I work on the checkouts in a shitty southside supermarket, with all the aging, unemployed bogan types and arsehole public servants from the immediate vicinity coming in every second thursday to spend their welfare cheques and APS 3 pay packets respectively. There's this one lady who we all hate more than anything else, for reasons including, but not limited to:
1) She's a complete plastic bag maverick/nazi who either never agrees on our style of packing or takes all the groceries out of the plastic bags and spends ten fucking minutes carefully placing several dozen items in the oversized back pack she always carries around every time she's in the store, while a big queue lines up along your register giving us shitty looks as if we're somehow to blame for her sociopathic behaviour;
2) On the occasions she does get a trolley, she takes it with her two kilometres up the road and doesn't bring it back, leaving her angry neighbours to make irate phone calls to us, ordering us to come and pick up the shopping trolley she's left right in the fucking middle of a major arterial road;
3) She never says anything to us, despite all initial concerted efforts to be friendly, unless she orders one of us to fetch her some Winfield Gold rolling tobacco (which she does in a tone of voice somewhere in between the sound of the screeching of those little monkey creatures from the Wizard of Oz, and the aural equivalent of being turned into stone by Medusa);
4) Like everyone else who comes through our store, she's a complete condescending bitch who assumes that because we have such menial jobs, we must be naturally inferior to her and her Winfield Gold rolling tobacco smoking ways.
Anyhow, as on every public service pay day, she came in about ten o'clock at night, scowling at us as she worked her way up and down the aisles. By all rights I shouldn't have been working, as I had the sinus cavity equivalent of ebola virus and I couldn't go two minutes without sneezing up phlegm, tar or some other miscellaneous bodily fluid; but I needed the money and I'm sick of the Spanish Inquisition every fucking time I call in sick.
So, after ten minutes of arguing about who should serve her when she finally gets up here, I pulled the short straw (in a rigged contest, you fucking bastards), and I opened up to wait for her. She finally rolls up, doing her evil eye bullshit, and she starts plonking down vegetables that haven't been wrapped up in plastic bags, presumably because she's doing her part to save the world (which is completely ironic because she's a misanthropic trollope).
Right then I sneeze, and all of a sudden on the palm of my hand is a gigantic, viscose ball of mucous. Mucous so disgusting, off-coloured and pathogen-ridden that I almost start dry-retching just looking at it. I stand there looking at my hand disgustedly for what seemed like a long time, then started to reach for a tissue to get rid of it, when I see out of the corner of my eye that this stupid fucking bint has not seen any of what just happened, she's too engrossed in the latest tabloid sex scandal. I pick up a nice clump of broad beans, making sure to smear the bodily fluid in question all over them without being too obvious. Then the broccoli, then the carrots, then the apples...
I hope you get sick and die you evil, evil woman.