There have been more developments in AsdaWorld in the last week. After the global rise in yoghurt prices (obviously brought about through the supplies being compromised) which saw Asda own label pots rise from £1.00 to £1.20 overnight, there has been turmoil in the supply chain that's affected paper supplies. I talk not of writing paper or photocopying paper, but of toilet paper. Yes, the 'Shades' product, Asda's own version, has suddenly jumped from £3.00 for a nine-roll pack (a price that's been in place for absolutely ages) to £3.40. Yes, an instant rise of 13.3% means that Asda will not be caught short by this possible squeeze on profits. Instead, it is the consumer who has to put up with the shit deal.
The aisles in the local Asda have been declared the new location for the satellite version of Total Wipeout, the show axed by the BBC. No trips to Argentina are now needed for contestants, who will instead be offered overnight accommodation is the nearest Travelodge ahead of Asda Wipeout heats and a final at one of the many retail establishments that qualify in offering a suitable course. All of this is possible because of the awful fucking layouts now in place at most of the smaller stores, which choose as a standard tactic the strategic positioning of goods that serve to impede progress. This is topped up by further input from the workers who have adopted the company's revised schedules and rotas. Gone are the days when shelf-stacking was predominantly an evening or nighttime activity. It seems now that shoppers are expected to negotiate trolleys filled with more shit to go on shelves, plus great big bins on wheels which carry the waste plastic and cardboard.
As a result, one has to make one's way from one end of an aisle to the other while negotiating:
- Pillars
- Random fucking baskets of shit on offer
- Stock waiting to be put on shelves
- Rubbish trolleys/containers
- Cunts milling about, deciding how to make shelves look pretty
- Supervisors watching cunts milling about
- Inconvenient displays of goods at the ends of aisles that intentionally reduce the width, and fuck everyone off
- People coming the other way
- Complete cunts who are friends of the other cunts they are talking to while blocking the fucking aisle
- Fat fuckers
This all assumes that it is worth the bother, and that the store you're in has got on sale what you want. This is never a given in anything but the largest stores. Once you've collected 60% of what you intended to buy, the next phase is to negotiate the tail-ends of queues, looking for one that's shorter than a diplodocus's tail. Ideally it will be at a checkout that is NOT operated by the talkative person who is in fancy dress for some un-fucking-known reason, who is daring you to ask what the dressing up is in aid of. Then there are the people loitering at the end of the checkouts, cramping everyone's style, and guarding a bucket at the end of the chute, which has sellotaped to it a piece of paper noting the unworthy cause for which the loiterers are collecting money. I say 'collecting' but they are allegedly 'working' to raise money, through helping to pack. When they do this, they are of little or no help, but often have a detrimental effect because they simply fuck up the packing while working against every convention of common sense. If you don't want them to help, they just stand there getting in the fucking way!
Saturday
My most recent visit involved my experiencing nearly all of the aforesaid, and the game of Asda Wipeout claimed me. At the end of the fruit and vegetable aisle, I rounded the corner and had to stop. Ordinarily the space between the end display of onions and peppers and the cabinet opposite would have been sufficient for just two shoppers to pass. However, the width was such that a single trolley could move by, on account of a plastic tray of potatoes inhabiting floor space in the most obstructive position possible. Eyes of shoppers met across the crowded and gridlocked area until I dragged the cunting tray and slid it towards the anoraks. That's right, everyone knows that there should be a rack of anoraks opposite the "three-packs" of peppers!
Past the vegetables, I passed a fat woman who was at first not easily recognisable as an Asda employee. This was on account of her attire - not strictly a uniform, but then XXXXL might have been out of stock. She was speaking to a young chap and I distinctly heard [for there was no 'doppler' effect, what with me travelling forcibly at 'fucking slowly' and her waddling necessarily at 'fucking slowly] her comment:
"You'll have to carry on here; I'm on pizzas."
There was, in my humble opinion, never any doubt she was 'on pizzas' - about sever per day by the look of it. I think she was trying to get out of lifting trays of vegetable. So far, she'd managed to put one on the floor to try and obstruct me, and leave the other six on a tower that was still sitting in the middle of the aisle (well, just off-centre) meaning single file traffic.
Eggs are of course the obstacle of choice for most store managers. The mini-pallets of eggs are fantastic for sticking to one side at the ends of aisles, just to impede people while at the same time teasing shoppers who will be toying with the idea of an omelette for tea. Round the corner, cunts were standing opposite other cunts, talking rather than shopping, adding to the mayhem. I resisted the urge to play curling with the basket of biscuits that was ahead of me.
The DVD selection was dire and overpriced. The token gestures on sale were at higher prices than other stores let alone other retailers. I decided I didn't need a ceramic frying pan or any duvet covers, and moved on towards the beer. The horrendous speakers were churning out tinny music and generally robbing the nation of hearing abilities that would become noticeable in later life. The noise pollution was even worse when I clocked The Wanted singing "She Walks Like Rihanna", and then I smiled when a passing chav was singing along, and came out with "she walks like me nanna".
The lager was £12, two quid more than Morrisons, so I struggled to understand how "Rolling Back The Prices" worked. I doubled back to get some mince before leaving, but pork mince was simply not on sale; there wasn't even an empty shelf that I could find - there must be a world shortage of pigs then.
The checkouts were mobbed, but at least fancy dress was not visible. Still, with Halloween coming up, I dare say I'd be greeted by a cunting witch next week. The shopping packers were in attendance, and I let one of them do something, as she wouldn't have moved out of the way if I'd not involved her. Eighty pounds lighter (monetarily, NOT weight-wise) I left AsdaWorld with a sense of frustration, annoyance and dismay. I was wiped out.
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