Supermarket rant

I just loathe going to the supermarket. At any time.

However, these nasty chores have to be shared.

So I trotted down there tonight to get a few essentials which all fit nicely in a hand basket.

I can’t drive the trolley anyway – or rather – choose not to.

Now Morrisons in Gibraltar has installed a few ‘Hand basket only” tills. I think previously they were 12 items only.

Either way, I don’t really care.

But, hand basket does not mean one trolley. Just like, 12 items does not mean 15 or 18 (I can live with 13 or 14 without whingeing).

And there is nothing more annoying than unloading your shopping and getting a strict cashier telling you that you have missed the sign above your head and need to load everything back and clear off to the appropriate check-out.

So, normally, if I am standing at a basket-only counter, I helpfully point this out to people with trollies so they don’t waste their time. It makes no difference to me because I am in front of them.

Today, as I wandered round to the bottom of the supermarket, I noticed a couple of British women who were unloading their trolley and clearly hadn’t seen the sign.

“Excuse me, I said,” interfering helpfully. “It’s hand baskets only.”

I walked on. But turned round and saw them continuing to pile on their stuff.

Picked up my two items and went back.

Puzzled, I said, “I told you it was hand baskets only.”

“Oh, we’ve got a hand basket,” they said. And pointed to the one they had taken from the pile under the counter.

“Yeah, and you’ve got a trolley too.”

“Well, we’re sharing the shopping,” they said.

At which point I was losing the plot.

“Excuse me,” to the cashier. “Isn’t this hand baskets not trollies?”

“Yes.”

“Well, this is a trolley.”

It was feeling surreal by now.

Is this hand baskets or trollies with baskets?

“Oh, but they have a basket so I can’t do anything,” replied the cashier.

Well, I was so stunned I couldn’t think of anything to say.

Bleached Brits could.

“Get a life!” they said smartly to me. Smirking.

So I went to another till, where the people were pleasant and easy-going. The woman in front of me went to get something she had forgotten so I looked after her stuff. The man behind had a trolley but so little stuff it could have fitted in a basket.

Nobody was precious.

Truth is, I’ve got so used to Spanish supermarkets that whenever I see someone behind me with one or two items I always say ‘Pasa’. I do it in Gib as well.

But why do people just want to get one over on you? Why do they want to be so fucking clever? Why take your trolley full of stuff and pretend you had baskets when you didn’t?

Anyway, I’ll know next time. I’ll just ask the incompetent cashier to note that you have a trolley and this is baskets only – before you get that basket from under the counter.

And as for you Morrisons. If you have a policy, shame you don’t stick to it.

Finally. Bleached Brits. I have a life. And I bet it is a shit load better than yours.

Fuck right off out of my face, you are ignorant and disrespectful.

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About roughseasinthemed

I write about my life as an English person living in Spain and Gibraltar, on Roughseas, subjects range from politics and current developments in Gib to book reviews, cooking and getting on with life. My views and thoughts on a variety of topics - depending on my mood of the day - can be found over on Clouds. A few pix are over on Everypic - although it is not a photoblog. And of course my dog had his own blog, but most of you knew that anyway. Pippadogblog etc
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2 Responses to Supermarket rant

  1. I am late commenting, I had not seen this post.God, how irritating people are!!!!!I have had it up to here today with irritating people.I could feel your annoyance!Unbleached Brit

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  2. Anonymous says:

    talking of bloody Morrisons, they have a policy in this country of asking for proof identity if you buy alcohol.which leads to the ridiculous scenario recently of an old man of 70ish being asked for proof of his age by the check out girl of around 19, when buying his whisky.Ye gods.Morrisons are the work of the devil.

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