30.11.13 Morrisons

I am sure you have seen a puppet act where the operators wear all black and the background is also black. This allows them to go about there business with "near invisibility", while the audience is allowed to concentrate on the puppets instead of the human input.  This afternoon at Morrisons, I encountered a female member of staff who clearly had aspirations for such a career, and was practising while at work.  However, she was not in fact "invisible" and was instead sporting a green fucking uniform.  She did not so much merge into the background as create a fucking obstacle.

I was engaged in the relatively normal activity of choosing some ham, a subset within the general activity of 'shopping'.  I rather expected that by standing in from of the various packets of ham, I was well placed to achieve my objective. However, I'd not reckoned on the cunt in green, who was scuttling backwards and forwards, hugging the cabinet, and moving packets around, as well as cardboard, in an effort to tidy the display.  She was oblivious to my presence!  I resisted the urge to kick her in the cunt, and instead snatched (what a pun!) the breaded ham between her passes.

At the checkout, I stood ready to pay the £50 bill clutching three twenty pound notes.  I was right in front of the checkout operator, who asked:

"Have you got a card you could put in, and then I'll knock it off."

I looked at the machine and saw the "insert card" instruction, and I then looked at the woman with a confused look.  "What?" I asked.

"I've pressed card by mistake."

I did not move, and simply looked at the cretin like she was a cretin, and the cretin looked at me as though it was my fault.  "It doesn't matter," she said, by way of a follow up.  "It's just that it takes ages to reset."  I looked at her and she wasted oxygen.  Eventually (and it was a good two minutes) she announced the cost and took my notes. I said 'Thank you' when she handed me my change but she was avoiding any eye contact, or civility and simply breathed uselessly.

Leaving the store was a nightmare; negotiating screaming kids, useless parents and the queue for the 'changing room' was hard enough.  There was a bloke carrying a whining kid under his arm as he headed for the trolleys, and the cacophony was horrendous.  It was tempting to forego the return of the pound coin, and simply abandon my trolley to allow speedier departure, but economics (well, actually, the principle) took over and I got my quid back.

The place was a fucking zoo!

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