This morning I was engulfed in a fiasco at Asda - not for the first time, of course. I got my newspapers and then queued at the lottery desk for a ticket. The lovely Faye obliged after a couple of minutes, and I was free to roam the aisles with no real expectation of escaping unharmed. I was not surprised, therefore, to collect a few things and then get embroiled in controversy.
Marmite-gate was brought about by my rather straightforward decision to purchase some Marmite. After some slight delay in locating the substance, I finally found it and noted the availability in varying quantities and in varying containers. This meant I had to make a decision.
If I were female and a blonde, I might have felt a bit like Goldilocks, weighing up the three options. There were three jars available:
125g jar - £1.60
250g jar - £2.49
500g jar - £3.49
Having run out on Thursday and played the game of "scrape from the jar whatever the fuck you can in tiny bits on the very end of a wiggled knife" [up for consideration as an Olympic sport] I thought it might be appropriate to look as a squeezy bottle option. There were two available:
200g - £2.55
400g - £4.78
As you would expect, I was disgruntled. Less Marmite for more money - why the fuck is that? On this basis, compared with the medium and large jars, the equivalent prices for Marmite obtained through a spout would be:
250g - £3.19 [28% more expensive]
500g - £5.38 [54% more expensive]
From the three jars, I judged the largest to be the best option and put one in my trolley. A couple of minutes later, I was at the checkouts where a five-foot-nothing woman (whose name I didn't clock but for the sake of this story I'll call Matilda] was holding a stick pointing to an empty lane. Opposite me, two lanes along from Matilda, was another empty lane. The two checkout operations looked at me, and there was a brief pause by all as I considered what to do. I'd like to think that my decision to use the lane opposite me was solely based on my having to move six feet less, but I think I subconsciously wanted to opt for the one that was not being pointed to by someone holding a stick, with a big pointing hand on top. I am sure Miley Cyrus would have found a better use for it than directing (or not, in my case) customers.
I had done some mental arithmetic (something that's quite rare these days) and knew that the contents of my small trolley (eight items) would cost about £23. When everything had been scanned and bagged, I was asked for £24 and so as I handed over thirty quid, I assumed I'd made a mistake. The £6 change was accompanied by a receipt which I checked, to discover that the Marmite was listed at £4.50. I quite obviously told the checkout operator there was an error, and I'd been overcharged.
The checkout operator called over to Matilda, who swung into action, probably pleased to have something to do other than fondle her pole. I listened as the situation was relayed to her, and Matilda then invited me on an excursion, with: "Do you want to show me?" I grabbed the jar and followed he, correcting her on which aisle to go to the end of, as I was clearly more aware than she was about the store and its contents. We both squatted - no, not for a shit, but to inspect the display on the bottom shelf. Matilda was not bright - and no doubt still isn't, nor ever was. I held a 500g big cunt of a jar, and her job was to see what price was on the display below jars of the same size. With only three jars to choose from, she opted for a 400g squeezy bottle and said: "Is it this one?"
If she'd have been holding her pole, I'd possibly have greased it with Marmite and inserted it in the orifice she was using to talk - her arse. I instead told her that was a squeezy one, and she then realised, telling me it was only 400g. "Let's check the bar codes" was her plan of action, and I watched as she fumbled and pulled out the small barcode from below the clear plastic strip, and held it next to the one on the large jar. "They're the same; there's definitely an error." En route to the checkout area, she asked if I'd already paid, and when I said 'yes', she told me we'd have to go to customer service. She walked quickly for someone with a pole up her arse. JOKE . . . I never inserted it.
After retrieving my trolley, I caught up with Matilda, who joined a queue. Faye was the only person behind the counter that trebled-up as the customer service, lottery and cigarette area. Matilda clutched the receipt and we waited for two customers in front of us. Matilda then shot off towards the newspaper stand, and got on to her knees. I didn't take this as any sort of invitation, and instead tried to establish a logical reason for her arse pointing towards me. Then she stood up, holding a bottle of Sprite, and handed it to a woman standing on a small metal trolley who'd obviously dropped it while restocking the shelves. Matilda the ninja was alert to all possibilities. She rejoined me just as Faye served the last person in front. Matilda explained everything to Faye, and it included a request for a member of the pricing team to attend to an error. I was alarmed at the speed of response, because as my attention was drifting to the surroundings, I'd not noticed Faye's movement to a small microphone, and over the airwaves came the request.
Matilda made a mistake, saying that the Marmite should have cost £3.39 rather than £3.49, but I was not inclined to complicate matters, especially as a woman had just arrived carrying a basket full of paraphernalia associated with pricing. As Faye started to complete a page in her A4 carbonated pad, I watched Matilda and the Barcode Biddy zoom off like they were part of a SWAT team. Faye put £1.11 on the counter, and I told her it should be £1.01. She was not bothered, saying it was done now. She then handed me a voucher for £2 in the shape of a 'Man Card'.
I left the SWAT team to its task, and left the building with a weird sense of confusion. I had in effect received £1.11 plus £2.00 from the price charged, £4.50, making the true cost of the 500g Marmite £1.39. What a triumph! I am sure that Asda SWAT people will have corrected the error, and that there is now an increased level of vigilance in the area.
On the way home, up a steep hill, I can upon a breakdown van attending to (unsurprisingly) a vehicle that had broken down. It was in fact an Asda delivery vehicle. Ha!
...
No comments:
Post a Comment