I drove into work today and, since we had the car, The Zozo suggested she meet me in town and we go have dinner and watch a film. Splendid idea I thought. Film was booked and we had a nice pizza before settling into our premier seats to watch Planet of the Apes.
About 15 minutes into the trailers a couple came into the auditorium. From the conversation they had with the people at the end of their row they had booked premier seats but someone was sitting in them. There were offers to move up and there were spare seats but no, they were going to be martyrs and sit in the normal seats and bitch loudly about people sitting where they shouldn’t. Then they moved closer to us and bitched more. It can’t be us, I thought, we have tickets and I’m sat in the right seats.
Thankfully they shut up during the film but the bitching resumed when it finished included some very pointed “some twats don’t understand seat numbers” said very loudly next to me while waiting for The Zozo.
As we left there was more abuse and The Zozo turned round and asked if they had a problem. The bloke indicates he did and that he didn’t like the fact we’d sat in their seats. The Zozo enquired as to why they didn’t just speak to us I pulled out my tickets and showed him we were sat in the correct ones. He retrieved his tickets and lo and behold, same seats.
Seeing as this guy seems very pissed off about the whole thing I suggest that if he wants to complain I’d go with him to prove they’d been double booked and they could get their money back. He retorted that I should perhaps “get out of his face before he really got pissed off because I was winding him up”.
Sensing that claret may be imminent The Zozo steps between him and me, purely, you understand, to spare me damaging him. He might have been a big lad but he wasn’t very bright and there were three bouncers nearby who’d take him down sharpish (plus, if he was really slow I could use tai chi on him).
Insults were traded, The Zozo played the pregnant card, we walked off. It’s kind of put a dampner on the evening. Film was good, audience contained twats.
I’ve never been a huge fan of self checkout machines. Personally I work on the premise that a percentage of my food cost goes to pay the cashier and that by doing their job for them I should be reaping a saving of that percentage. There’s also the fact that you’re not quite sure if you’re going to do it right. It’s probably because I buy a lot of the freshly prepared stuff which isn’t exactly 200g that I’m forever seeking the assistance of someone to reset the machine due to the weight being wrong. Anyway, today I also found out that, apparently, I was queuing wrong too.
I’ve always been lead to believe that ones joins a queue at the rear and I assumed that this held true for all queues but not, it would seem, the self checkout queue in Morrisons today. The shop was heaving and given I didn’t have much to buy I figured I’d go join the queue to brave the self service machines. There’s one queue that feeds four machines. There were three people queueing so I stood behind them. The next bloke to come along decided, since the person at the front of the queue had left a gap between him and the first two checkouts, that the queue was null and void and could be ignored thus he could insinuate himself at the front of it. Well, I say insinuate, it was more brazenly push in then glare at everyone behind as if to chastise them for queuing incorrectly and daring anyone to say anything. We didn’t. We’re British.
Thankfully the queue jumper only had two items and, once at his checkout he summoned the man overseeing the checkouts in a not so polite manner and demanded that he scan the items through as the queue jumper ‘had no idea how to work this idiot machine’. A few minutes later and I was able to go up to a checkout and start scanning my items. Midway through and I was aware of two people stood very close behind me. When I turned to look I discovered a couple who had decided they were going to queue at the machine and loom over me. I ignored them for a few seconds but felt I had to say something when they started fishing items out of my basket and handing them to me. Apparently they were being ‘helpful’ and allowing me to ‘empty my basket quicker’ so they could put their basket on the little shelf. I told them thanks, but no thanks and perhaps they’d like to go wait in the queue. They informed me they were happy where they were so I was reduced to the last recourse available to me… going slow.
As luck would have it the last two items in my basket were loose apples. I selected the fresh produce button, selected apples and was greeted by a display of 20. I knew exactly what type of apples they were, but I still had the odd couple invading my personal space so I politely asked the guy overseeing the checkouts if he could go check what type of apple they were to ensure I entered the right ones. I think he had worked out what was going on because he dutifully took the apples and went to go check taking a reasonable amount of time over it and driving the couple behind me insane. I just stood there smiling in amongst the tutting and sighing.Finally, however, the checkout attendant had to return and I was forced to log the apples and put them in my bag. I chose card payment, popped my card in the reader and then stopped. I was helpfully informed by my attendant couple that the machine was waiting for my PIN and I helpfully informed them that I would not be entering it until they were no longer hovering over me. It took them at least a minute to work out I wasn’t kidding. Finally they backed off and I paid.
The instant my card was out of the machine they had swooped. The lady was now frantically trying to scan her first item and the bloke had two more in his hands ready to go. That they had to wait for my receipt to be printed before they could start was causing them visible discomfort. The irony being that by the time I’d left and they got started at least 4 people had been through on the other tills and they’d have paid and been gone. That said the irony wasn’t enough for me and if anyone tries that with me at the supermarket again I think I’ll swing for them.
For reasons I’d rather not go into on a public forum this morning left me so angry I was shaking. It’s home time and I’m still pretty pissed off, however, I have a remedy for that.
Say what you will about Mr Clarkson and his chums but I find Top Gear to be hysterically funny (I will probably agree with every complaint you raise about them, only I find these things good things). The Zozo, unfortunately, does not, so in order to avoid inflicting it on her I have the latest series on my iPhone (yes, I know, it’s taken me a while to get round to it).
45 minutes (the length of the train journey, unfortunately not long enough to take in an entire episode) of Clarkson shouting “Power!!!” while driving something ridiculous, May trying to be sophisticated in the face of the other two and failing and Hammond reversing into May all the time is guaranteed to put a smile on my face and mean I’m not in my current killer mood when I get home. In the olden days I would have just sat on the train listening to angry music and seething. Isn’t modern technology grand 