my raspberries or other delicate produce purchases into a stupid bag? I hate the fact that you just set them back in my cart...where they then get transferred into my trunk...where they are just sitting there all vulnerable and exposed and scared next to the big, bad, 3,000 gallon laundry detergent I just bought.
5.) And the reason I hate you most? My bill. You make me all delirious waiting in that disastrous checkout line. And then the next thing I know, I am signing a bill for $500. And poor McMommy is all "Wha-what? But I hardly bought anything! It was just a 56 count pack of hamburger buns, a freaky gallon of milk, and a bottle of shampoo that weighs 28lbs!!! How did 3 items total $500?!"
And your response is to basically shove my confused self into the "restaurant" area and be all "Oh, sorry that we just drained your bank account. But ooh look! A hot dog for only $1.50!"
Like I said, I hate you.
100 bucks says you come crawling back when you have your next dinner party.