Today's contestant I named Jeremy. He looked like a Jeremy. He was dressed in his finest garb, sported a haircut that would probably pay for my grocery shopping for the whole year, and to top it all off wore the smug expression of a man who knows exactly why everyone else in the queue finds him annoying to look at, and has gone out of his way to achieve this.
If he wants to look like a prick for his own personal satisfaction that's fine by me, each to his own. But the shameless display of carefully arranging his purchases along the conveyor belt in a manner that allowed, nay forced, everyone else in the line to observe them (and made me feel far less sneaky and spy-like) was another thing altogether. Yes, we can see your organic vegetables, your baguette, your fancy pasta, your truffle oil, your sun-dried tomatoes, your bruschetta, your pate, and your Gü desserts. Yes, I am slightly jealous, you have nice food. Again, I have no problem with that, but take that superior look off your face. And don't you dare give my fried chicken and Monster Munch the stink eye.
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