Sugar Puffs
I was going to start this paragraph with a 'Captain's Log, Star Date' entry, but cannot remember the exact date/time of the exchange I had with a shopper in Asda. I was minding my own business, and was exiting an aisle having just picked up two bottles of Sprite [£1.99 or two for £3.00]. Moving at was most likely to have been 1mph, I encountered a bloke in a daze. Actually, he was in a brown anorak, but you know what I mean. He banged into the front of my trolley with the slightest impact that could be classified as 'impact' and immediately landed from cuckoo land, to apologise. Before any input from me, he was off, giving me an unwarranted, unnecessary and uninvited explanation. It was, it seemed, Sugar Puffs, or the lack of them, that had caused the 'impact'.
"I'm sorry, I was miles away. I've been coming here for weeks, looking for Sugar Puffs, but they don't seem to sell them anymore. I was so busy looking out for them, I didn't even see you." He went to to explain how he'd been looking along the shelving for the non-existent product.
I assured him there was no issue from my perspective, and moved forward to look in the end cabinets of the freezer aisles. The 'Sugar Puff Hunter' proceeded up the aisle containing soft drinks, and I wandered in the other direction. I passed the cereals, en route to the Birds Eye section, passing as I did so the Sugar Puffs. £1.07 was not bad, although anyone with an ounce of common sense would give them a miss because the box contained 450g rather than 500g [subtle conning of the shopper] but of far greater importance is the overriding issue with Sugar Puffs - the sugar content was massively reduced some years ago and they now taste like cardboard. I was, however, prompted to buy some sugar, and retraced my steps for an 88p bag, noting that the chap had disappeared from the top end of the drinks aisle, so I could not have been helpful, even if I'd wanted to be.
Carlsberg
It was on that same shopping visit in Asda that I came across the woman who wanted to have an in-depth chat, and it was clear to me that lager was her specialist subject - 'probably'. Yes, as I reached for a box containing 12 cans of Carlsberg [£8.00] I was commended for my actions by Ms Watchdog, who announced this was the best deal going, though not as good as the £12.00 for 20 cans that was on offer a couple of weeks previously. After a further reference to 'fridge packs', she returned to the 12-pack being 'okay at the moment', and that £12.00 for 20 not being available anymore was a shame. I tried to extract myself from the 'conversation', though to be honest, there was no real invitation for me to actually participate. When she brought Tesco and Morrisons into her lecture, I decided that was enough. "I've actually bought Carlsberg for as little as £10.00 for 20 cans here before. "This was seemingly a deal that she'd not committed to memory or perhaps ever benefited from because she was almost stumped - well, silent long enough for me to push off.
PS: At the checkout, I heard the tones of Ms Watchdog, who was announcing to the checkout operator her views on all sorts, and I caught the phrase: "I'm glad I'm not a millionaire . ." and resisted the urge to turn my head. I packed up and headed out of the store, past the various obstacles that littered the route, past Customer Service, the chemist, the pallets of soap powder, a coin-exchange machine, security alarm barriers and an appeal for something-or-other, threading my way between the oncoming fat cunts that were out shopping that day, wearing XXXL versions of what would be fashionable on anyone whose legs didn't rub together and start fires..
Cold Weather
Some weeks ago, I was in Tesco and needed to use the toilet. I located the toilets and was just underway at the urinal when an old bloke came in and was instantly chatty. I have no idea why people in lifts feel obliged to talk to each other, or at least exchange acknowledging noises or signs, but I've never really felt this phenomenon has a place in a supermarket toilet - whatever the weather.
I learned that it was very cold outside - something I'd clocked of course, having arrived by means other than Scottie beaming me the fuck in at a rather large and new Tesco. I learned, mid-pee, that Mr Flat Cap would rather be sitting at home in his armchair, although that would then demand an increase in the setting on the fire and so higher fuel bills. This sort of teaching was not quite in the league of knowledge that would have been imparted by the Dalai Lama, in whose company I might well have been comfortable (peeing or not) because he'd no doubt have views that outdid the current price of gas. I had little choice but to make a few sounds to signal concurrence and wait for nature to take its course. I left before him, having washed my hands and dried them before Flat Cap was 'clear'. The noise of the dryer prevented further repartee, and all was well with the world (other than the ambient temperature outside) as I pondered whether there would be an Extra Large ironing board cover on display, to make an exchange with the 'Large' one (that was not actually large) residing behind the counter at Customer Services. To conclude this last element, and to ensure you're not left dangling, there was in fact no Extra Large cover - in fact, despite such an option being printed on the reverse packaging of the Large one I'd bought (along with Small and Medium options) Extra Large was now discontinued! I had to trust to a 'Universal Fit' option at £1.00 more, and we all know that Universal Fit means 'a poor fit but it will do'. It did, just.
Metal Knees
Sonia in Morrisons has a husband whose implants set off alarms and sensors at airports. I know this because she announced it with some glee and a good dollop of volume, so that the bloke behind me could hear everything as well. I was packing my shopping when behind me an alarm sounded. I turned to see a chap walking to the toilets, and he'd walked between the two upright sensors. "There's metal on him" was the input from Sonia. "Always causes it." I remained silent. As I was packing my last bag and waiting for my change, the alarm went off again. I turned, and the bloke had stopped, with a perplexed expression plastered on his face. "You've got metal on you," was Sonia's contribution, with the sound waves leaving her mouth at 27.5mph, shooting over my left shoulder, and hitting the ears of Metal Mickey some yards away. After a few seconds, all was revealed: "I've got metal knees."
I left while there was some banter about airports, husbands and security, and was pleased that I'd bought a good film - according to Sonia, at least. She'd scanned my newspaper and commented at the tragic headline, and then told me the film "looks good". She decided this with no reference to the story detailed on the reverse, no idea of the title because the sticker on the front obscured it, and with nothing to go on but half a picture that included a gun and a woman looking tense. I half expected her to ask what my second film was all about [called Salmon Fishing in the Yemen]. That one, however, received no comment, and I was just thankful she removed the plastic security spike during the scanning process. I wondered if it would have set off any alarms if she'd not done so, and if I'd have got away with actual theft by claiming to have metal knees.
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