Everything but the sleeves.

Have you noticed how those friends of the earth type old farts who wear sleeveless jackets covered in pockets and zips, are know it all buggers, why do they need so many pockets, and why do they invariably wear a turf trilby with them. One such person accosted me in Asda this morning as I was reading the back of a packet of instant dumpling mix. “Rubbish, I say its rubbish that stuff, cant beat dumplings made the old fashioned way”. I looked at him and sighed, “Really, well these da……”, he cut me off. “Huge great dumplings my Mother used to make, huge they were, she could hardly get em in the pan they were that big”. I smiled and muttered something about the good old days as I walked away. He caught me up, “Your wasting your time with that stuff, get some suit and flour, make yer own. You will probably only get a couple of piddling little dumplings out of that”. He poked my packet as if to emphasise how insignificant its contents were.

At that point my Daughter came up to me and asked me to help her with the milk, she buys great quantities of milk every week and it weighs a ton, I was glad for the chance to get away. My relief was short lived however when the sleeveless guy caught up to me in what passes for the auto section of Asda. I have been meaning to change my wiper blades for months now but always found something else to do instead. As I read the back of the packet of wiper blades to make sure they were correct for my car, the sleeveless one intervened. This time he actually snatched them from my hand, “Waste of money pal, they ought to be crucified for charging that price. Absolute robbery, get yerself down to the nearest Amoco garage, they got them there for three quid, fit any car they will”.

I didn’t want to lose it this morning. I usually do when shopping at Asda that’s why I hadn’t gone in the café for my usual cold coffee and underdone toast, Its also why I drove there quietly and well within the speed limit ignoring the manic antics of other road users. I didn’t want to lose it, and so far I had done quite well. But the guy in the sleeveless jacket was threatening my good intentions. I looked at him and said, “I think I will thank you” and walked away resigned to going through another couple of months peering through my windscreen when there is a downpour.

I sighed with relief as we neared the toiletries section, the last part of a fortnightly trip I am beginning to hate, I pottered around whilst my Daughter went of looking at clothes. I enquired at the counter as to weather they sold replacement heads for my electric razor. They did but at the moment had none in stock. I turned to walk away and found myself looking into the sleeveless ones face. His eyes inches away from mine, screwed up with eyeballs darting left then right, He said in a secretive whisper “Don’t buy em from here mate, the ones they sell are copies, not the real thing, you will be cutting your own throat”. He laughed; I caught the reek of half-digested food and un-brushed teeth. “That sounds like an attractive idea” I said through clenched teeth.

The last stop was the photography thingy place where you can get snaps from your digital camera printed, then we made our way to the checkout. The place was heaving and all the checkouts had a queue as long as your arm. A young girl opened up another station and my Daughter and I made a beeline for it, we were quick, but not as quick as the sleeveless one who came from nowhere and just gazumped us. Too late now, it was put up with him or wait in longer queues. I should have killed him in the dumpling isle and spared myself the frustration of having to wait twenty minutes whilst he argued that the price he had been charged for sixteen boxes of chocolate lollies was wrong. “Four for a fiver” he kept saying “Four for a fiver”. The checkout girl checked and rechecked his bill, explaining that the till was right, but he wouldn’t have it, various members of staff arrived to try and sort it out, and all the while we waited.

Even faced with this farce I kept my cool, but my Daughter lost it, loudly pronounced him a F**king idiot, she dragged all her provisions from the conveyer put them back into her trolley and marched off to another checkout point. I was beginning to shift from one foot to another, the telltale signs were there, sweating palms, hot around the neck, fists clenching and unclenching. I could stand it no more, I butted in, “How much is the difference, I’ll pay it for gods sake”. The check out girl looked at me and said in a tiny voice “One pound ninety eight”. I opened my mouth to roar at him but the checkout supervisor who had come to sort things out wisely controlled the situation and told the young girl to charge in the idiot’s favour.

The flustered checkout girl handed the idiot his receipt and change, he took the receipt, but refused the money saying “I’m not bothered about the one pound ninety eight. But it’s the principle of the thing”.
The supervisor, the checkout girl and myself stood with open mouths as he cheerfully made his way out of the store. I started to laugh, I couldn’t help myself, it was reminiscent of that scene in Stir crazy where Gene Wilder looses it on first entering prison. I could have killed the sleeveless bastard but he had skidaddled.

I need a break from Asda, I know its only once a fortnight, but it seems impossible to negotiate that place without something going wrong, I might give Morrisons a chance next time. At least I will meet a better class of idiot.


The Gratuitous pic at the begining is merely a vehicle to keep male surfers interested if they come here by accident.