216 Festive Essentials

It all started about six months ago.  

I was at Waitrose, buying some stuff to bide us over the next day or so and as I always do, used a trolley to put that stuff into.  A person - and as you will see in a moment - that person was almost certainly a woman, had left her shopping list in the trolley that I used.  

I looked at it and saw that there was a roll of everyday products written on it from potatoes to All Bran but it was the items at the bottom of the list that grabbed my attention.  They were “knicker stickers” and “fanny goo”.  I am not certain what that is but I have an idea.

Since then, whenever I see a discarded shopping list that has been left in, or is attached to a trolley, I  study it in the hope of gaining deeper insight into what sort of life a Waitrose person has.

It would be interesting to compare lists compiled by Waitrose shoppers with those who use Aldi and Lidl.  I wonder how many Aldi shoppers have ever put “zhoug” on their shopping list.  When I saw it, I had no idea what it is and had to look it up when I got home.  I had to do the same for “amchoor” some weeks later.

I expect you already know that amchoor is dried mango powder and zhoug is a hot spicy sauce made from coriander leaves.  I had never heard of either until I saw them adorning lists on the bottom of empty Waitrose trolleys.  Maybe I’m not really a Waitrose person.

I hope that the person who had written “shower head” on their list had been to a branch of Wickes or a specialist bathroom store before visiting Waitrose because shower heads are not sold at Waitrose.

When I went to Waitrose for the first time after Christmas, I realised that people were already preparing for their New Year celebrations.  The trolley I used had a discarded shopping list nestling within its metal grid structure and getting soaked from the constant drizzle.  The shopper hadn’t wanted much as the list was just four lines:

                                                      red wine   

                                                      white wine

                                                      bubbly wine

                                                      paracetamol

Now, that’s a real Waitrose person.

 

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.

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.”

127. Your Call is Important

“You’re ranting again.”

That’s something that Caroline seems to feel the need to say to me quite often these days.  She may well be right but in my defence, I appear to be expected to put up with an awful lot of provocation from many different sources.

I am sure that I really am becoming mellow with age.  The trouble I am finding is that the world seems be coming more irritating faster than I am mellowing.  It can’t just be me who finds that.  Can it?

It was Andy Rooney, the American writer who first said, “Life is like a roll of toilet paper. The closer it gets to the end, the faster it goes.”  He was right and it’s frightening.  As you may know, I am well past my 25,000^th day and my allotted span of three score years and ten approaches fast.  Is what is seeming to happen to me more often these days a sign of my age or are they really out to annoy me?

As I start writing this (June 21^st, two days before my ankle surgery), today has been a bad day and it’s not even lunch time yet.

I was at Waitrose at 8.30 this morning but every disabled car park space was already taken and so, not only was there not enough space for me to open the door and leave the car easily, I then had to walk (hobble) about 60 yards to the store entrance once I was out of the car.

The electric mobility scooter wasn’t in its bay and so I asked for a chair while I waited for it to be returned.  I was told the scooter had been taken out about half an hour earlier and so I expected it would be returned soon.  Supermarkets do a lot to help disabled shoppers but there is never any seating inside the store where people like me may rest our aching joints while shopping.  I wonder why not?

After waiting for about ten minutes I realised that I hadn’t seen the scooter and I asked customer services if they knew where it was.  A Waitrose Partner went to search for it.  When she returned she informed me that the “lady” who was using it was having breakfast in the cafeteria and would be at least another twenty minutes.  Waitrose may consider that she’s a “lady” but I think she’s a selfish b***h.

I had to buy razor blades.  At Waitrose, razor blades are not kept on the shelves.  You have to take a laminated card from the shelf where the razor blades should be and take the card to Customer Services.  Then and only then, they will give you the packet of blades.  I have had a gentle moan about this often over the past four years.  They tell me that razor blades are sold this way to prevent shoplifting. 

“Then why don’t you do the same thing for manuka honey?” I asked.  “You’ve got jars on the shelf that cost twenty pounds each and that’s twice the price of razor blades.  I could easily slip a jar of honey into my pocket.”

Today it was different.  The blades were on the shelf in large plastic boxes.  I took a box, scanned it with the hand held scanner and put it in my bag.  Then, I took the bag to the self-scan check-out, paid and went home.

As soon as I tried to open the box I realised the purpose of the plastic box.  It was sealed and supposedly thief-proof but after 20 minutes and with the help of a hammer, a screwdriver and a chisel, I had it open.

I phoned Waitrose Customer Services for a little chat.

“We are doing everything possible to answer your call,” said the ‘robot woman’ who answered me.  Everything?  Really?  Were they installing extra phone lines and recruiting additional operators while I was waiting on hold?  What a silly message.

When I eventually spoke to a real person, I told her that their instore security system didn’t work. 

“I left the store with a sealed, tamper-proof box of razor blades and no alarm went off, no lights flashed and no bells rang.” 

“Oh,” said the woman, “Something should have happened.”

“Then, when I got home I eventually managed to open it.  Why isn’t there a sign by the shelf telling customers what to do with the box once they’ve taken it from the shelf?”

“I don’t know,” the woman said.  “There probably should be.”

Of course there should be.  I could have severed an artery in my wrist wielding that chisel.

Later in the morning I had to ring Nationwide Building Society about a problem I was having with online banking. The first instruction I was given by the ‘Robot Woman’ who answered my call was to enter the 16-digit number from my card. 

Surprisingly perhaps, I don’t know all 16 digits from memory and so I had to keep looking at the card while I tapped in the digits, four at a time.  When I reached the twelfth digit, the ‘Robot Woman’s’ voice said,

“Unfortunately I didn’t recognise your entry.” 

I started to tap the numbers in a second time and again, when I got to the twelfth digit, she told me that she didn’t recognise the entry.  This time, though, she added that I could press “star” if I needed to speak to somebody.”

I was put on hold and forced to listen to dire music.  It was a wailing, nasal, American country singer and the recording was so distorted that the volume level kept changing.  

Some companies give the option of listening with or without music.  I always hear the music.  Otherwise I worry that I may have been disconnected. 

A message was played every 25 seconds! 

“Unfortunately, all our advisors are dealing with other customers at present.  Please hold the line and your call will be answered as soon as possible.”  

I was on hold for 14 minutes and so I must have heard that message more than 30 times.  Do they really think that their callers are so dim that they forget why they are on the phone and why no one is talking to them? 

When I eventually got through I suggested to the advisor that they play Haydn’s Trumpet Concerto in E-flat and limit the subsequent apologies to one every four minutes and as callers will probably be actually enjoying the music, make subsequent messages short and something like, “We know you’re waiting.”

I also asked him why I hadn’t been given the “star” option the first time I rang.  Of course, he didn’t know the reason.

I am not a Luddite.  I appreciate why there may be a need for robots to answer telephone calls but why don’t some companies use just a little common sense?

I tried a ‘Robot Woman’ technique with Caroline: every 25 seconds while we talked about what food we needed to buy for the weekend, I interrupted and said,

“We are discussing our food needs for the weekend.  Thank you for participating,”

and do you know what?  It works!  However, Caroline became as cross as I do and began to rant at me to stop it. 

Perhaps ranting is nothing to do with age after all.