Our local overpriced-and-only-decent supermarket is called Albert Heijn, or AH. I hate the place with the intensity of a thousand suns. It's always packed, check-out lines are at least 7 customers deep, and the staff act like jaded superstars phoning in their performances.
Not the place I want to visit with two children. If it weren't for the nice homeless man who "works" there handing out flyers and collecting shopping carts, I'd never even make it in the door, since it is too narrow for my baby carriage - they have to buzz me in and out through a special gate reserved for wheelchairs. The bell for said gate is broken, so this guy will bellow to a staff member to open it. I dread the days he isn't there.
I had make the trip today because I desperately needed bread and diapers. (My oldest won't eat anything but sandwiches and my youngest won't do anything but poop.) Being mid-morning, it wasn't too busy, so V could use his own mini shopping cart.
Had to wait to check out since only one register was open. The line was twisted down the aisle. What do they care? Paid 50 euros for two bags of groceries (that I packed myself into bags I had brought with me - fucking Europe).
On the walk home, V wanted to walk and hold my hand. Having only 2 hands, I set one bag on his little ride-along stand on the carriage, careful that nothing spilled.
Finally at home, V wanted to be carried upstairs, of course, since it was impossible. I told him to wait for me and I'd make 2 trips. First trip, two shopping bags in one hand, baby in bassinet in the other. Up to the third floor. The timed entry light goes out halfway up - the one at the top is blown out. Scary. Next trip, carry up the boy and the diapers. City living. Glamourous!
Once I'd unpacked the groceries, I wanted to make a sandwich for my big boy. But where was the bread? I lost the fucking bread on the way home. I LOST the fucking BREAD on the way home. I can't believe it. No wonder you can't own guns here.