Back, by popular demand!

There is a natural phenomena that takes place in the mind of every single shopper (aside from yours truly) that steps inside a grocery store. Man, woman, child- old and young, no one (except me) is apparently exempt from this fate.
You step inside the supermarket- those smudged glass doors opening on the command of your delicate foot's pressure.
BAM! You're in.
Suddenly, you OWN the fucking supermarket. You've been here once before, you've walked these aisles, and doing such is as good as pissing a circle around the entire building. This is your domain. You own it. You want it. You need it. It's yours.
There are close to one hundred other shoppers throughout this conglomerate market. They do not exist in your world.
You will stop where you please. You will not heed the call of other shopper's to step aside. You want to stop in the middle of the lane, well damnit it's your right! This is your kingdom- the empire of your tummy. You will not be commanded.
My tiny voice is beside you. You are maneuvering a 3'x2' cart, I, having only a small basket, call out- "excuse me" in only a whimper.
You stand your guard. You're thinking... "the chunky tomato soup or the creamy?" You think more, you grew up on creamy, you love the creamy. But the animal inside you urges- you're a grown up Priscilla, buy the chunky! Live on the edge. You know the tikes won't eat it, it will scare them like the dentist florid gurgle." You stand mute.
I repeat myself a touch louder, "um, pardon me."
You're thinking, "that bitch can wait, my kids are my life, I was born to serve them- they won't eat the chunky but I know my husband Ed wants to try new things- maybe this is the beginning."
I stammer, "UHEM. Mam? Excuse me? I'm trying..." I motion to the opposite side of the aisle, thinking in my mind- I'll show her I won't even be in her way, I just want to step aside. I look hopefully at the side of her head which has quickly turned away from me.
She does not move. Priscilla owns aisle 12 and there ain't no white bitch in San Jose's gonna tell her to scoot.
I notice she's got a box of Capri Sun drinks- she could bash me over the head with that shit and it's over.
I want to yell, I want to scream- "Now damnit I want some fucking ranch dressing you middle aged wench. Step aside and let me get the bottle. LET ME GET THE FUCKING BOTTLE."
I say nothing. I pause. I wait. I know she heard me. She's freezing me out. What the fuck?
But it's too late. I try to squeeze around the side of her cart. I lift my measly basket high in the air. I suck in. I'm trying to jam my size 8 ass past her enormous cart, I push up against the cart and it moves a 1/4 of an inch to the left. She stops. She turns to me and with eyes like Satan himself stares me down. I've touched her chariot. I have dared to move the vehicle of her empire. I stop wedging myself. I freeze. I look at the Capri Sun box. I look at Priscilla. She takes a breath and before she can let it out I pop past her cart and grab the ranch dressing.
Light? Sonofabitch. I want the regular dressing, but it's too late to turn back now. I'm running down the aisle in full throttle, that nasty lady has got half a mind to kick my ass.
Phew. I made it out of there. I'll have to dodge the tomato soup nazi the rest of my trip, but just like a gunner in Ho Chi Min City I can survive. I just need some chicken, that's in a long case- it should be quick in and out mission.
I walk briskly to the frozen meats. This is the Iceland of the market. My nipples get hard, my heart it beating hard, I clench my fist, rub my arms and prepare for battle.
Already I am defeated.
The senior center has brought a van load of the oldest and most decrepit of it's residence. They too need frozen meat. They each wield armored carts which have about as much a chance of me getting passed as I do getting the soup wench to give me a night with Ed.
I turn around dejected. There will be no chicken tonight. I just don't have the strength. My legs are weak from fear and the sprint from aisle 12. I hobble lamely to the register, I absent mindedly skip the Express Checkout. I will now wait in line for 21 minutes to buy my ranch dressing which I will squeeze onto pasta from a Mac & Cheese box and eat alone in my apartment.
Tomorrow I will get chicken and I will prevail.

(To be continued...)