Friday, 28 September 2012


    Not the only pudding in the shop
    So I was in Tesco there buying strawberries and black pudding.

    Now I have tried the serve yourself tills but they laugh at me before I start.

    I can't even figure out the bags. They see me coming and glue themselves together.

    I see people of higher intelligence pulling theirs apart with ease and opening them as I wipe beads of angry sweat from my face.

    Then it says 'problem in packing area', of course there is gobshite, the bags are laughing at me.

    So the lady glides over as though on castors all polite smugness and tells me I need to put my shopping in a bag.

    I tell her her that I know that as I've been to university. It's just that, well look at them, menacing me.

    You would have thought my tears and sweat might make her help me but no, the lunatic presses a button and waves as if to say it's all yours.

    I hate her. I would buy a Tesco assassin to take her out but likely not be able to get them through the bloody tills.

    It only takes seconds before she is back after the thicko light comes on to tell everyone the sweating idiot has screwed up again.

    Anyroad, on this occasion, I decided just to go to the cigarette counter where a brutal looking teenager sagged dismissively while chewing gum. It was as close to multi-tasking as she would probably get.

    I handed her my strawberries and black pudding but noticed a sign reading five items or less.

    Well my dander was up.

    I pointed out it should read fewer.

    "What should," she said.

    "The sign," I countered,


    "Because less is wrong," I whined.

    She fought back: "I didn't write it."

    I explained that if the strawberries were off when I  left the shop then she would fix it if I brought them back, even though she took no part in picking or packing them.

    "I would hope the same applies to this complaint," I gestured.

    She said: "Are the strawberries off?

    "NO, the the sign is."

     I didn't write it."

    "Fine," I said, "can it be corrected?"


    "Because it's wrong." 

    She then defeated me: "Do you still want the strawberries or would you like them changed."

    She drooped like a defrosted fish finger and looked at me as though I had said I've just eaten my leg, do you have a napkin.

    I paid and left defeated.

    Next time I will fight the self service till, maybe take my own bag, have the last sad laugh. may go to Asda.

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