Goodness me, but everyone I met when I was out and about yesterday had a proper grump on. I didn’t. I was a cheerfulness and light. I had a plan for the day which mostly involved writing and watching films, but I had errands to run first, so was up with the lark and out with the wise worm trying to avoid the early bird.
Firstly to Morrison’s. I rarely shop there now, but needed a couple of bits I can’t get in Aldi, and I thought I’d couple the trip with a visit to the petrol station to fill up the little red car.
Arrived just after 8 a.m, grabbed a trolley and walked into an almost deserted shop. From nowhere, a Morrison’s employee carrying a box flung herself in my pathway. I slammed on the brakes of my trolley to avoid collision.
‘Oooh, I’m sorry!’ I said, because I am polite and did the British thing of taking immediate and full responsibility even though it was a six of one and half a dozen of the other situation. Do you know what she did, this Morrison’s employee carrying a box? She bloody rolled her eyes at me! Tight lipped, eye rolling, silent and miserable baggage!
Well! That was a bit uncalled for, thought I. But I continued my journey onwards whilst writing a letter of complaint to Morrison’s Customer Service Dept in my head.
One aisle I needed to negotiate was blocked by another employee with her shelf stacking trolley. That’s okay, thought I, still cheerful and light, although not as cheerful and light as when I left home. I can go the long way around. The shelf stacker showed no signs of moving out of the way, so it was the easy option rather than me stand there looking like a lemon. As I turned to go around the other way, the shelf stacker moved her trolley.
‘Thank you!’ I said, with a big smile.
Which was met with a dead eye, silent stare.
Sheesh. Well, I zipped round the rest of the supermarket and, to be honest, I needn’t have bothered with a trolley because what I actually bought could easily have fitted in a basket - filo pastry, dried baking yeast, antiseptic cream and a pair of cheap jeans.
I went to the self-checkout rather than run the risk of meeting up with any more emotional vampires. The jeans had a security tag on them, goodness knows why given they were so cheap. No one arrived to remove the security tag for me despite me standing and waiting under a red flashing light. So I paid my bill, left the shop and cut the tag off myself with a pair of wire cutters when I got home.
Filled my car with petrol, went into the station to pay. Two employees behind the counter chatting non-stop at each other. I waited until they realised I was there. ‘Pump 3, thanks!’ said I. Smiling.
Not a single word did either of those two employees speak to me. The payment was made without eye contact from them either. Too busy chatting shite to each other, you see. I was an inconvenient customer paying a HUGE amount for over-priced petrol.
On to Cotton Traders to collect two pairs of jeans for Andy. I’d ordered them via the Click and Collect option. The shop opened at 9 a.m. I arrived at 9.15.
‘I’m here for a Click and Collect!’ I said, brightly smiling at the woman behind the counter.
‘You’ll have to wait,’ she said. ‘I haven’t cashed up my till yet.’
I was on the verge of saying, ‘That really isn’t my problem, is it?’ and then marching to the behind the scenes at Cotton Traders to find my already paid for order myself. At least if I served myself I would have been cheerful and polite.
‘There you go, madam,’ I’d have said to myself. ‘Thank you for your custom!’
‘Why thank you,’ I’d have replied to myself. ‘Your customer service has been second to none. You have a lovely smile!’
But I didn’t. I mooched around for five minutes until I was summoned back to the counter, asked my surname and postcode and then given my parcel.
Well, I went home and did lots of writing. I ordered myself a box of 20 of my favourite biros, a large pack of A5 exercise books in very cheerful colours, and a guide to self-publishing. And then I watched the film ‘Shirley Valentine’ and knew EXACTLY what she was talking about when she says that women of a certain age outlive their usefulness and become just a background presence in the lives of other people.
This morning I was gardening by 7.30 a.m. I moved loads of topsoil leftover from the patio build. I planted out kale, chervil and butternut squash. And I picked the first of the sweet peas, and some courgettes for lunch.
I’m still smiling.
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KJ