The war

War is hell, anyone who has been there as a combatant or bystander will attest to that. It's noise and chaos, brutal in the extreme, and there's nowhere to hide whether in the midst of battle, the lulls in between, and even when one returns home, it takes hold and never lets go; it's relentless, unforgiving and unapologetic. It was into that maelstrom I ventured the other day.

---

---

Well-equipped? Yeah, I know my way around the battlefield - I've been there more than once - but no matter one's experience, no matter how equipped one thinks they are, no one is truly ready for the battlefield.

It began upon driving into the car park.

Cars fucken everywhere, drivers doing idiot-maneuvers or simply not moving at all (both equally as bad as the other), assholes who don't know how to park between the lines, corner cutters, and...as usual no fucken car parks in sight...what made matters worse was that I'd driven my truck not my town car - it's fucken huge and more difficult to park. Yeah, war is hell and mine was just beginning.

I managed (not) to kill someone for their car park because one materialised right before me, (the gods of war looking out for me); it was one with a car on only one side so I could back the truck in very close to the other edge and prevent some wanker denting my door with their own - I'd probably definitely kill someone for that. The walk into the mall and supermarket went ok too, although the battlefield was jam packed with people I knew I may have to kill should matters escalate; I had hand grenades and many other accoutrements of war ready for just that eventuality.

Before I entered the killing field that was the supermarket proper me my partner and I enjoyed a coffee in a nice little cafe and a chat about what we needed to get in the supermarket, a moment of peace in the fury of battle...and then it was on again; war.

I got my trolley (shopping cart for you Americans) from the trolley bay and wiped it down with three thousand antibacterial wipes provided by the supermarket - all good battlefields have antibacterial wipes - because humans are fucken filthy ass-scratching, nose-picking fuckers, and entered the fray...started the killing shopping.

There were a few initial but minor skirmishes, a minefield of fucken kids and a few artillery salvos fired here and there and I almost got caught in some enfilading army tank trolley fire, but even as I thought the fighting might not be too savage, it fucken escalated into pitched battle...some asshole ran head-long into my trolley with her trolley and I spun around ready to unleash hell...but she was super cute and had great tits so I smiled and apologised for being in her way. After that though...well...it's almost too emotionally painful to recount. Almost.

There was a push-in incident at the deli counter, obviously some people just can't wait their turn to buy cold cuts. Worse, there were so many people slow-walking (fuckers must die), and even some abrupt-stoppers (goddamn it, that shit drives me nuts!). Someone took the fucken lettuce I wanted (so I blew him up with a hand grenade), and there was none of the fucken vanilla yoghurt I like on the shelf - many paid with their lives for that travesty. War really is hell.

In the image above you can see three enemy fighters just prior to them launching a surprise attack on me...but wait, there's a fourth...see that sneaky fucker hiding behind her trolley on the right...she's obviously Special Forces (well camouflaged and versed in PSYOPS) but no worries, I called in a drone strike and blew her into aisle 17.

I listened intently right after and sure enough, "clean up in aisle 17," came over the PA.

I love the smell of napalm in the morning, I thought, but there was no napalm at all, just the rank, toxic, smell of that fucken old couple just beyond the woman with the jeans on - Fucken chemical warfare. That cunt Saddam Hussein from Iraq might not have had weapons of mass destruction but those two certainly had WMD's!

It was a long battle, an hour or more, with many casualties; one was the slow as fuck checkout dude who took about three weeks to put my shopping through then packed it wrongly (I have grocery shopping OCD), and another at the deli section after she'd scooped my olives from the thing and didn't drain the oil out properly - I hate that. Paying $27/kg for feta-stuffed olives is bad enough, paying for five olives and a tub full of fucken oil...well, needless to say she'll not be scooping anything ever again; I sent her home in a body bag.

Once back to the helicopter car and with everything loaded up it was time to exfil...easier said than done with car-park-war raging all around. I managed it though and only had to ram a half dozen cars on the way out; one little old lady wasn't too pleased, she was rather indignant actually...but she'll only be able to complain once she gets out of hospital and I'll be long gone by then.

---

Supermarket wars occur prior to any holiday period and Christmas seems the worst; Bloody religion, always causing conflicts.

Have you had to go to war at the supermarket this season? If so, feel free to tell your story in the comments. What annoys you at the supermarket or are you one of those annoying bastards I mention above, a slow walker or abrupt stopper perhaps? Feel free to comment.