Certain regions of supermarkets are lands of horror and darkness. Food is fine. I can do food. Pick things that are tasty and not rotten, put them in basket, wave basket at the automatic scanner thing, hit the automatic scanner thing, then look sheepish while aisle attendant fixes automatic scanner thing. Easy.
However, once you get down to hygiene or household produce, it all gets a bit more terrifying. Those aisles make a fellow feel like Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Not in the sense of being a pre-pubescent girl from the 1930s with a dog that looks like something a cat coughed up, but as a result of being adrift in a shiny, colourful, utterly inexplicable world full of strange and slightly threatening objects.