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So you arrive at the checkout, your basket criminally heavy due to their latest milk promotion encouraging you to purchase it by the udder, and as much as you want to go and join the queue to be served by staff, there’s always that insistent little woman, flushed red with the excitement of her recent promotion which allows her to wear a sleeveless fleece in warm weather, who ushers you into the self-service. Begrudgingly, you elbow your way through the crowd to the one free slot, only, when you get there, you discover that there are no plastic bags left, thereby denying you the privilege of loading three yogurts into a bag before seeing it split and your Strawberry probiotics going spinning across the floor. So you have squeeze back through the crowd of other unfortunate punters who’ve been encouraged into this futile course of action and try to find a free terminal.
Only there’s a pram in the way. And in the way of the pram is a large-arsed woman with ‘Steve’ tattooed on her upper arm who’s currently screaming at her child who has defecated in his nappy and seems intent on having it weighed-in as fruit and veg. Yet you manage to squeeze past, forced into looking at her pendulous free-swinging paps as she bends to change the nappy, and make it to the self-service station only to discover that the terminal is in lock down and requires staff to unlock it. So back you go, squeezing past the heavy nappy and Steve’s girlfriend’s swinging paps and decide to incur the wrath of the little red-faced fleece-wearing woman by joining one of the serviced checkouts.
And there you can finally relax as you enjoy being served by some pasty gent with lank hair who can’t look you in the eye or exchange small talk because he’s clearly haunted by some demons, hates your very existence, and is planning to remember this day when he finally snaps and runs amok and naked up and down the high street attacking people with his illegally imported AK47.
They say every little helps but that’s only because they’ll be buggered if they’ll give you anything more...
Thank the lord that I don't shop in Tesco!
ReplyDeleteLOL. A man with an iPad wouldn't be seen dead in Tesco.
ReplyDeleteThat's why I shopped there this afternoon and it was exactly as described. I can still smell that nappy... though I perhaps shouldn't have brought it home with me. ;o)
I have to say that Asda is just as bad, though the checkout people tend to be more on the 'special' side. Must be a care in the community program.
ReplyDelete