Musings from the Merse
Thursday, February 09, 2006
Putting up images of snowdrops and Hellishborings was not a wise move. The Blether Centre has struck back with snow flurries and very cold north wind despite a firm undertaking from the nice young man in the sharp suit that there was no chance of snow north of York. Thankgoodness my regular golfing partner has gone south otherwise we might now be stuck in blizzard on the 13th at Duns.
So it was not too bad a divertion to assist the wife in a medium shop at Sir Morrisons. Thursday attracts a curious lot of marketeers there.The aisles were jammed packed with people who thought it would be streetwise to do their weekly shop on Thursday and thus avoid the mayhem of Friday. If I had a quid for all the old ladies I bumped into this morning with profuse mutual apologies I could afford to give up my day job. But, mark this, the checkouts were queueless. As we bore down on the exit strategy we found a choice of womanned queueless cash desks to service us. Even after light bandinage, methodical filling of the wife's huge shopping basket (a bag avoiding strategy) £50 cash back, fumbling to get cash, receipts back into purse, and goods back into trolley, a last cheery farewell we still had no one hard on our heels snatching plastic bags under our noses while our bodies were still warm, as it were.
So what were all the other shoppers doing? Just cruising to pass away another boring morning, armed reconnaissances for a real spree tomorrow-Friday-organised shop lifting on a massive scale, keeping warm? The choice is yours-and presumably theirs as well. There is a doctorate thesis to be written on the art of supermarketing: 'Marketing (Customer) management in the post modern society. The case of Morrisons, mayhem and the new Millenium.' Subtitled 'Thankyou for shopping at Sainsbury's' I am happy to offer myself as a primary source.
So it was not too bad a divertion to assist the wife in a medium shop at Sir Morrisons. Thursday attracts a curious lot of marketeers there.The aisles were jammed packed with people who thought it would be streetwise to do their weekly shop on Thursday and thus avoid the mayhem of Friday. If I had a quid for all the old ladies I bumped into this morning with profuse mutual apologies I could afford to give up my day job. But, mark this, the checkouts were queueless. As we bore down on the exit strategy we found a choice of womanned queueless cash desks to service us. Even after light bandinage, methodical filling of the wife's huge shopping basket (a bag avoiding strategy) £50 cash back, fumbling to get cash, receipts back into purse, and goods back into trolley, a last cheery farewell we still had no one hard on our heels snatching plastic bags under our noses while our bodies were still warm, as it were.
So what were all the other shoppers doing? Just cruising to pass away another boring morning, armed reconnaissances for a real spree tomorrow-Friday-organised shop lifting on a massive scale, keeping warm? The choice is yours-and presumably theirs as well. There is a doctorate thesis to be written on the art of supermarketing: 'Marketing (Customer) management in the post modern society. The case of Morrisons, mayhem and the new Millenium.' Subtitled 'Thankyou for shopping at Sainsbury's' I am happy to offer myself as a primary source.
Comments:
Well OK-not an every day day job in the conventional sense. But some days, those that I go up to Ould reekie to impart knowledge to polite young receptive students is a day job, on those days anyhow. If however we are to stretch the term to unpaid work-house manager, car cleaner, fruit picker, deputy shopper, community councillor, vestry man, cat evictor, fire maker, recycler-the list is endless. But the bull point is that at one quid a bumped old lasy it would not take me long to afford giving up my lecturing which is paid at slightly less than the Academic minimum age which is very minimum inded. So there!
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