Last week I was (as usual) frustrated by Asda Skelton, and its lack of stock. The shortage of choice comes about for two reasons. The first is that the store does not sell the full range of items available at other Asda stores, so there's automatically a reduced expectation upon entering through the automatic doors. The second is that the fuckers are always running out of things, so it comes as no surprise when a shelf is empty, or a basket is bare.
Against this backdrop then, it's all the more annoying to be asked by the woman on the checkout:
"Did you find everything that you were looking for?"
Talk about rubbing salt into the wound; and not for the first time. This woman uses this stock question without any discrimination or any fucking interest in whether the shopper (me) has actually found everything. I have already considered asking Bono to re-record the U2 hit and substitute for "I have climbed highest mountains" the line: "I have searched Asda Skelton", before getting to the main line of the song - "I still haven't found what I'm looking for".
I suspect she doesn't realise that she's asked me this before - not surprising at all considering it's churned out in the direction of anyone using her conveyor belt. The first time I said 'No' and this was only a couple of weeks after the store had opened. At this stage, her blind faith in Asda was pure, and as I was somehow tainting that view, she was encouraged to invite further input (not that she'd be able to do anything about the shortage). I relayed what was unavailable to me on that first exchange, and as per a previous post on this blog, explained it was not really surprising because this was not a 'proper Asda'. The raised eyebrows stuck to the ceiling and she was aghast at such a suggestion. The "Oh" was hardly a fruitful or fitting end to that exchange.
On a subsequent visit, I said "Yes" to her enquiry, to save any further pointless engagement at all. Last week's question was a final niggle after a quick visit to the store that proved more like a game kids might play at a party. I am thinking of 'Hunt the Thimble', or the other Easter favourite, 'Where's that cuntin' bunny hidden the chocolate eggs?" The correct answer, aside from listing the empty spaces where I'd hoped to find things, was:
"No; as usual, shelves are empty, and I am left without the things I wanted to buy. The reason you're about to scan a 6-pint fucking container of semi-skimmed milk that will mean the risk of a broken wrist for Mrs MWSC is that the 4-pint trolleys are empty as a dimwit's brain, and how Asda can manage to fuck up the milk supply on a leading product is pathetic."
I did not say this, of course, because that would mean a waste of my energy reserves and mental turmoil as I resisted the urge to nut someone. Neither did I fully explain Lettuce-gate. If I had chosen to relay the details of the Lettuce-gate saga, I would most definitely have tipped over the edge. The answer would have been:
"Despite your very best efforts at Asda Skelton in trying to deny me my Iceberg Lettuce, I outsmarted you and did indeed find some in the format I'd set my heart on. Did I find everything I was looking for? No, there's a list of omissions, but it does not include lettuce, thanks to some luck and determination on my part. The Iceberg Lettuce basket was supposed to have contained Iceberg Lettuces at 50p, but it was unsurprisingly empty. There was, however, an option for me to purchase bags of Iceberg Lettuce at £1, with the weight being about half of the weight of a typical [well, if you can ever find one, so perhaps "typical but rare" would be better] Iceburg Lettuce. So, about four times the price, then. In frustration, and because I'm a principled cunt, I decided to forego Iceberg Lettuce, and I instead thought a double pack of Little Gem Lettuce would serve we just as well, at a £1.12. It was when I leaned down to pick up a pack that I was drawn to some greenness lurking in the basket below that which held the Little Gems. The holes in the basket revealed a sub-layer of Iceberg Lettuces. I lifted the basket of Little Gems and my eyes beheld the prize. Discarding the basket in the aisle, so that other shoppers would have less difficulty in finding an Iceberg Lettuce, I picked one up and moved on. So, Iceberg Lettuce is actually not on the list of things that I couldn't find in this store. You'll have to try a bit harder to catch me out on vegetables in future."
I did not of course ever relay such an answer, as the queue that would have developed behind me might have caused the twat with the "Space Here" sign a heart attack. Instead, in answer to her query: "Do you need any help with your packing?" I said, politely, "No thanks" rather than - "Just an adequate and timely supply of bags." For some reason it's commonly the case for checkout operators to ration carrier bags, checking as the shopping is scanned and packed, that they are not over-supplying the useless thin bags. Drip-feeding them is the in thing, and this stops the public from engaging in the horrendous scam of not making proper use of each and every carrier bag. In reality, it means that there's a bottleneck because when I'm down to my last bag (every sixty seconds then) I refuse to put a chicken and 1.4 litres of Tropicana in the same bag, on the basis that (1) the two shapes are not very compatible (2) the sharpness of the drink carton will be forced into the side of the thin/weak bag by the chicken, inviting a split (3) the weight distribution will be odd (4) I don't fucking want to!
Yesterday, I found a crappy selection of greeting cards on display, and discovered that there is not a single one that's blank. I would have thought that any sensible person in charge of cards would include something that was blank and multi-functional, but no, I could not buy a blank card and decided not to query this perverse decision as the numpty working at Asda would no doubt have a surfeit of blankness and a deficit of multi-functionality.
I took a short break from wheeling my trolley, and went to the loo. Unfortunately an "Out of Service" sign was stuck to the door, and I wondered whether that sign ought to be displayed on the front, just below the 'Asda Skelton' sign. Inside the only accessible and working option, the toilet for disabled people and those wanting to change offspring (not swap them, but re-nappy them) the floor was strewn with toilet roll and there was water on the floor as well. Generally, it was in a poor state.
Back in the aisles, Asda also decided to deny me any pork mince, and the big rack that should have contained 20-pack bags of Walkers Crisps (standard) was empty; no, I did NOT want the 'Meaty' variant, as I dislike Prawn Cocktail flavour [Meaty????] and Worcester Sauce [Meaty????]. I had to settle for 'medium' chillis as there were no 'hot' ones, but I was lucky on the Warburton's Bread front, getting the penultimate loaf. There were no beansprouts at all. The three crates of lager would help me get through the next day or two, and I moved towards the checkouts with what turned out to be £77 worth of stuff. This did not include any chickens, as the "3 for £10" offer that's been running for many months has been withdrawn for no fucking good reason.
I put just one 20-can box of lager on the conveyor belt, having made sure that the operator was not the one who might ask me that stupid fucking question. The other two remained in my trolley, so that I could say "three of the beers", and follow what is the only sensible convention that seems to apply in Asda Skelton. The woman in front of me was just paying, while at the same time trying to call her brat of a kid to "get here!" in a stern voice. She stuck her card in the machine and completed the transaction. "Is this yours as well?" asked the checkout operator, pointing to a handful of items still on the conveyor, just ahead of my own. "No, I don't want that; it's his - he likes to shop as well but I don't want it; is that okay?"
The stupid nob had thought it was fine to let her son shop (fuck knows how he found anything he wanted but he nearly had more than me!) and then put it on the conveyor with no intention of buying it. I'd heard her trying to control her son in the store, but with no real success. Now she'd decided it was fine to let Asda staff put back all the items. Stupid cunt.
I packed my shopping and presented four twenty-pound noted in payment, as the operator Said: "Helen, can I have some tape over here?" I wondered what was occurring, and was surprised when a small strip of tape, about 12 inches long and an inch wide, was stuck to the top of one of the boxes of lager. It had written on it "Asda Sold Asda Sold etc". [No, it didn't have "Etc" on it, you're just being silly now!] I considered that the difference made by the adherence of this bit of tape was equivalent to the difference made years ago by an axe to the efforts of Rutherford in splitting the atom. There was no security tag on the item, no security bloke at the door, and I had a receipt showing I'd purchased three crates of lager, having announced as intended to the checkout operator, "three of the beers". What the fuck was the point in the pathetic bit of tape? I was about to suggest that Helen might be more productive if she cleaned up the toilets, but she scuttled off as I took my change. I pulled off the tape and screwed it up, on the way to the main doors, and proved beyond all cunting doubt that having no tape on the lager did not stir up any animosity or concern, nor did I get threatened with being the subject of a contract killing. Pointless crap. Thanks, Helen.
In the car park, the failing parent was failing again: "Right, you're not getting a Christmas present" was the threat dished out at 114 decibels to the brat. It was of course a lie, as the doting cunt will almost certainly be loading her car with plastic from Smyths Toys in the next week, and rewarding him with exactly what he wants, but with nothing that he needs. I considered that there are probably many parents using that lame threat at this time of the year, rather than trying to work out how they have allowed their children to rule.
I left Asda Skelton with a sense of despair, and without hot chillis, crisps or a blank card. Obviously it was deemed more important that Asda stocks paint, because shelf space was given over to this along with a whole host of weird and wonderful non-best sellers. Maybe B&Q will start selling hot chillis (?)
Just a question to leave you with; the latest advert for Asda on TV suggests some sort of prowess regarding the selection and sale of Meat, and that the meat available at Asda is "Hand Selected". Does that mean some cunt pointed at it, and said "I want that one"?
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