Thursday, 19 March 2009

The basket case and my quest for the precious...

Wednesday was a day spend relaxing and recuperating following the dubious "fun" of working all day on St Patrick's day. I went to the beach with Little Miss Manuel and her family dog, which was exciting. The wet and smelly sort of excitement that only a manic dog can bring but it was a good day none the less. But the real excitement of the day came with the visit to my local all seeing, all knowing, all providing supermarket. I prefer to get my provisions from the local shops, butcher not included, but I was whacked from an afternoon chasing after a dog chasing after a ball so I went for the easy option.

shopping 101:
stuff goes in here

I picked up my basket and began the drudgery of the schlep from one end of the supermarket to the other obeying the unspoken rule of the one way system. The bloody place was rammed with hungover students recovering and restocking from the annual St Patrick's day riots. God I hate students and I hate subsidising their afternoon riots. The smell of stale Buckfast lingering in the air was hastening my meander round the shop quite considerably.

Have you ever come across a person who doesn't know how to shop in a supermarket? You know the sort, doesn't know how to use a basket let alone where they are kept. The sort of chap that wears an expression of part wonderment part confusion part dismay at the crassness of it all? Well he wandered my way whilst I was deciding which size bottle of ketchup to buy.

He was carrying all his shopping in his arms and was clearly having some trouble balancing them all whilst he sought out other things, stuff and crap. He looked like a game show contestant, "Who wants to be a massive douche?", sprung to mind. He was also zipping about from aisle to aisle in the most disorderly way paying no mind to the unwritten one way system rule. I moved on quick sharpish lest he want to engage me in conversation about which was the best mayo to mix with his caviar.

I got myself to the frozen food section and away from the foppish idiot, honestly he was like a character from a Richard Curtis borefest. Having found the mini-twister ice lollies that I sought I was all a fucking rage as I couldn't reach the last box. There it was all glowing and lovely like the ring from that film about walking, The Lord of the Walks. But the preciousness I could not reach. So I set down my basket and practically climbed inside the freezer compartment to get at it. But as I struggled and reached out like a man trying to save his lover from falling over a cliff I felt a tap on my back. "Bollocks", thought I, Tesco's finest were pissed off that I was all over their freezer section with my sandy shoes. But when I turned round who did I find there? That's right the foppish idiot no less. Argh!

"Hello..", says he wobbling about from foot to foot with his bleach and his lettuce and all the other crap looking like a giant game of Jenga.

"Yeah?", says I curtly.

"..hello...., " again, "...do you work here? Could you point me in the direction of the fish counter? I cant seem to find it...", he asked as he tried to keep his golden jewel encrusted tiara from slipping from his head.

Now I will never know how I rested the urge to say, "Yeah that's right I work here. Tesco fits all it's staff out in Scotch & Soda sweaters, blue Wranglers and classy Spanish Camper shoes, you fucking massive douche." But resist I did. I informed him that this Tesco did not have a fish counter but if he wandered a little to the left and up a bit he would find the pre-packaged shitty fish offerings that they do stock. And off he wobbled nearly taking out a skinny looking Polish family whilst he was at it. They gave me a dirty look. I was too engrossed in trying to get the last box of mini-twisters to tell them that he wasn't my mate. I damned my shortness and gave up in the end, settling for a less than pleasing box of fruit pastille lollies instead. Why does the world hate me so much? Why?

As usual I got to the checkout's to find them understaffed with queues of filthy students and friends of filthy students loitering all over the place. I joined a queue and waited for the, "All multi-skillers to checkouts please" announcement. From the corner of my eye I could see yer man, the foppish idiot, with an old woman. She was taking the stuff from his arms and dropping them into a basket for him. "What an utter cunt", I thought as I shuffled patiently up the queue whilst keeping an eye on the kid with the 24 pack of beer in front of me. He was eyeing my chicken breasts up with a little too much drool for my liking.

At that the expected, '"All multi-skillers to checkouts please" announcement came and is if from nowhere came wave after wave of blue sweatered Tesco employees. Are they chameleons? Do they change colour so that you cant see them against the tins of beans? Anyway that didn't matter, what mattered was that there were now new checkouts open and the rush was on to move from stupidly long queue to empty queue. I picked my checkout, lifted my basket and shuffled left, I shuffled like a man has never shuffled before only to find that I was beaten to that newly opened checkout by....the massive fucking douche with the foppish hair.

"Fucking pish!", I exclaimed a little louder than I probably should have as heard me and turned round.

"Sorry?", he asked

"You get some fish?", I replied

"Yes, yes thank you for that. Don't normally get the goods, the wife does that."

You don't fucking say. You know what gets me the most? He walked straight out of the chips n dips aisle to an empty checkout. He probably thinks it's like that all the time. He didn't have to queue with the rest of us and the dirty, filthy, smelly, stale Buckfast omitting students. The bastard. As the woman on the checkout packed his bags, I mean what the fuck is that all about, they never pack mine, he turned to me and said,"So you must be finished work then? It's a great place you have here." And off he went.

Meh.

20 People trying to get Manuel's attention:

ninetyninewords said...

Life needn't be Hell with Nicotinell.

Suck a lozenge, for God's sake, and be done with it.

Manuel said...

99 words: I never thought.......maybe he was you.....hmmm twice in one week....?

Medbh said...

Manuel, going to the market saps me of all patience.
I was there today and hate it when the lazy fuckers don't bag their own groceries.

It's fairly standard here that the checker does it and it's such a waste of time.

But I have blood oranges now.
Yum.

Manuel said...

Medbh: I always pack my own into my own bag at that. I also detest, whilst we are at it, people who are suddenly surprised they have to pay and spend precious more minutes pissing about looking for money.....wtf?

ninetyninewords said...

Are you trying to tell me you're stalking me?

Manuel said...

99 words: are you trying to say you're stalking me.....sort of

Anonymous said...

I love you Manuel and think that may be you Should be running the supermarkets of the world.
Claudia

Manuel said...

claudia: why thank you! but I would make a bad supermarket boss...I'd just stock mini-twisters....nowt else just little bitty ice lollies...on the plus side there be no students...ever

MJ said...

Do they at least have free samples at your grocer?

Mine does but the Sample Man hates me because he knows I won't buy.

Manuel said...

mj: worst samples ever.....cheese in a can and peculiar jams....polish bread and potato juices and all that sort of crap....

Waiter Extraordinaire said...

I can just imagine what it would have been like having all the hangovers shopping the day after Saint Patrick's Day. That must have been painful to watch.....

Jimmy Bastard said...

Manuel.... clean up.. aisle 3.

TheChrisD said...

It's even worse when you get these tossers in front of you and the self-scan checkout and you have to stand there in private hell for half an hour while they try and scan the first bloody item.

I mean do you seriously think they installed them for you to fumble around for several hours like you're a 7-year-old child with a toy shop scanner thing? No, they're there for people who actually have some motor skills to get the hell out of there as quickly as possible, without having to deal with snot-faced teenage checkout operators...

Ugh.

Manuel said...

steve: yes but amusing.......mwahahaha

jimmy: not me man, not me

chris d: i hate the self scanning and the freaks that use it......it's not right man, it's just not right....

Conan Drumm said...

Bertie Wooster out shopping, was it?

Crispy said...

I have just had major teethlaughs and near spat my couscous out that was so funny. I just could see your wee legs hangin outta the freezer!!! Fabulous darling.

The Jules said...

I once had a job which involved wearing apparel similar to supermarket managers (industrial trousers, cheap shirt, clip-on tie), and I enjoyed telling anyone who asked my advice that bread was out of stock, or that cod had been discontinued because it was endangered, or beans were carcinogenic.

Ah, good times . . .

liederess said...

Multi-skillers? They have to have more than one skill to handle the cash register? I suppose: double-bagging for anyone over the age of 50, fending off expired coupons, price checking, and calling for a stock person to retrieve your ice lollies (popsicles?) I hope someone got them for you. You deserve a treat.

I laughed out loud at your Jenga description. That was brilliant!

Sassy Sundry said...

I love the idea of supermarket employees with "multi-skills." In fact, I'm a bit jealous, because unless I land a scanner and get through the self-checkout line, I encounter some of the least skilled people on this Earth.

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