I’d exited Sainsbury’s, jumped in the car and was halfway back to the office with a bagful of lunch before poor Gladys had finished handing me fragments of monetary shrapnel and I could finally wind up my window, sending her tumbling back down the street towards the checkout she’d left unattended.Come to think of it, she looked a bit worse for wear when she started serving me and I can therefore only assume the previous shopper had done the same. She must dread working on the ten-items-or-less till.
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What about the small shops where the queue is lengthening to an extent wher the fire brigade need to be called out with cutting equipment to prize people out of the shop, and yet the store keeper and the first in the queue insist on discussing how every single member of their family is "OOOOHHHH WWWWWEEEEELLLLLLLL SSSSEEEEEEE EEEEEEE's GGGGOOOORRRAAA NNNEEEWWW JJJOOOOBBBB SSSSSEEEEEE COS THE LAST PLACE VICTIMISED 'IM COS THEY MADE 'IM DO WORK!"
"IS ANTY BETTY STILL SUFFERIN' FROM (mutter, mutter, mutter)?"
It drives me crazy!!!!!!
Mr Griffles.
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