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» Shops and Supermarkets
Where in the world….
My wife had just bought a new car, and so eager to take it for a spin, we decided to go and visit her grandparents and take them out to the local Harvester or wherever. Lunch with grandparents is always followed by a trip to Sainsburys, Homebase, or the garden centre – if you visit older relatives, you know the score.
No sooner had her granddad finished his fillet of salmon when he announced that he’d like to be driven over to PC World to buy a new keyboard. No problem, I don’t mind wandering around any computer store for a bit, and it’s nice to feel that you’re helping them out with something that they can’t normally do by bus. My wife and grandma looked in the shop next door, leaving me in PC World with my wife’s grandpa – so far so good…
Unfortunately, old Grandad’s salmon evidently didn’t agree with him, and no more than 5 minutes into the shop, he comes running down the aisle clenching his buttocks like Noah’s Ark had been fully loaded and the tempestuous floods were about to come over the hills and wipe out all humanity. Red-faced, he said something about needing a toilet right NOW… and I could see from his eyes that he wasn’t exaggerating. I stopped a passing staff member, explained that the old chap was not well & could we use the staff toilets etc. They shepherded him out the back through locked doors, but sadly it turns out that they weren’t fast enough. When he re-emerged 20 minutes later, it was evident that he’d removed and tried to wash his entire beige slacks under the tap, and was now 1) wearing soaking wet, shit-stained trousers, 2) making the whole shop smell like a sewage works that’d gone wrong and 3) being escorted out of the shop by a very pleasant (but also quite embarrassed) young PC World Saturday girl, leaving wet brown drips from his trouser legs as he went.
As we reached the car park – and my wife’s brand new car – we toyed with the idea of running in to the M&S to buy new trousers, but in the end, just wrapped him up with a blanket as if it was a sarong, plastered the back seats with loads of PC World deal leaflets, and headed home.
Poor old fella….. To make it worse for him, he got a massive bollocking from his wife the whole way home from the store. Even after steam cleaning the car’s upholstery it still has a musty, shitty smell. Can’t fault the staff in PC World though…
(Mon 14th May 2012, 12:37, More)
Where in the world….
My wife had just bought a new car, and so eager to take it for a spin, we decided to go and visit her grandparents and take them out to the local Harvester or wherever. Lunch with grandparents is always followed by a trip to Sainsburys, Homebase, or the garden centre – if you visit older relatives, you know the score.
No sooner had her granddad finished his fillet of salmon when he announced that he’d like to be driven over to PC World to buy a new keyboard. No problem, I don’t mind wandering around any computer store for a bit, and it’s nice to feel that you’re helping them out with something that they can’t normally do by bus. My wife and grandma looked in the shop next door, leaving me in PC World with my wife’s grandpa – so far so good…
Unfortunately, old Grandad’s salmon evidently didn’t agree with him, and no more than 5 minutes into the shop, he comes running down the aisle clenching his buttocks like Noah’s Ark had been fully loaded and the tempestuous floods were about to come over the hills and wipe out all humanity. Red-faced, he said something about needing a toilet right NOW… and I could see from his eyes that he wasn’t exaggerating. I stopped a passing staff member, explained that the old chap was not well & could we use the staff toilets etc. They shepherded him out the back through locked doors, but sadly it turns out that they weren’t fast enough. When he re-emerged 20 minutes later, it was evident that he’d removed and tried to wash his entire beige slacks under the tap, and was now 1) wearing soaking wet, shit-stained trousers, 2) making the whole shop smell like a sewage works that’d gone wrong and 3) being escorted out of the shop by a very pleasant (but also quite embarrassed) young PC World Saturday girl, leaving wet brown drips from his trouser legs as he went.
As we reached the car park – and my wife’s brand new car – we toyed with the idea of running in to the M&S to buy new trousers, but in the end, just wrapped him up with a blanket as if it was a sarong, plastered the back seats with loads of PC World deal leaflets, and headed home.
Poor old fella….. To make it worse for him, he got a massive bollocking from his wife the whole way home from the store. Even after steam cleaning the car’s upholstery it still has a musty, shitty smell. Can’t fault the staff in PC World though…
(Mon 14th May 2012, 12:37, More)
» Shops and Supermarkets
Wife with clubcard points
My parents moved house when I went off to Uni, so my first holiday back from home was in a town where I didn't know anyone. I heard that a neighbour's daughter, my age, worked in the local Tesco, so on my first trip to the supermarket I found her on the tills, introduced myself as the new boy next door and we shook hands at the checkouts. A few meets later - and lots of unecessary trips in to Tesco - I got her number, then got the courage to ask her out to the cinema, and it went from there.
11 years on from that day, we got married last summer, and our first baby's due this summer.
Amusingly, if I recount the story of how we met in polite company, her rather wannabe-upper-class mother likes to chirp in with 'she only worked there as a temporary job you know, we normally shop in Waitrose'
(Fri 11th May 2012, 14:37, More)
Wife with clubcard points
My parents moved house when I went off to Uni, so my first holiday back from home was in a town where I didn't know anyone. I heard that a neighbour's daughter, my age, worked in the local Tesco, so on my first trip to the supermarket I found her on the tills, introduced myself as the new boy next door and we shook hands at the checkouts. A few meets later - and lots of unecessary trips in to Tesco - I got her number, then got the courage to ask her out to the cinema, and it went from there.
11 years on from that day, we got married last summer, and our first baby's due this summer.
Amusingly, if I recount the story of how we met in polite company, her rather wannabe-upper-class mother likes to chirp in with 'she only worked there as a temporary job you know, we normally shop in Waitrose'
(Fri 11th May 2012, 14:37, More)
» Racist grandparents
Deaf as a doorknob
My grandpa, recently departed, was a great old fella. A proper gentleman, had time for everyone, and taught us a good few things as we grew up.
Despite this, owing to a combination of bomb damage in the war, and falling off a ladder a few years back, he was pretty much deaf. No amount of 'revolutionary digital' non-NHS hearing aids from rip-off door to door salesmen helped, and so communicating with him was never easy. As a result, when he spoke to you, he'd often be shouting - in a deep voice that brought silence to any doctor's waiting room or restaurant.
Memorable moments included:
- in A&E where he was being well cared for, announcing 'there's a lot of black people working here - some of them are even doctors, they're not all cleaners'
- in Prezzo, 'I don't think our waitress is really Italian, I think she's Polish. They're cheaper to employ, cos there's just so many of them' - as the very nice waitress was standing next to the table opening the wine.
- waiting in the doctor's surgery 'One - two - three - four - FIVE black people waiting. That's a lot. They must get ill a lot'
- at an old friend's wake, standing in line for the buffet, talking about a very nice afro-caribbean couple who lived next door to the deceased, who'd been great neighbours to him until his dying days & had come along to the funeral to pay their respects like the rest of us 'Hmm - I wonder who that black man and his wife are - I wouldn't have thought that Peter had any black friends - I hope they got the right funeral!'. The couple in question heard, put down their plate of iceland sausage rolls and walked away :-((
- in the local Indian restaurant where we were the only table in there, 'That waiter's long beard looks really daft - why's it so long - he's a 20yr old that looks 50! (didn't bother trying to explain religious observence - just looked apologetically towards the waiter, and hoped that he didn't spit in MY lamb rogan josh...
- not racist, but probably the best - just before I got married, at a family meal, shouted out 'You know, I didn't really like MrsPitta at first - wasn't much to her - but these days, I think she's quite nice' - just as my fiance walked back to the table from the ladies. He said it so loud that the whole restaurant turned round and looked at her'
Deep down, he wasn't racist - he supported all parts of the community and did a lot of good in his time. I guess he just came from an era where people had these thoughts. He really could have done with keeping them to himself, or being a bit quieter.
Miss him loads. Funeral a week today :-(
RIP gpa
x
(Fri 28th Oct 2011, 10:32, More)
Deaf as a doorknob
My grandpa, recently departed, was a great old fella. A proper gentleman, had time for everyone, and taught us a good few things as we grew up.
Despite this, owing to a combination of bomb damage in the war, and falling off a ladder a few years back, he was pretty much deaf. No amount of 'revolutionary digital' non-NHS hearing aids from rip-off door to door salesmen helped, and so communicating with him was never easy. As a result, when he spoke to you, he'd often be shouting - in a deep voice that brought silence to any doctor's waiting room or restaurant.
Memorable moments included:
- in A&E where he was being well cared for, announcing 'there's a lot of black people working here - some of them are even doctors, they're not all cleaners'
- in Prezzo, 'I don't think our waitress is really Italian, I think she's Polish. They're cheaper to employ, cos there's just so many of them' - as the very nice waitress was standing next to the table opening the wine.
- waiting in the doctor's surgery 'One - two - three - four - FIVE black people waiting. That's a lot. They must get ill a lot'
- at an old friend's wake, standing in line for the buffet, talking about a very nice afro-caribbean couple who lived next door to the deceased, who'd been great neighbours to him until his dying days & had come along to the funeral to pay their respects like the rest of us 'Hmm - I wonder who that black man and his wife are - I wouldn't have thought that Peter had any black friends - I hope they got the right funeral!'. The couple in question heard, put down their plate of iceland sausage rolls and walked away :-((
- in the local Indian restaurant where we were the only table in there, 'That waiter's long beard looks really daft - why's it so long - he's a 20yr old that looks 50! (didn't bother trying to explain religious observence - just looked apologetically towards the waiter, and hoped that he didn't spit in MY lamb rogan josh...
- not racist, but probably the best - just before I got married, at a family meal, shouted out 'You know, I didn't really like MrsPitta at first - wasn't much to her - but these days, I think she's quite nice' - just as my fiance walked back to the table from the ladies. He said it so loud that the whole restaurant turned round and looked at her'
Deep down, he wasn't racist - he supported all parts of the community and did a lot of good in his time. I guess he just came from an era where people had these thoughts. He really could have done with keeping them to himself, or being a bit quieter.
Miss him loads. Funeral a week today :-(
RIP gpa
x
(Fri 28th Oct 2011, 10:32, More)
» The Great Outdoors
Not pregnant in the end
Fresh out of A-levels, my ex and I went on our first foreign holiday together... camping in rural France. It was a nice campsite, but one with a big metal barrier on reception, so come 10pm at night when Monsieur Patron locked the barrier, if your car was in it stayed in.
My ex had a fairly unhealthy repetoire of food that she would eat, mainly choosing to eat pasta and crisps whilst outside the UK. After a few days of lots of stodgy carbs and not enough hydration, she woke me at about midnight in the tent, clenching her tummy and rolling around in tears. It had been years since my scouts first aid course and I didn't know what appendicitis looked like, but after 20 minutes of this I figured it might be bad. Time to put her in the car and find a hospital perhaps.
It took 20 mins of banging on the site owner's door, followed by 10 minutes of him leaning out the window in his dressing gown waving abuse and swearing at me, before he came down and opned the bloody barrier to get my car out, cursing at me as he did it. Then half an hour's drive to the nearest city to find A&E.
On arrival, in a town-centre hospital, the night-shift doctors sprang up from their very quiet reception desk, produced a trolley, ushered us into a lift... bing... doors opened and we're being admitted to the labour ward. I tried loads in my schoolboy Franglais to say that she wasn't pregnant, but they were busy hooking her up to the monitors and getting the on-call midwife on the phone etc.
After a while of tests, blood tests, trying to get her to remove her trousers etc, they eventually realised she wasn't about to drop a sprog. We then had some amusing miming and sound effect type game going on where the doctor was trying to ask when she had last been to the crapeur.
An hour later, they discharged her with a take-home DIY enema kit and instruction (we think) for me to shove it up her jacksie and squeeze the contents in if she hadn't shat out her week's worth of pasta by daybreak. I was determined to give this kit a go (kinky?) but she wasn't letting me anywhere near, and I think the shear sight of the pre-lubricated 4" nozzle was enough to get the bowels moving. I remember the patient info leaflet in the kit having an English translation that basically said to only use it if you were in the immediate vicinity of a vacant toilet.
Well, she wasn't pregnant, the french campsite owner gave me an angry scowl every time he saw me for the rest of the trip, I didn't get to use the DIY enemea kit, and that was the first and last holiday that we had together ...
(Mon 2nd Apr 2012, 13:30, More)
Not pregnant in the end
Fresh out of A-levels, my ex and I went on our first foreign holiday together... camping in rural France. It was a nice campsite, but one with a big metal barrier on reception, so come 10pm at night when Monsieur Patron locked the barrier, if your car was in it stayed in.
My ex had a fairly unhealthy repetoire of food that she would eat, mainly choosing to eat pasta and crisps whilst outside the UK. After a few days of lots of stodgy carbs and not enough hydration, she woke me at about midnight in the tent, clenching her tummy and rolling around in tears. It had been years since my scouts first aid course and I didn't know what appendicitis looked like, but after 20 minutes of this I figured it might be bad. Time to put her in the car and find a hospital perhaps.
It took 20 mins of banging on the site owner's door, followed by 10 minutes of him leaning out the window in his dressing gown waving abuse and swearing at me, before he came down and opned the bloody barrier to get my car out, cursing at me as he did it. Then half an hour's drive to the nearest city to find A&E.
On arrival, in a town-centre hospital, the night-shift doctors sprang up from their very quiet reception desk, produced a trolley, ushered us into a lift... bing... doors opened and we're being admitted to the labour ward. I tried loads in my schoolboy Franglais to say that she wasn't pregnant, but they were busy hooking her up to the monitors and getting the on-call midwife on the phone etc.
After a while of tests, blood tests, trying to get her to remove her trousers etc, they eventually realised she wasn't about to drop a sprog. We then had some amusing miming and sound effect type game going on where the doctor was trying to ask when she had last been to the crapeur.
An hour later, they discharged her with a take-home DIY enema kit and instruction (we think) for me to shove it up her jacksie and squeeze the contents in if she hadn't shat out her week's worth of pasta by daybreak. I was determined to give this kit a go (kinky?) but she wasn't letting me anywhere near, and I think the shear sight of the pre-lubricated 4" nozzle was enough to get the bowels moving. I remember the patient info leaflet in the kit having an English translation that basically said to only use it if you were in the immediate vicinity of a vacant toilet.
Well, she wasn't pregnant, the french campsite owner gave me an angry scowl every time he saw me for the rest of the trip, I didn't get to use the DIY enemea kit, and that was the first and last holiday that we had together ...
(Mon 2nd Apr 2012, 13:30, More)
» Shops and Supermarkets
Shopmobility scooters
Reading Tesco Quality's post about life in Boots reminds me of a holiday job I had there once. 7am starts, box stacking, printing shelf tickets, it made for a loooong day. Sometimes we'd relieve the bordom by trampling on some 3 for 2 chocolate gift sets out the back, then putting them in damaged stock which meant they'd be written down to 20p and sold in the staffroom at lunch. Other times we'd just eat the chocolates out the back..
Anyway, in my few months there, we only had 1 really odd customer. I was quite a strong lad, 6ft2 and handy. A call came over the tannoy for me to go upstairs to the photo lab. An old biddy, must have been about 20 stone and looking like she wouldn't be able to support her own weight on her chubby little legs, had come into the store on her borrowed shopmobility scheme scooter. She'd gone in the lift to the first floor, then the battery had packed up and she couldn't move.
It turns out that the gearing in these scooters means you literally cannot push them, and being the big metal council scooters, they must weigh about 10 stone before the added 20 stone of flabbergranny on top.
She refused to get of it saying she couldn't walk, we tried to call the council to get through to shop mobility but they weren't much use, and then some crazy old woman in the crowd started shouting and screaming that it was our fault, can't we just call the AA or the RAC, why don't we have a spare charger in store etc. Some other coffin dodgers joined in about how it was unacceptable, what are we going to do about it, she can't just sit there etc.
To make it worse, old biddy was completely blocking the till in front of the photo shop and just sat there looking pissed off like she was going to kill someone. About 20 minutes later a fella from the scooter people turned up with a replacement battery and she was jolted back into life.
It's a fucking pharmacy, tampon & shampoo store, not a garage. Don't blame me love!
(Wed 16th May 2012, 11:09, More)
Shopmobility scooters
Reading Tesco Quality's post about life in Boots reminds me of a holiday job I had there once. 7am starts, box stacking, printing shelf tickets, it made for a loooong day. Sometimes we'd relieve the bordom by trampling on some 3 for 2 chocolate gift sets out the back, then putting them in damaged stock which meant they'd be written down to 20p and sold in the staffroom at lunch. Other times we'd just eat the chocolates out the back..
Anyway, in my few months there, we only had 1 really odd customer. I was quite a strong lad, 6ft2 and handy. A call came over the tannoy for me to go upstairs to the photo lab. An old biddy, must have been about 20 stone and looking like she wouldn't be able to support her own weight on her chubby little legs, had come into the store on her borrowed shopmobility scheme scooter. She'd gone in the lift to the first floor, then the battery had packed up and she couldn't move.
It turns out that the gearing in these scooters means you literally cannot push them, and being the big metal council scooters, they must weigh about 10 stone before the added 20 stone of flabbergranny on top.
She refused to get of it saying she couldn't walk, we tried to call the council to get through to shop mobility but they weren't much use, and then some crazy old woman in the crowd started shouting and screaming that it was our fault, can't we just call the AA or the RAC, why don't we have a spare charger in store etc. Some other coffin dodgers joined in about how it was unacceptable, what are we going to do about it, she can't just sit there etc.
To make it worse, old biddy was completely blocking the till in front of the photo shop and just sat there looking pissed off like she was going to kill someone. About 20 minutes later a fella from the scooter people turned up with a replacement battery and she was jolted back into life.
It's a fucking pharmacy, tampon & shampoo store, not a garage. Don't blame me love!
(Wed 16th May 2012, 11:09, More)