I was thinking of the days back in the seventies when for some reason all the grown ups made a massive panic rush on the supermarkets, buying up everything in sight. There were some interesting confrontations at the checkouts, accusations of lack of patriotism being shown by the purchase of goods other people wanted & etc... I never did find out what was going on, as a child, the news from the world at large was never so important as where the next sweet was coming from.
Anyway, not quite a supermarket confrontation, but another go at writing for the challenge. I love these things, they set my mind wandering into very dusty memories in search of inspiration, and send it spiralling outwards in hope of new experiences to draw on.
Shanna :-)

"There stands the shameless man who bought the last loaf of bread!" cried Mrs Mopp, one enormous finger shakily pointing at the hapless Scrubber Boil.
"You?" Potman Mopp shouted "Give it here you scoundrel in sheeps clothing. I've a longing for a bacon sandwich, and I'll not have you stand in my way"
Without removing his hand from his youngest daughters trusting grip, Scrubber Boil turned to face a mob of accusing Mopps.
"I bought the bread, why shouldn't I? We need bread too."
"You had bread yesterday Scrubsy" called out young spotty Mopp "I saw you all pigging it on the way home with my very own eyes"
Sneering, Daughter Boil replied "Whose elses eyes would you see it with you big dumb Mopp" she crossed her eyes and stuck out her tongue at the furious boy as her father gently cuffed her into unrepentant silence.
"Give us that loaf" came the cry from the Mopps
"Get your own!" the Boils bellowed
Fuming Mrs Mopp screeched "You got the last one you greedy whatsits"
"Get out of bed earlier next time then" Scrubber Boil turned to go, his little family following, the younger ones swaggering slightly, it was not often they got to triumph over the Mopps, who suddenly rushed forward to surround the Boils.
Granpa Mopp tugged on the carrier, Daughter Boils hands turned red then white with the death grip she had on the loaf of bread inside it, Potman Mopp shoved his angry shoulder into Scrubber Boils chest, nose to nose they ground out between clenched teeth nonsensical threats and hard to fulfil promises as the struggle for the loaf went on below them.
Young Mopp (he of the overly spotty complexion) darted in through the tangle of legs and grasped the bottom of the carrier, he tried to run, holding on for dear life but was sent flying as the bag suddenly ceased to resist his greedy tug.
The carrier had burst open, in amongst the feet of Mopps and Boils alike, loose slices of bread tumbled to the ground and were crushed by the unheeding grown ups.
The children slunk away, under Granpa Mopps furious glare, leaving Scrubber Boil and Potman Mopp to tussle, as they had so many times before.
Bread forgotten, they were arguing old playground grudges, and imagined pub slights.
Boil and Mopp children alike just wanted a good head start before their fathers noticed the fate of the bread, already the birds were gathering for the feast they could see scattered all over the street.
Mrs Mopp & Granpa Mopp looked at each other, the departing children and the angry men. Silently they drifted away, grinding the now useless crumbs beneath their feet.
Finally Scrubber Boil realised that they were alone. He looked for the bread. Potman Mopp stared too. They backed away from each other, red faced and panting, eyes flicking from the mess of pulped bread under workboot clad feet to each others startled expressions.
"Are they gone?" Potman whispered, hardly turning his head as he tried to scan the area
Scrubber Boil nodded that the coast was clear.
The two men strolled off arm in arm, it was nearly opening time.
"You know Potman," Scrubber observed to his friend as the headed into the pub "There just has to be an easier way to get you out for a beer. That was a waste of bread!"