The B
elfast blogee continues his obsessive tussle with nine items or less. His sad tale is worth recording. We have our Amazons here too-mostly caravanners. Historically Amazons have only one breast as they removed one so as not to impede their bow drawing arm. Things have changed and some of our modern day Amazons are so well built that they may now have grown an extra breast for barging their way through the narrow aisles of Morrisons. I have no evidence of this is an anatomical fact but it sometimes seems that waty. Read on
I have just returned from Safeways/Morrisons, a victim of the most ghastly ‘Nine items or less’ experience ever!
For whatever reason I resisted the painted crone tactics and joined the NIOL queue having first checked the contents of the basket, and found that I was eligible. Serendipity placed Mrs B Major next but one in front and we exchanged greetings in that public embarrassing mummy/little boy sort of way before she glanced at the basket in front. It belonged to a vast blond, with roots, Amazon and at a rough guess contained about thirty items or more. I whispered to Mrs B Major that she could take her own plunder to the cigarette counter as she had bought no alcohol. The auld biddy’s off the drink these days.
I should have passed a note, for the Amazon heard the whisper and greeted the entire store with ‘There’s always some smart f****r thinks he can count’. Mrs B Major dashed off to the cigarette counter without even looking over her shoulder. The verbal onslaught continued, but there was a happy shopper between me and the Amazon and I hid behind him. Otherwise I fear that a physical approach may have been her next option.
The spotty little boy at the checkout was out of his depth. He looked at the array of ‘stuff’ (I didn’t see any turkey twizzlers but bet that they were there somewhere) on the conveyor belt and then at the opposition. It really didn’t take him too long and to work out the safest option and I don’t blame the child at all. The Amazon unfolded her arms, momentarily stopped glaring over the happy shopper’s shoulder at me and energetically and noisily thrust her stuff into quite a few of Morrison’s carrier bags.
Mrs B Major reappeared, having made sure that the Amazon had cleared the store, and declared that ‘we’ should make a formal complaint. As we left the store discussing the merits or otherwise of doing so, we were stopped in our tracks by the Amazon who continued outside what she had started inside before getting into her gargantuan 4x4 that she had conveniently parked in a disabled parking bay just outside the door.
I remember as a child being sent down to the local village shop, a mile away, with a list from Mrs B Major and handing it to a jolly man in brown overalls. He would potter about in his own time and tick off the various items as he set them on the counter before making a half hearted attempt at adding up the bill.
I’m not as old as the B minors might think, or hope, but that seems like a century ago. Or perhaps 9 lifetimes or less?
Isn’t progress wonderfulManagement of S and M in Norn Iron take note. Bring in the one basket only check point and put the BB out of his misery.
