Do I LOOK like a weakling?

I'd like to think not. While I don't quite have the bahlging mahscles of Ahnuld, I'm 6'3", 190lbs or so. Put it this way - it's not too farfetched to refer to me as the proverbial strapping young lad.

I just returned from the grocery store, with the following items from my list: two half-gallons of orange juice, a chocolate-frosted yellow cake (a specific order from Mrs. Dave, who did NOT have a good day at work), a half-gallon of ice cream (ditto), a small container of hummus, a bag of pita bread, a dozen eggs, and two 12-oz bags of shredded cheese (cheddar and mozzarella). Total weight, 12 pounds (Yes, I weighed them after getting home. STOP GIGGLING.). All carried - with relative ease, mind you - in a standard-sized grocery basket. No grunting, staggering or even a slight list to one side. No, I was quite in control of my foodstuffs, I'm proud to say.

Upon going through the register, the girl ringing me up was by herself, so I started to bag the groceries, putting the two half-gallons into one bag. If left to my own devices, I'm thinking maybe the cake, pita bread, hummus and cheese go in another, and the eggs and ice cream in a third. I pay with my credit card, though, so I'm summoned to pay. She finishes bagging, and I'm confronted with:

1 bag - orange juice (my packing job)
1 bag - hummus, pita bread & 2 cheeses (ok, not bad, four items to a bag)

And then, her brain apparently went into complete and total lockdown. One refrigerated item, one frozen item, one room-temperature item. Must... segregate... all... items... of... differing... temperatures...

1 bag - cake
1 bag - ice cream
1 bag - eggs

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH. I DO NOT UNDERSTAND THIS.

I had JUST carried all of those items up to her in one basket. I'm not going to suddenly be putting them into a cart, carefully wheeling them out to my car, and pay a quarter a bag for assistance to that nice young man to put them in the back of my Oldsmobile Battleship. I'm not going to suddenly debilitate rapidly on my way home and need multiple trips up to my apartment, getting winded after each one, necessitating a five-minute break in an oxygen tent. Why not go the extra mile and individually double-bag each of my eggs?

Attention, supermarket baggers of the world: I am twenty-nine years old. I can carry my groceries in three bags. If they break, I will not sue. If I drop one, I will not sue. FILL THE DAMN BAGS.