Somewhere in our subconscious lurks the primal fear of not having enough to eat. It’s probably a throwback to our hunter/gatherer ancestors. For them, failure to waylay an unsuspecting hairy mammoth could have dire consequences for the entire tribe. Feeding the Palaeolithic family was a matter of personal responsibility. Otherwise, they would starve.

Tory leadership candidates would surely applaud that early manifestation of true Conservative values. Back then, stocking the larder was highly aggressive, ruthless and competitive. In fact, a bit like present-day supermarket shopping.

We can understand our ancestors’ anxiety; they lived at a time of constant scarcity. We don’t have that excuse. Something like Covid or the whiff of a lorry drivers’ strike stirs our primal fear of starvation. What other explanation can there be for the mass clearance of supermarket shelves at the first hint of anything out of the ordinary?

It’s not just food. Seemingly sane people go off their trolleys stockpiling enough toilet rolls to deal with an outbreak of dysentery in a medium sized town. During the pandemic, our local Tesco introduced rationing to ensure supplies of loo paper weren’t, if you forgive the expression, wiped out. Pasta supplies were ravaged but still the penne didn’t drop.

Psychologists have long studied what it is about supermarket shopping that brings out the worst in us. TV ads full of smiling, singing and even dancing punters are far from accurate. Studies suggest most of us take no pleasure from the road to the aisles, arriving in an apprehensive state, the short fuse already lit. Irrational anger builds in the car park before we enter the store.

Even in an empty car park, someone will park close enough to bash your car door when they open theirs. The culprit’s usual reaction is to ignore what happened or mumble, “Sorry mate, but you’re not parked in the middle of your space.” A relative demanded (and received) £100 from a careless door opener. Most of us would have scowled and said nothing. Even when there are hundreds of vacant spaces, the thoughtless will park within six inches of your boot, making it impossible to stow the shopping without moving the car. I’m as bad as anyone. Occasionally, if I feel I’ve had to park in a different postcode, I needlessly fret about someone parking in the drop off area, or why that able - looking bloke is in a space for the disabled.

Our local supermarket is near a secondary school. Truants and the excluded used to while away the hours between nine and four by holding trolley demolition derbies in the car park. The store tried to put a spoke in their wheels by chaining the trolleys together, requiring a pound coin for release. A less tolerant society would instead have chained the miscreants together. In the increasingly cashless age, many shoppers must experience the frustration of reaching the trolley park only to discover the absence of a pound coin. It’s surprising however, how many “careful” Aberdonians don’t reclaim their pounds, abandoning their trolleys that then run off, halted only by an encounter with someone else’s car.

Having navigated the frustrations of the car and trolley parks we are now fired up for the shop. Once inside, there is no shortage of further frustrations. The eco-friendly bags for example, cunningly designed to self-destruct the moment you add more than a couple of bananas. Early day shoppers must feign interest in the household products’ aisle, while waiting for the drinks area to open at 10am. In a highly competitive field, this must be the Scottish Government’s most pointless piece of legislation.

Then there is aisle rage when trolleys are weaponised to bulldoze anyone who stops suddenly to examine a product. The elderly and infirm are incentivised to move a little faster when impatient shoppers repeatedly nudge trolleys into the backs of their legs. This is most evident at the checkout where the elderly wait until all their shopping is in the trolley before conducting a full body search for their credit card and discount vouchers. As an encore, they fascinate the checkout operator with descriptions of their current ailments.

Worryingly, rapidly rising prices can only add to the stress of supermarket shopping. It’s time for management to actively encourage shoppers to be more considerate of one another, even in small ways. After all, every little helps.

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