I’m first of all going to apologise to anyone reading this who isn’t English, because you won’t truly be able to feel my pain, but it’s something I really need to get off my chest.
How come Tesco attracts all the complete weirdos and reprobates? If you go to Sainsbury’s or Waitrose you don’t get accosted by a chav trying to borrow a fiver, or mowed down by some middle aged man who feels that his trolley needs to be exactly where your standing at that split second.
No. You get civilised people doing their shopping. Yes, admittedly you get a baby screaming or an old lady dawdling, but it’s a free world and you have to suck up the annoyance of anyone preventing you from doing a mad trolley dash and trying to get out of the hell hole as quickly as possible, relatively unharmed.
But Tesco is a whole other kettle of fish. It may be that it is open twenty-four hours but other than that I can give no reason. The one in town is in a bad area, but then the superstore one I went to with the girls this weekend is about fifteen miles away, so that can’t be it. But my god, they were all out. Maybe it’s like moths to a flame; the blue and red might entice them, but we could have been in there all day, consumed by people milling about and ramming their trolleys into our legs. After about forty-five minutes of meal planning and talking the girls out of putting things in the trolley that we didn’t need (“oooooooh…. do you think we need salt and pepper shakers in the shape of Easter bunnies? For Easter?” NO PUT IT DOWN AND BACK AWAY!!!)
I had acquired a glazed look and my eyes were darting around, looking for the first precipice to lob myself off. I abandoned the girls to double back for some tomato puree and an old man collared me and started to tell me why you had to buy Heinz beans instead of own brand. Then a woman banged her trolley into me when I was completely stationary and had the cheek to tut, as if I had leapt in her way in some evil kenevel stunt to try to take my own life, and when I got back the girls were discussing fish fingers (“shall we get some?” “When was the last time you had a fish finger, or even wanted one?” “About ten years ago!” “Then no, I don’t think fish finger completely falls into the ‘need’ pile. Put them back”) honestly, I felt like their mum, but when we got to the till and spend close to two hundred pounds (who knew loo roll and washing powder cost so much!!) they were pleased for my dictator style no-ing.
When I got home, I needed a lie down. After we put the three million bags of shopping away, of course.