My fantasy supermarket

Even I think it's tragic that my fantasy life currently centres on grocery shopping. Nevertheless...

Nobody likes grocery shopping, but if you have to do it, you might as well do it in comfort and style with a minimum of stress and fuss.

In my fantasy supermarket, there is no carpark angst and no trolley rage.

No grizzly small children are allowed and there is a free professional childcare centre at the entrance.

In the vegie section of my fantasy supermarket, the vegies are always fresh. There are always enough plastic bag rolls and they are always where you want them – not two aisles over near the onions when you’re trying to buy capsicums. There are also always paper bags for the mushrooms so you don’t end up with a plastic-wrapped sweaty wad of grey pulp.

The plastic bags in my supermarket are clearly marked with tear off points (the perforations are more than sufficient to allow the bag to be removed from the roll with the slightest tug – there’s no need to wrench and wrestle. Further, the bags are clearly marked with a big friendly arrow, pointing to the end that opens – no guessing games needed. And the bags themselves open effortlessly – no wondering if the bag is, in fact, a cruel Candid Camera type joke and doesn’t actually open at all.

Still in the vegie section, near the potatoes, particularly the loose Dutch creams, Kenebecs and pink-eyes, there is a complimentary box of antibacterial wipes and a rubbish receptacle, so that the dirt on your fingers from selecting potatoes ends up in the bin and not on your jeans.

In my supermarket, as in other supermarkets, the management recognises that health restrictions mean customers must use tongs to pick up their loose bread loaves. To help said customers comply, tongs are large enough and open wide enough to pick up said bread. Further, the chains by which the tongs are attached to the wall are actually long enough so customers can manoeuvre a loaf of bread from the shelf into the waiting bag.

My supermarket never runs out of critical cooking ingredients like fresh rosemary, zucchinis or Mexibeans.

In my fantasy supermarket, not only are the prices per 100g/litre/item listed. There are also helpful tags in each section saying things like: ‘this one’s the cheapest’, and ‘this one’s the best quality’. Best of all, none of the tags cover one another and they are all in plain English and at least 12 point type. They all relate precisely to the item they are under.

Barbecue chickens and toothpaste are always sold at half price.

The deli is not the length of a runway and the counter staff notice and remember who arrived next (grim, fat old cows who lie and claim they arrived first are instantly evaporated). The staff don't sigh impatiently when you order numerous items and they don't think 300 grams is 200 grams.

There are no more than five varieties of anything – especially tissues – to choose from.

In my supermarket, signage is spelt correctly and is grammatically sound. 'Eight items or less' is outlawed and replaced with 'No more than eight items'. And all the customers follow this guideline - there are no chockers trolleys in the express lane (the evaporation ray at work again).

There are never any more than two people ahead of you in a checkout queue. There are gazillions of checkouts and none of them has one of those nasty little green signs on it saying, ‘Sorry, checkout closed’ – especially when you can clearly see two staff members chitchatting idly by the service desk (no staff members chat idly near the service desk or anywhere else).

When you are shopping alone and you begin unpacking your trolley at the register and suddenly recall that you meant to get a tub of low fat Philly cheese, your blood pressure levels are safe. In my fantasy supermarket, you easily catch the attention of a hovering staff member (whose sole duty is to make your shopping experience an utter delight) and he zips across to dairy, practically at the speed of light, and retrieves the (correct) forgotten item.

In my fantasy supermarket, the checkout chicks know what all the fruits and vegetables are. You don’t have to identify, apricots, radishes or leeks for them.

Nobody scowls at you as though you are a planet-destroyer if you decide to use plastic bags.

When you pay, you can use your cheque, savings or *gasp* your credit account and you can use your Frequent shopper card, even if you order your groceries online.

Once you have loaded your groceries in to your car, a helpful person appears to return your trolley for you. He doesn’t give you back your gold coin because you didn’t have to insert one to use the trolley in the first place.

I still haven't figured out how my fantasy supermarket might help me deal with getting the groceries from the car boot to the kitchen cupboards but I’ll work on it. Oh, hang on. That's what teenagers are for (I knew they had some purpose!).

Image: Free-StockPhotos.com