192 A for Alpha

I was shopping at Waitrose.  I didn’t need to buy very much; just some cheese to have with bread and pickle that evening.

As I was on my way to check out, I looked into my shopping bag and thought it looked unusually light on items and so I decided to treat myself and buy a packet of my favourite biscuits.  I set off to the sweet biscuit shelves.  

I searched for a few minutes but the problem I had was that I couldn’t remember what they were called.  I knew they were a plain biscuit and in wrapping that was predominantly red and white but I just couldn’t remember their name.

One end of the biscuit shelves was exclusively chocolate coated biscuits and so I started a thorough search from where they stopped, knowing that I’d recognise them when I saw them but I still couldn’t see them anywhere.  

“Oh no,” I thought to myself.  “They’ve done it again.  Just when I decide that there’s a product I really like, they stop selling it.”

I assumed that those biscuits had gone the way of Douwe Egberts Cafetiere Coffee, Robertson’s marmalade and Waitrose Essential chocolate spread.  Waitrose must analyse my buying habits and then, for reasons known only to them, punish me by discontinuing them.

Then I had an idea: “Caroline will know what they are called.”   

Another issue I have with our local Waitrose is that it’s impossible to get a phone signal inside the store.  To phone Caroline, I had to leave the store and stand in the carpark.  So, pushing my trolley ahead of me, that is what I did.

“Have you forgotten to pay, sir?”  A young woman in Waitrose garb had followed me out.

“Oh no.  I’m going back in but I have to make a phone call about something I want to buy.”  

I explained the problem I was having.  I don’t know if she believed me or not but she stayed close, standing next to me.

I phoned Caroline on her work number even though she was working from home.

The carpark was noisy and so I put her on speakerphone.  “Make it quick.  I’m in a Teams meeting,” was her greeting.

“Those plain, brown biscuits we both like.  What are they called?”

She said something but I didn’t catch it.  I looked enquiringly at the Waitrose woman and she shook her head.

“Sorry.  Can you say it again?  I didn’t hear you.”

Caroline was getting tetchy.  “I’m in a meeting,” she repeated and bellowed the same incoherent sound as before.

“Will you spell it letter by letter please?” I asked, calmly.

“B for BOLLOCKS! I for IDIOT! S for SHIT! C for CUNT! O for ORGASM! F for FUCK and another F for FUCK OFF!”

“Ah, Biscoff.” said the young lady from Waitrose.  “I know exactly where they are.  

Follow me.”