PR = Personal Record

>getting off of work
>walk into grocery store
>head on to the bulk department to pick up some trail mix
>hear some commotion
>walk towards the noise
>look up the chips/cola isle to see a morbidly obese woman in light blue scrubs with a top with cats printed on it. (Standard healthcare getup)
>she has fallen and cannot get up
>a bottle of generic brand cherry cola has split on the floor and is leaking its contents all over the isle
>two small asian men are trying to help her up
>as soon as the woman realizes that she's being assisted she goes limp and obviously expects the men to go for a PR
>I make eye contact with the man on the left, there is a look of pain and fear in his eyes, I believe his back is going out
>the "woman" bellows: "YOU HAVE TO PULL DAMNIT. YOU HAVE TO HELP ME UP!"
>At this point I continue to walk away from the isle and hear a dramatic slip of sneakers on wet linoleum followed by a rumbling and one of those cunty exhalations that immediately identifies the type of impatient /fed up mood someone is in.
>"WELL THANKS A LOT, I'LL JUST HAVE TO GET UP BY MY SELF"
>I no longer have an appetite
>I leave the grocery store without buying anything, and never return