My anti-plastic Boyfriend versus the stubborn supermarket check-out Lady

A saga that represents why the planet is, indeed, doomed

I thought it was it, today. As I listened to him begin to recount the story, pacing in the kitchen, steam coming from his ears, I thought “he we go”.

My boyfriend has never gotten on well with the old ladies at our local supermarket. (To be fair, I don’t think many people do.) Although it’s usually over trivial-but-amusing things like their utter disgust when you pay 237 CZK exactly in coins, or how buying a tub of ice cream upsets them because the condensation gets on the conveyor belt.

Of course, the language barrier doesn’t help, our attempt at Czech pronunciation just making it all the worse for these cranky, unrelenting barcode-scanners. Foreigners, ugh.

But today was the day they really tipped him over. He came home and said “I am never going to shop there again.”

I knew it was going to be about plastic. I kept a poker face as he unloaded fourteen individual loose potatoes from his bag and explained to me for the millionth time that if they don’t offer a non-plastic option in the veg section, they can’t expect people to use what is provided. (Although, of course, lots of people do).

We usually take our own net produce bags, but this only works for a planned shop, not a spontaneous-on-the-way-home jaunt which tend to be oh so…