Green about the gills and in high dudgeon and a stinking mood; my shopping trip for food ended in me stomping out of the shop in a foul temper.
It’s funny how I can get round a whole supermarket without any more than minor annoyances. I saunter on by as people bang into my ankles with their trolleys, or while they push their kids in the great long kiddie car trolleys, but have absolutely no idea how to control them.
I smile at the parents with screaming kids, sure in the knowledge that I’ve been there, done it, and still regularly wear the screamingly obvious invisible harassed mum t-shirt!
I walk on by as couples have arguments over who is spending the most on which brand. Does 1p on a tin of beans really make that much difference if you don’t like the cheaper brand? It’d take most of a year to buy a school lunch with the saving.
I ignore the wrongly placed item price holders and the confusingly labelled price per 100g on one product and per 50g on another from the same range.
I’m fairly patient with lane hoggers who won’t move their trolley to let me past.
I get to the checkout of some supermarkets and that’s where my problems begin. If I’m doing a big shop, it means that I have more stuff than I can fit on most of the conveyor belts. The assistants eye you up and then offer to start packing.
In those next few seconds I have to make a decision.
It’s a biggie.
Do I decide to let them pack and risk eggs under bottles, or lettuce under potatoes, or heaven forbid, crisps under piles of cans!!!
That few seconds is when I decide to trust that they know what they are doing and let them get on with it. Either that, or I have to stop at one end and start packing at the other.
I usually let them start.
Sometimes I’m disappointed and sometimes I’m not, but even this doesn’t make me see red as much as the next problem.
THE CHUFFING MOVING CONVERYOR BELT AT THE PACKING SIDE
Thankfully, not too many supermarkets have these. I blooming well hate them.
With a passion.
With bells on.
And purple tassels.
Food and goods will start meandering down the package belt and I’ll try to catch them as they reach the point where the belt goes back under the checkout. You know – the bit where things like packets of angel delight, or corners of vege bags get caught!!!!
I try and pull them off the conveyor belt and they keep piling more and more onto it. Milk squishes everything and tins pile up on top of soft stuff.
In one shop, I have a competition. The assistants switch it on and I use the helpfully provided button to switch it off again. Back and fore we go. On and off and on and off.
They never give in to leaving it off, despite the belt only being about 2 flaming feet short.
Gradually, my face gets redder if it’s a big shop and I sometimes ask them nicely to not switch it back on again. I can guarantee that two seconds later, off they go again, popping that button and I immediately whack the off button from my end.
I often leave there in a rotten mood. It’s a good customer experience killer.
Those conveyor belts are evil. The ones for the checkout operator stop automatically when things reach the front, but not the customer ones, oh no.
I went to a sister supermarket last week and expected to suffer the same off again, on again belt as the one across the town, but THERE WAS NO OFF BUTTON…..
With my arms working overtime, I fell out with my eldest who wasn’t going fast enough to take the stuff off the conveyor belt. Despite my obvious dislike of the button, the assistant kept putting it on and off and on and off.
I’m not going back there again.
Oh wow. Amazing how sayings travelled, even decades ago.
Mine were about 13/14 when I took them. When we were there, there were a fair few kids around their…
This is a good recipe, I swap oil for lard however as fat retains moisture better making the bread softer.