Describing a supermarket
Just before Christmas, all of our Year 10 students had a go at writing a description inspired by the picture above.
You can find a selection of brilliant descriptive writing in the comments on this post.
If you’d like to add some of your own, feel free.
Other students can then use it for inspiration for future descriptive tasks.
English at Lutterworth College 
On a wooden bench near the door sat a young couple. They devoured each other as the long lines of people waiting to pay stared in disgust. Unaware that the majority of the store was glaring at them, they continued their public displays of affection until they finally realized. They both turned crimson as they sheepishly scurried out of the door.
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Outside the imposing, towering supermarket, the trolleys are reminiscent of animal cages- a travelling zoo over the slippery, hazardous shop floor. The sign reading ‘TESCO’ is irradiant and blindening, flashing every colour of the rainbow beckoning customers to flood in through the heavy metal doors, like a river, separating into small streams in the many different bustling aisles.
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Finally, the snaking queues started to disappear from the checkouts. Then, a middle-aged Woman began to clean down the left over coffee puddles with her dirty cloth, using a mouldy, muzzled cleaning product. As a young shop assistant stepped into a black cab, with a vivid yellow sign on the roof, as it drove off.
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The mother is trying to stop her four year old son from running rampant in the groceries aisle with a 3 week old baby screeching in her ear. The mother has light brown hair and tired eyes and a little fat accumulating under her chin. She is not especially tall but has a wider than average waste line that usually comes with being a mother. She eventually gives up on trying to catch her 4 year old son and focuses on shutting up her baby. She reaches into her baby bag and pulls out a bottle of milk which the baby then starts grabbing at. She smiles smugly as she defeats one opponent but then has to tackle the other. The baby is now silent as it sucks on the bottle with huge eyes looking around innocently. The mother has now spotted her four year old who is jumping up to grab a Lego car that he desperately wants. Even from that distance she can see the desperation in his eyes as he starts to climb the shelves to get the Lego car. Momentarily the mother forgets her baby but then remembers it and sprints with the baby and the trolley towards her mountaineering 4 year old. Just as he is about to reach it, the mother grabs his legs and pulls him down, bringing 12 Lego sets with him. A huge clatter arises as the toys hit the ground. A shop assistant comes running and helps her pick up the fallen toys.
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The shop is often crowded but this time it is full to its capacity. The rush of Christmas shopping has brought people from far and wide to do the yearly big shop. The neon lights of the shop sign flicker dimly compared to the bright, cheerful, flashing Christmas lights that have been draped loosely over the edges of the building. Inside the warm welcoming glow of the store make an appealing sight to the stressed shoppers coming out of the bitter cold evening. A friendly policeman slowly patrols outside.
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Next in line is a short lady with an oversized nose. She looks to be a single mother juggling her eighteen month old baby and piling up ready meals. The baby is wailing a deafening scream; the rounded shop manager’s stare changes to her. The lady’s other daughter looks perhaps ten years of age and is blasting out Taylor Swift out of her oversized Phillips headphones. Now that she has laid down her chicken curry for Thursday night the woman looks accomplished and puts her baby back into the empty trolley.
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Over by checkout twenty three is a tall, brunet woman trying to unload the contents of her trolley onto the checkout conveyer, while her three pre-school children dance around her feet. She keeps taking her woollen hat on and off, so that she is able to see her children clearly, while attempting to hide her grey roots from those on the top floor. She begins to get more wrestles by the minute and embarrassed for the amount of time she was taking.
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Inside, the first thing you can smell is the freshly baked bread just 10 yards away. Its aroma fills the noses of everybody entering the shop, luring them in. A young child begs his father for a bit of the heavenly bread, after a few seconds of his whines; the father gives up and they wheel their way over to the bakery. Once they arrived at their destination, they are purely disappointed. How could a loaf of bread look so unappealing? The boy, clenching the loaf of bread to himself, whilst his father looks uneased, uses his puppy-like eyes to ask for the bread. His father, yet again, gives in and they walk away from the bakery.
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The short, stubby dark haired woman is currently getting served. She looks smugly back at the other customers behind her, groaning as she unloads her oversized haulage onto the till. As she attempts to pluck a plastic bag from the holder-she tries and misses multiple times. Now she has realised that her actions are futile. Her fat, greasy fingers can’t grab a bag. Her head raises as she roars a mighty roar.
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The automatic doors smoothly slide open as people rush in and out of the store. The cacophony of sound was filled by whining children and tills beeping. Toddlers run around recklessly whilst their mothers stroll down the aisle far behind them, too caught up in conversation to know what is happening. Cashiers stand lazily by their tills staring at the clock, watching the seconds tick by slowly as shop assistants pace around the store cleaning up mess that others have made and calming angry customers who are complaining about the service.
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Into the supermarket itself rushing in and out of the aisles is a mother of two looking stressed out and rather panicked. To keep her two twin – 9 year old boys calm, she gives one the shopping list and the other, a trolley. The mother realises her mistake when she notices forged things in large handwriting on the bottom of the list, “CHOCOLATE CAKE, SWEETEZ, FRIZZY DRINKS, AND NO APPLES!” Starting an argument with her children was another big mistake when the twin pushing the trolley tries to run away but clashes into the back of a pram.
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A white building, standing proud, looking down on the wide variety of people surrounding it. The glowing ‘TESCO’ sign luring them in like flies to a fly trap. Battles for parking spaces in every row causing that infernal beeping noise of angry drivers. The truant shopping trolleys in random spaces… Welcome to the world of the Supermarket.
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Countless aisles stand anonymously, lined in perfect symmetry. Tonnes of fresh produce are crammed onto each shelf. Only nine members of staff occupy the desolate supermarket, awaiting the opening of the shop impatiently. As the automatic doors finally open, a group of excited morning customers flood in like a merciless tsunami, dispersing to different aisles with hurried determinations. In an attempt to escape the tide, the staff group together by the checkout, sharing gossip about other members of the team.
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Neat queues form over by the checkouts as staff frantically scan and bag items. Couples and families sit in the cafe drinking steamy cups of coffee. Down at the end of the shop are the dirty toilets, the faulty flickering lights create an eerie feeling. The shelves are looking empty and sparse, waiting to be re-filled the next morning.
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An unattractive twig-like boy with jet black, greasy, unwashed hair, scurries past the aisles trying to get to the queue. He sneezes and slowly he cautiously wipes his revolting snot on the back of his pale, dried up hands as he sniffles, followed by a strange loud snort whilst he glances around him observing everyone. He simultaneously swiftly pushes up his poor-quality glasses up his slimy nose, carefully making sure not to draw attention to himself. As the hurried boy scuffles towards the front of the queue he happens to bump into a self-absorbed, obnoxious girl. She has a disgusted look in her eyes as she fiddles around with her blonde straw-like hair; waiting patiently for the boy to pick up her things. She’s wearing her fake Michael Kors bag boastfully and has bulky slugs on her oily eyes. She has drawn-on, uneven, thick eyebrows like as though she used a sharpie. She proudly shows off the fact that she’s as orange as an Oompa Loompa from the cheap fake tan used on her stubby legs.
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he stillness of the evening was disrupted by the constant noise of shouting. Pages of newspapers and kit-kat wrappers left unwanted and uncared for. A crucified sign nailed to a brick-wall displayed ‘Morrisons’ creaked as scheduled gusts of wind screamed into it.Broken trolleys squeaked as they were forced into the shop to do their labour and help the excited customers.
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Towards the back of the store, a gang of lads suspiciously loitered beside the alcohol aisle. They were disguised in Nike tracksuits and hoodies and portrayed no good impressions to any other customers. Whilst looming around the corner, awaiting their opportunity to pounce on the booze, a formally dressed security guard strides round each aisle as if it were a maze that he knew to perfection. He aimed for the gang but suddenly the boys, which the guard had previously seen on his reliable CCTV cameras, flew towards the exit of the shop at first sight of the guard.
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A dark-haired woman with a crusty golden coloured hair grip stands patiently in line, ready to scan her card and awaits the usual message of ‘could not read’. The seeming to be worthless bags create a distinct thought in a man’s mind that his ‘luxury’ mince pies are going to gush out the bottom of the bags with the velocity of a waterfall. A visually unappealing pile of shopping shows no aesthetic appreciation (especially with a bruised pear preparing to take a toll down the shiny, silver side of the counter).
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The shop is starting to empty out now. Gradually people leave the supermarket with arms full of shopping. Staff start to close their tills up ready to go home for the night. Items of food are scattered across the floor and carrier bags fly about like birds every time the doors open and the wind comes in. The buzzing of people has gone; you can just hear footsteps and muttering.
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The queue snakes its way to the checkout but begins to stop as an obese couple is arguing with the cashier. This couple were hoarding a year’s worth of food on the counter beside them. Sweat begins to trickle down the fat man’s face, “5p for a bloody bag!”. Along beside these whales stood their obviously chubby children who were dressed in bright pink, puffy coats, which was causing them to resemble two waddling marshmallows. Soon these had begun to lose interest of their dad’s fury and decided to wonder to the sweet aisle.
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Towards the alcohol, the acrid stench of a spilt bottle of wine infiltrates the air. Attempting to clean up the spilt red, which almost resembles trickling blood, with a 2003 billa-bong flip-flop, crouches a lanky, middle aged man, who also smashed a fuchsia ball-ball earlier that day. The gentleman is wearing a fluorescent pink, tight pair of swimming trunks which matches the pink tint of his face. He discreetly turns and staggers towards the exit, slurring an apology to a staff member as he passes them.
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Not too long after. The store begins to close blood and butter still covering the floor, in a sloppy brown mess. The lights snap off and loud speaker crackles to silence all the people leave the store, another night. Another day done..
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A chubby, round woman made a tremendous entrance to the checkout, while shovelling a huge, sugary donut down her great, munching chops. The crimson jam trickled down her sweaty face, making her even more unattractive. She licked her small, prune lips, smearing the jam all over.
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The toy aisle is packed full of excitable young children, nagging their parents for the newest games. One young girl is clinging onto a tacky looking frozen doll, whilst looking hopefully at her mum. The mum, who is distracted by her lengthy shopping list, shakes her head and continues to walk. The girl speeds up with her mum and quietly slips the doll into her mums abandoned handbag on the trolley.
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Lighting up the chilling evening sky, the fluorescent ‘Tesco’ sign catches the aggravated customer’s eye. All of them doing their own thing, yet all at the same place at the same time. Out in the car park the beating wind shakes the sign, as several old, rusty cars search for a space in the mayhem filled car park. The engines are blocked out by the squeaky automatic doors that lead into the maze of a supermarket. Each aisle is stacked like a mountain of food awaiting for the customers to come and choose it for their next meal.
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However, the man is distracted by the thick slice of chocolate cake he has on his plate. Although he is situated in the nationwide supermarket franchise of Tesco, every little won’t be helping this man. He lunges into the soft, brown goodness and his eyes light up with joy, The gale-force breaths erupt from his crater-sized nostrils, and although he is bringing his imminent heart problems closer to him he does not care. His chubby cheeks have sweaty, red patches and his fat neck ripples as he closes his eyes to savour his last bite. “I need more” you can hear him whisper as he heaves himself up from the plastic sofa, his rolls jiggling like a jellyfish under his now stained white top, which bears a WeightWatchers stacker saying ‘My name is Dave’
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In the aisle titled ‘Menswear’, a skinny, gaunt man with extremely sunken eyes and a mere collection of potatoes and broccoli in his basket, is contemplating which white shirt to buy. Out of his pocket hangs an invitation to a funeral, and around his finger is a slightly green mark from where his wedding ring once was. He chooses the slim-fit and shirt over the three-quarter length sleeve and moves on his way to the refrigerated aisle, filled with milk and cream.
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From the opposite direction, a bulging man, who must have been in his late fifties, waddles into the shop. Completely dismissing the vast expanse of healthy snacks, he races towards the distant biscuit aisle; he was on a mission. Pushing past a handful of late night shoppers, he grabs for the twin-pack of McVities chocolate digestives. The man paces forcefully in the direction on the self-checkout, practically spilling out of his murky tea-brown workout joggers – which is ironic as he’d clearly never stepped foot in a gym before. Making a speedy get away, he clutches his biscuits in one hand and fumbles for his keys with the other and heads for the exit.
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A lanky, skinny and scrawny man is furiously chewing his gum, and making outrageous noises as if his gum was having a party with his saliva. His quickly paced walk is taking him to the end of this aisle where he sees his next item on his organised list. He pushes his glasses up with his index finger, several times, whilst he looks for his item. A glisten of excitement widens his mouth as he presented his yellow jaggered teeth- also known as a smile. He reached down and clasped the aluminium can and perfectly placed it in his wobbly trolley.
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Large glass panels flooded the building with light. Or they would have done were it not midwinter. The long line of tills was assembled like buffalo at a watering hole; the customers flies, flitting frantically about to pick up the last of the Christmas gifts.
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And there, in the ‘cold meats’ aisle, was the last remaining 10% off-get-it-while-stocks-last-organic-gourmet-turkey. Like a Western showdown, both women stared each other down, One, a pregnant young adult in her mid-twenties, fashioning a Lipsy diamante tracksuit and hooped earrings, hair scraped back into a tight ponytail, the other a fifty year old lady wearing Hunter wellies and a tartan jacket. Disregarding their half full trollies, the two pounced at the remaining lonely turkey.
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After a long day of coping with busy shoppers’ drama, the customer service clerk turned on the tannoy before announcing, in the most monotonous voice imaginable, that the store would close shortly. Crowds of exhausted shoppers filed for the exit, hauling bags and pushing trollies overloaded with the necessary and desired items sold within the store. Alas, the staff were abandoned once again. The store gave an almost audible sigh as its last customer left. After shutting off the lights, the staff vacated, leaving the store ready for the drama to be repeated the following day.
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To the left of the entrance door, cashiers are positioned on tills lining the front of the supermarket. A petite face, choked by a corpulent figure, is tucked away at the furthest till, receiving little attention from the shoppers. Her eyes recognise the coarse texture of her hands which represent the price of long 12-hour shifts. The bags shoppers exit with resemble those under her eyes. But, predictably, attention on herself is limited, as she spies a gaggle of teenage boys stalking the alcohol section.
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At the end of till number two a little girl with ginger hair bounced around trying to get her mother’s, who was packing bags, attention. Her ginger hair was arranged in a pair of pig tails and standing straight as the exact opposite of what her body was doing at the time. She was wearing a pink dress covered in white cup sized polka-dots. This interesting choice of clothing totally contradicting her hair, bright green socks and black polished school shoes. Her mum had very obviously given on telling her what to wear leaving her to run wild with her wardrobe.
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Every till is open and all have massive sweeping trails protruding from them and into the lanes of traffic behind. One female worker slumps, utterly dejected, at her till. Her Santa-like belly contributes to her appearance of an overstuffed pig-in-blanket; one man, a loyal fan of Tesco and similarly priced retailers, comments to the guy behind on how it was good of her to be so festive in her physique. She looks up but does not respond; such is the level of noise that, for all she knows, the two men are exchanging charming compliments about her.
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The beer rolled to the feet of a rather big-boned man, who struggled to bend over far enough because of his immense belly. In the end, he just kicked it back to the cursing father and hobbled slowly back to his large trolley. While standing in the queue, he stared indulgently at the racks of different chocolate next to the till. He glanced around as quickly as his tree-trunk neck would let him; when he thought it was safe, he scooped up as many pieces of confectionary as he could, dumping them in his already packed trolley. While unloading his cargo, he dropped a Wispa onto the tiled flooring. When he leant down to pick it up, his shirt slid up his back revealing bare backside to the rest of the queue. They screamed in disgust, one women even covering her child’s eyes.
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After the family and a few others left, Tesco shut for the night: the illuminated checkout lights dimmed; heaters cooled, aisles fell silent. The workers packed up for the night, and as the exited the building it went into hibernation, with only the refrigerators still whirring and keeping meats and other produce such as ice-cream, crisp and fresh for the next day.
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Inside appeared almost like a ‘Santa’s Grotto’, silver tinsel blanketed nearly every checkout, as well as the cashier, who was not getting paid enough to work late on Christmas Even. Her face clearly showing this. Few people rushed about, their footsteps echoing down the empty aisles, Dad’s with teenage children, muttering to themselves how they wouldn’t be this unorganised next year. One particular parent, knocking over a perfectly balanced pyramid of Savers tinned tomatoes, whilst reaching into the depths of the shelves for any remaining mincemeat, probably still their from last year Christmas; pulling a jar out victoriously and continuing on his journey to find the next forgotten item.
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Freshly laid fruit stands vibrantly opposite the checkouts, the colours accompanying on another, putting a rainbow to shame, complementing every eye that catches upon the. A few rows down, dozens of crates lay as an elderly woman, who works at Tescos, reprices all reduced items. This catches the eye of two, rather skinny middle aged women. They park their overflowing trolleys and scurry to see what bargains they can set their hands on. In choral movement, both women desperately grab the final reduced waist trainer and squabble among themselves, making inappropriate hand gestures to one another as mothers walk by in disgrace, covering their children’s eyes.
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Early morning sunlight gleamed through the large, square, glass panels as staff shuffled through the automatic doors along with a crisp breeze. Already eager customers wandered in, skimming their empty trollies across the unscathed tile floor. Every now and again a faint ‘please place your item in the baggage area’ could be heard as a disgruntled customer furiously slammed down their Heinz tomato soup into the metal compartment while muttering a symphony of curses.
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In the depths of the chaos, a desperate single mother of four was still struggling to understand where she went wrong with the upbringings of her undoubtfully misbehaved offspring’s, whilst heaving the trolley of food through each aisle. Whilst two of the children were sat uncomfortably on the damp plastic seats of the trolley, the other two were nowhere to be seen. Only to be found crouching under a counter of chilled meat, giggling at a gentleman towering opposite them whose chins were invisible under his evermore increasing neck fat
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Furthermore, one man eyes up the vodka but his excitement comes to a halt as he sees the hefty price tag. He swipes his wallet from the pocket of his grey Nike tracksuit bottoms and quickly begins to count how much he’s got; he’s five pounds short. This major setback forces him in to making a brainless decision made out of pure desperation. He decides to try and steal the vodka by hiding it under his stylish Lonsdale hoodie. It was not going to be an easy task.
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Further back in the maze of aisles, an elderly woman ponders over which of the seeded loaves is most fitting to her taste. Her hands are folded over each other, adorned with embossed veins and skin that replicates a mountain range. Her eye sockets are caves, home to speckled brown irises that have witnessed a lifetime of trauma, joy and heartbreak. A gangly employee, about twenty years of age, informs her that the shop is soon to close, so she grasps a loaf and proceeds to leave.
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Just discarding one of these trolleys is an extremely fat lady who has just squeezed herself lane two – with great difficulty – and is now making a good natured complaint about the price of ready meals. This is because she has clearly not been put off them, because, clasped in her fat, sausage-like fingers is a trolley piled high with a large assortment of ready meals and Walker’s Crisps. Following her discussion with the checkout lady, she half waddles, half staggered out of the clean sliding automatic, as she does so, she passes a tired-looking lady who is going grey with the stress of her child.
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A market place of mayhem had descended on the aisles and flooded the robotic till area. The weekly brawl over the last leg of lamb, was occurring below the crooked beacon of light which proudly read ‘ESCO’. Persistently the ominous ding of the tills, invaded the eardrums of the busied costumers, who each zigzagged across the hectic store in search of a bargain. Rows of high shelves, all stacked precariously high, stared down at the lime green, grime ridden floor. Meanwhile amongst the moulding strawberries, a blond haired woman fought helplessly against the mind of her disobedient trolley.
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At the front of the queue, a woman with appallingly dyed hair, an irritating high-pitched voice and a Vauxhall Zafira parked outside makes her point very clear to the fed-up cashier that her coupons, which expired two weeks ago, were still entirely valid and usable. The cashier, in his blue and red slightly sweat-stained uniform turned away from her to buzz the intercom and ask for the manager.
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In the next aisle along, a woman stands on tip-toes, struggling to reach the Hovis bread on the top shelf. She loses her balance and, arms flailing, knocks the shelf as a waterfall of bread loaves and baguettes descends upon her. Two feet away, her teenage son is texting his obsessive girlfriend about his ‘lame’ family, and how much he would rather be with her. He witnesses the scene of his mother and rolls his eyes, stalking off to find an attractive girl to hit on. Meanwhile, the woman’s other children, seven-year-old twins, dart about the store, flying French baguette Curtiss H-75 Hawk fighter jets through a slalom course of shopping trolleys and little old ladies, who are tutting and muttering profanities under their breath.
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Over tills filled with slowly decreasing piles of food, a mumbling crowd of people queue. A married couple already buying look middle aged and have rough looking faces- the man is wearing a blue V-neck, his eye brows are patchy and crumpled, while his hair is short and buzz cut. He has a stocky build, and from his frustrated and angry facial expressions at the top of his body, comes the action of his black leather boot clapping against the floor as he waits, whilst also releasing a moan from his deep hollow voice impatiently. His other half is left to pack the bags, whilst she occasionally lets out a puff of warm air in an attempt to move the greasy, curled clumps of hair away from her line of sight. Her chubby and bloated freckled arms reach into her bag, the movements causing the rest of her body fat to crease and twist. The lady behind the till struggles not to giggle as the woman drops her Halifax card and lets out a distorted grunt.
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