I've no idea why the store was so crowded, I've never before seen so many people at that supermarket, nor the lengthy line-ups at the check-out counters.  I decided to line up behind a couple with a shopping cart carrying a handful of selections; obviously the express check-out was too full in their estimation.  I soon regretted that decision. 

She was a large-boned, heavy woman, in her mid-40s, with short black hair and a disagreeable expression on her face.  He, somewhat older, had his face long set in a permanent expression of disdain, and I noted a superior smirk of derision pass over it as he watched an elderly woman's indecision of which check-out aisle looked most promising. Parked with my cart directly behind the pair I represented a coeval of that elderly woman.

The young woman of the pair reached over to a nearby rack for a style magazine and began flipping through it, as her companion minded the cart with its handful of foodstuffs, a canvass bag hanging from one arm.  At last the line moved forward, as people packed their food at the conclusion of the check-out procedure, having paid the cashier.  As the man unloaded their selections on the check-out belt, his companion leaned forward on the counter, flipping the magazine pages, eyes riveted on the styles. 

This is a large supermarket, one where the staff doesn't pack for the customers who must do that on their own, and people are accustomed to each successive customer taking the initiative to speedily take charge of their own transactions, clearing the way for the next person in line.  As the open area of the moving belt widened, and the woman still leaned over the counter with the magazine I wondered what on earth she was about.

Finally, I placed a pineapple and a cauliflower past her on the clear belt and said ... "If you don't mind..."

Her voice matched my trepidatious expectations as she countered with a combative "If I don't mind...what?"

I pointed to the counter, empty but for the pineapple and cauliflower, a bag of parsnips in my hand as I prepared to add to what was there, despite that she was physically blocking the way. 

"Do you think I'm standing here for the good of my health?" she charged in a menacing voice, and then launched into a string of verbal insults, their impact and sound muffled by the surrounding aura of many people engaged in their own shopping experiences.  "I've got a bag here with my own things to check out, you ignorant old bitch."

"Sorry", I said.  "But you obviously haven't been paying attention."

"Who are you to inform me that I'm not paying attention?" she charged, lapsing again into a string of profanities.

As she went on, glaring at me, plucking a few items from the bag I hadn't noticed her holding, which her companion had obviously surrendered to her, she plunked the magazine back in its stand, and still railing at me, conducted her business at the cash.

Glad I am that my husband waits in our car in the parking lot with our little dog who becomes so distressed when he's left at home on his own.  While I said nothing more as the woman cursed and fulminated, unwilling to allow the situation to escalate, had he been there with me, it would have been an entirely different story.