Two posts in one day? No, don't count yourselves lucky, there are just a lot of shit for brains people in this world who deserve a verbal bollocking on the internet. So who is at the mercy of my forked tongue of controversy and criticism today?
Whilst working away at my University assignments this afternoon, writing some articles as you do, I realised I was very hungry. So naturally, I slunk off to the land of clubcard points, Tesco. That's right, Tesco bashing.
Now my family use Tesco for our weekly shop, and I have nothing against the products as they're good value, and nothing against the brand itself. The people they decide to employ on the other hand, bar a few exceptions, are useless peons of society whose only use thus far is to scan items and create Carbon Dioxide, which in essence means Bob Geldof and Al Gore should look at these people like talking Range Rovers.
When you enter a Tesco, big or small, you have entered their lair. Their hideaway from the outside world. And once you're there, you have to abide by their idiotic protocols. In the normal world, if someone who in essence is paying your salary then you will move aside to let them through. In Tesco, fucking cocky egotistical employees with bash you aside with a trolley filled with victoria sponge while mumbling something incoherant which I honestly have come to believe is proof that they are the product of man having sex with farm animals. A mumbled apology is an apology nonetheless you say? Wrong again assmunch, if these lower life forms push me out of the way then I expect them to get on their knees and plead for forgiveness before I have them fired for simply being within 5 feet of my travelling direction.
Still, at least they acknowledge you, because there is one level worse than shelf stackers. Till operators. You get the occasional ones who want to chat to you about life and how you are, and I can accept them because they actually amuse me. However, there are two other types I hate. The first will NOT stop talking bollocks about anything that comes into their head, such as why the till roll has lines on, or how amazing the card machine is, or how they havent pissed themselves in "OVER 5 YEARS!" If they continue talking to me like this then my immediate thoughts become centred around how I may be likely to strangle them with my bag for life, which isn't for life because it breaks after about 2 years, and unless you're a very unfortunate child then that isn't a life.
The second type of till jockeys are the type who don't acknowledge your existence. They don't even believe you are there and simply see your items and a credit card floating in mid air. Whilst being served today the ignorant cow behind the till wouldnt even look at me, and instead decided to yell to the customer three tills down and proceed to talk about his trip to New York. I'm sorry, but I'm the one you're serving, and you can talk to this person you blatantly see on a regular basis either out of work or on your next shift you rude bitch. Now this man wasnt the sharpest tool in the box, and in fact if you tried to categorize him as a type of tool (hammer, screwdriver etc.) then you'd have to call him a crayon. He was the type of person who would lick wallpaper to see "if it tasted like prawns" because it was green. And he'd get the colour of prawns wrong.
So what was going through my mind? Pick my stuff up and walk out without paying, and even though she'd yell I'd ignore her, instead choosing a slightly mental person in the street and begin asking them how their unicorn was doing. And if the managers came then so be it, because at the end of the day they work in Tesco, which is piss poor.
And besides, one manager is someone I'd bang.
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