Supermarket Rage

Last night I needed to buy food for lunch. After a couple of hours hard labour shifting temporary sports flooring (long story), I was on the way home at about 11.45, thinking 'I'll just grab something for my sandwiches tomorrow and be done with it'. I really ought have known better.
Arriving at Coles on Toorak road at 11.58, I was told in no uncertain terms to find myself another supermarket by a typically slack-jawed, self important knob jockey who clearly gets his kicks from excercising what meagre authority is bestowed on him by the powers that be at Coles Myer. So, rather than kick up a shit, I drove further down Toorak Rd to the Burwood 24hr Coles. I walked in, asking for someone to help out in the deli. 'Sorry, the deli shut at 12'. Sorry?
'The deli's closed'. You mean there's no-one here who can weigh some chicken and wrap it in paper? 'No-one'. What about that guy? 'He can't' Isn't he the duty manager? 'Yes'. And he can't operate a scale? 'No.'
Well, after resigning myself to pre-packaged meat, I returned to the checkouts to find the queue 8 DEEP! At 12.15!!! WHAT KIND OF FUCKING BUSINESS ARE THEY RUNNING HERE??!!
Some ageing, matronly woman behind the counter cruising along at her own pace, while I burn in the eternal fires of hell for all she cares. Clearly in their mad rush to be a safe workplace (trust me I used to work for them), the concept of giving a shit about your customers has gone out the window.
When this wizened old crone decided to call for assistance, another slack jawed, buck-toothed, DUMB-ARSED bloke rocked up, then insisted that even though he knew how to operate a till, had no interest in doing so. You lousy little fucker! I'm tired! I'm bored! And I'm PAYING!!!! Without people like me paying for goods, you won't get paid, so you won't be able to afford the detergent to remove the shit stains from the inside of your pants you dumb punk!
Anyway, I'm about to drop an O-ring, so that'll do for now.