Hypersensitive in the Hypermarket

I've just been to a hypermarket. It's like real life only with 25% off.

A conveyor belt helps shoppers get to the goods in the vast, unprepossessing prefab warehouse (the architecture suggesting 'buy one get one free' builders). Recorded announcements implore you to 'hold on to the handrail' (in case the unexpected acceleration to 2 miles an hour is likely to throw you off your feet). Further along the disembodied voice advises you to 'prepare to push your trolley off the travelator' (suggesting a history of tangled trolleys and shoppers who sued).

There was a queue of people at the service desk who thought odds of around 14 million to 1 on the lottery represented a good investment for their hard earned cash. Further in hung clothes so cheap they could only have been made in abject misery in distant lands. Under the neon 'synthetic daylight' pale faces, etched with stress pushed their purchases towards the long queues at the check-out tills. Sulky teenagers with name badges declaring, 'Here to Help!' scanned the goods in. Every till bleeped as yet another tasteless ready meal or microwave delicacy was suspended above the glass, and more money landed in the pockets of the executives, keeping their yachts afloat.

Welcome to consumerism obese on its own success - the Hypermarket