I went to the shops yesterday, to get some household items and to do some food shopping at Morrisons. All rather mundane stuff, especially as the range of shops involved was at the 'bottom end' of the retail world.
Poundland
The benefits (in most cases) of paying one pound for items are often countered by the fiasco of paying and exiting the store. My aim of a quick call to look for a doorbell and to get two items was buggered up upon finding just two tills operating, and a dozen shoppers advancing like zombies towards the beeps being emitted by the tills, signalling pound sales. In my queue were two fatties. Sorry, but fuck political correctness, they were fucking fat as fuck, with bellies the size of space hoppers. The first one was loitering for her pal, who'd bought enough to fill numerous bags; £23 in a pound shop. Much of it could have been purchased cheaper elsewhere, I reckon, but I suppose that the tactics for Poundland involve lulling people into thinking everything is fantastically cheap. I was about to abandon my place in the queue when a bloke arrived to get a third till going. One minute later I was breathing fresh air and on my way.
Poundworld
Just as Disneyland competes with Disney World, there is competition in the retail environment. No cheap doorbells were on view as I whizzed round; was able to buy some cleaning stuff though, and get served immediately - 2 minutes all in.
Cash Converters
I couldn't resist a quick gander at the DVDs, on the off chance there might be something worth buying. There was not, and I left. However, this was not before overhearing a wonderful comment by a DVD-browser, in the shape of a female of around 20 years, with a much higher BMI. I have no idea on her IQ, or her personal circumstances, but I feared for her future for a nanosecond. Then she recommended the film Clueless to her friend. "Clueless is good." I relished the irony of this, as the dozy bugger (who'd shuffled along the rack in front of me, oblivious to my presence) went on to say: "I were like that at her age". I considered the mounting level of irony, as I tried to make the comparison between Alicia Silverstone and this blob in a tracksuit. I have no idea whether the pair opted for the used film at £1.99, and decided to keep out of the process and not advise that it's being shown on Film4 on Wednesday evening - something I'd clocked that morning.
Yorkshire Trading
This is one of the world's strangest shops. I bought a duvet cover and some sheets, and realised to my inconvenience that whilst the shop sells many things that are quite large, the maximum size of a carrier bag is such that it holds 0.5 cubic feet, and is so thin it could be used as tracing paper. Outside the shop, one of the two bags provided for my purchases was fucked. The corner of the plastic covering the double sheet had slit the bag more effectively than an assassin slicing a jugular with a Bowie knife.
Wilkinsons
A painless experience, and I was able to pick up a 10.5 tog king size duvet for £8.94. More impressive was the fact that I was able to exit the store speedily, as the checkouts were not clogged to fuck. I could also juggle bags and contents, and get back to the car without losing items en route. The £4.99 doorbells were nowhere to be seen, under the sign that said "Doorbell - £4,99". Things being out of stock is a phenomenon that's cuntin' annoying.
WH Smith
This shop is good for absolutely nothing except buying a newspaper or a lottery ticket. I'd bought papers that morning, so needed only a lottery ticket. The cramped conditions in the small shop, and the queue of six people down one narrow aisle was enough for me to turn round and leave after just two paces inside the door.
Brighthouse
Back towards the car, I passed Brighthouse. The existence of this shop is proof that the country is completely fucked. In the window was a washing machine. It may too have been a dryer, and at the price quoted, the cunt should have done the ironing and putting away as well! With finance, this machine was going to cost some unlucky (stupid) cunt £1400. I am NOT kidding. Rounding the corner, there were two girls, probably aged about eighteen, handing out leaflets or booklets. I get the impression they were touting for customers, and were most likely associated with Brighthouse. I therefore adopted my look - the one that says: '"Don't you dare waste my time by daring to offer your cuntin' crap to me - do I look like I am the least bit interested in anything you've got to offer? Pick someone else and save yourself the aggro, and avoid me having to decline your tout." This look is not one that is overtly hostile or demonstrates any lunatic rage waiting to burst out via a headbutt. However, it certainly worked, and I was able to pass the touts without being approached, and anyway, I've already got a washing machine (around £200, if I remember rightly).
Argos
£5.99 for the cheapest doorbell, out of stock. Some of the fucking things were thirty and forty quid! Why the fuck would I pay that much so that a cunt I don't want to hear from can press a button and annoy me? What a mad world.
Morrisons
At the car, I put the bags in the boot, and then made my way to the Morrisons entrance. The first option to buy involved a triple display of Bacon, Cod in Batter, and something else that escapes me now. My ability to get to the bacon was compromised in the first instance because there wasn't any smoked bacon on display. The bloke filling up the small 'island' cooler was finishing a stack of blue-labelled packs, but I didn't want unsmoked. I went and got some vegetables and then returned to the bacon. I couldn't get to it for three reasons:
1 The bloke filling the cooler was still on one side, as was his supply trolley, so only one approach was possible.
2 The woman who was hogging the access on the other side was busy comparing the bacon in the packs, and couldn't decide which was the best option. I wondered if she was looking at patterns in the meat, or whether she was engaged in a more in-depth study, looking for DNA proof that she was buying two packs which contained meat from the same fucking pig. It turned out not to be so, because the woman bought a single fucking pack, after all that effort.
3 During this woman's pondering, her flanks were guarded by family members. They encroached, and prevented anyone gaining access. So even with my long arms, I was blocked sufficiently by a gawky, lanky fifteen-year-old and a subdued/comatose husband, while a free radical (small boy of about nine) pissed about like an electron.
Pasta Watch - For those of you interested, the 500g packets of own-brand pasta have been reduced to 30p (down from 35p) and spaghetti is at 24p for the same weight. Alas, on this visit I wanted some tagliatelli, and the fuckers at the Morrisons buying department had failed to gauge properly the public's need for this commodity. The shelf was cuntin' empty!
Tuna - Apparently the going rate for a 185g tun of tuna is £1.69. That's according to the sign that was advertising tins available for £1 instead of the aforementioned normal price. Liars. Meanwhile, over on the own-brand shelf, the 54p tuna was nowhere to be found. Again, an empty cuntin' shelf!
Pepsi - I was about to pick up a pack of 15 cans for £4. I then noticed that the sign mentioned 250ml cans. What the fuckin' fuck? Since when did the denomination for a can of drink change from 330ml? At 26.6p per can, I was happy to make the purchase. However, a normal can is exactly 32% bigger than these shitty fucking things - making the true price per can over 35p. Cunts in marketing are con merchants.
I think everyone knows the situation that develops when you keep passing the same person or people, when shopping. I suppose it can sometimes be quite nice to see someone of the opposite sex whose looks are worth seconds, thirds and further helpings. However, it's more usually the case that the annoying cunt that barged in front of you at the store entrance is the same cunt you spend the next half an hour trying (unsuccessfully) to dodge in the aisles. So it was that the Bacon Foursome haunted me.
£110 poorer, I left the shop with my laden trolley and a voucher for £9.50 off if I spend over £95 in the next week. If the fuckers have in stock some more of that Bulmers No.17 cider, some tuna and some tagliatelli, I may well stand a chance.
...
No comments:
Post a Comment