Weekly Column of Crap: I ‘ALMOST’ argued with the scratchy lady at the supermarket kiosk and I ‘ALMOST’ stole a car.
My hate for supermarkets is made worse by stroppy trolley drivers, the social distancing police, cheap anti-bac that’s consistency is not unlike a certain bodily fluid and arrows and signs everywhere. It’s no fun. I also struggle to not buy into all the fancy new shit that’s methodically placed at the end of every aisle. Peri Peri Quinoa recommended by Jamie Oliver, Veggie ‘BOSH’ rubs, the same biscuits I eat every week BUT now they are available in miniature: double the fecking price! The same chocolate I buy every week BUT now it’s in fucking ORANGE flavour so… that’s in my basket too!
I am THAT fool that buys in to all the strategically planned marketing. My senses wooed by fresh flowers and baked items, the slow music inevitably slowing me down to a mere meander keeping me in the store for longer. Cleverly the healthy food is first. I assume it’s to lessen the guilt when I furtherly fill my trolley with ALL the cakes labelled ‘3 for £3’ when in actual fact the item when individually priced is a £1 anyway. Never-the-less nine of those little calorific bastards go in my basket.
Like a moth to light, I am drawn to the brightly coloured signs screaming ‘Top Deals’ … ‘Lowest Price Ever’ … ‘When it’s gone, its gone’ I know its total bullshit, but what if it’s not, and I’m about to miss out on 24 Kit Kats for £2 OR free strawberry lube with every packet of Baby-Wipes!
It is safe to say I spend far more than I allocate on groceries. AND. IT. IRKS. ME. EVERY. TIME. Online shopping is the only way forward for me but that requires a certain amount of organisation that I didn’t have on the day I argued with the scratchy lady at the kiosk.
Stressed and overspent on calories and cash. I make way to exchange some scratch cards I had won the grand amount of £17 on. I am flustered and struggling to speak with clarity. The masked lady behind the counter raises her voice to such a degree her mask was ballooned outwards and then immediately sucked back in like a vacuum as she inhaled deeply saying “WHAT NUMBERS DID YOU SAY – REPEAT THEM SLOWLY”. I glance over my shoulder to my daughter almost 15, and through gritted teeth, say to her “shout out some numbers to me”.
Eight …. She says….. eight I then repeat to the scratchy lady.
“I can’t serve you ‘eight’ now that SHE has said it, SHE needs to provide ID or YOU need to end your sale because it’s classed as a proxy purchase” waving her finger in my daughters’ direction.
Equally bemused and frustrated. I say calmly. “I’m the buyer, I’m the customer that’s just spent in excess of £150 in this store and I’m clearly ordering these cards with you, SHE is my daughter (I imitate her earlier wavy finger in my daughters direction) and THESE scratch cards are clearly for ME, for ME to scratch off as I so wish”
So everyone could hear, scratchy lady growls back “BUT I heard HER say eight … so for that reason its proxy”
“Well I won’t have ffffffnumber …fffffeight then…. gimme number 11 instead… PERLEASE”
Now I know ‘rules are rules’ and ‘laws are laws’ BUT surely there is a vast number of people that agree to the insanity behind this particular Camelot Camelshit!!!
Stressed and overspent on calories and cash and now my patience perpetually pissed. Ranting all the way back to the car, opening the boot and proceeding to put the shopping in. I then started up an entirely new rant about all the random shit that is in the boot. Asking my daughter if her dad was doing neighbourly tip runs but had forgotten to actually go to the fucking tip with it! She says “Mum you’re getting in someone else’s car” and darts off to our exact same make, model and colour car in the next row along…
Pass the gin – and who wants to bet that number eight was a million pound winner!!!!
Just That Girl Kelly 