What is it with me and Coto, the stack em high, in your face supermarket?

Anyway, Adri wanted to go the larger one on Maipu, Olivos at 1300 today and I said I’d join her just to keep her company, which I knew was a bad idea.

I become a tad murderous in Argentine supermarkets after three seconds.

This one has a car park the size of a postage stamp, so I volunteered to sit in the queue while she went on ahead as the advance party, which is just as well, since I didn’t make it in until 20 minutes later, jostling for a space to dump the car.

There’s something about the smell of Cotos, which reminds me of bad drains and sewers, and so often I’m tempted to talk to management and ask them why they don’t clean up their act.

As luck would have it, Adri had almost filled up the trolley by the time I tracked her down and I quickly threw in the odd item so as to make the journey slightly more worthwhile.

We were even permitted to purchase Cracker Barrel cheese on this occasion, can you believe?

As usual, the checkouts were choc a bloc, so instead of carrying out harakiri on myself, I snapped a few shots for Google maps, to be uploaded with my review later today. I mean, what else can you do whilst waiting for the twenty questions and the endless reams of paperwork?

When I go to any supermarket here, I always carry out the exercise with military precision and only turn up when the least amount of fellow sufferers are expected to be there, otherwise it’s BOHICA.

This morning I had a clear and present objective: approach Disco (Maipu, Vicente Lopez) at 1000 zulu time, from the north, park the bike on the forecourt and reconnoitre, ensuring that enemy combatants are minimal, otherwise it could be FUBAR.

Once that is established, lock the bike, but ensure it’s facing the downward ramp for a rapid getaway.

Enter store, deposit military Bergen with overweight I couldn’t give a fuck security guard, head directly for the objective and secure the assets, taking care not to be diverted by enemy distraction techniques (for they are many and belicose).

Ignore the single cashier out of ten that is actually open, but with fifteen in line and silently smirk as you head for the much heralded auto-checkout.

Scan the assets with the weapon provided, remembering that on each and every other occasion that you’ve inserted yourself into said store, the device refused to behave automatically requiring assistance from the store commander.

Follow instructions on the device screen, hit finalise purchase, swipe your card (which isn’t accepted), wave your arms around as if you’re calling in an air strike at the RV or LZ.

Swipe the card again, but this time much faster as if you really mean it, input the security code, input your ID card number and finally input the last four digits of your mother’s social security number.

Secure the assets once more and deposit them post haste into your camo Bergen, ignoring the on-screen message of please take the receipt to the cashier for verification.

Scope the exit, ensuring it’s clear of any threats and exfil the area pronto, safe in the knowledge that the operation has been successful.

Don’t look back.

SNAFU

This morning we went to the dreaded Coto at 0950 to beat the queues which normally build up later and so that we could buy booze early at the stroke of 10.00 (you can’t buy it before then).