The old adage about not going shopping when you're hungry certainly holds true
I used to work strange hours so I often found myself in the local Brent Cross ASDA's at the most random hours. It was open 24 hrs so I recall one particularly uneventful Tuesday I wandered down at 4am in a slightly inebriated state to look for food. I perused the aisles at a leisurely pace all the while soaking up the desolate atmosphere and enjoying the late night George Michael medley playing softly over the store PA.

I gathered my purchases and headed to the checkout to pay. I'd bought quite a bit of stuff so the trek up the road back to my cave in Golders Green took quite a while. I finally made it home and unpacked my spoils: two teacups, a dishcloth, a packet of white sugar, a mini hifi and finally a tube of that special teeth whitening toothpaste. But Fuckall food. Not a sliver of meat or an out of date donut in sight. What a plank.
(The Archduke of South London I'm in your Girlfriend eating her organs, Wed 16 May 2012, 14:12, Reply)

A well known garden centre
I used to work in a well known local garden centre on Sundays, and had the job of looking after one of the tills. When the store closed I then collected all the cash out of all the tills and took it through to the office. Unfortunately, this being the time of carbon paper credit card slips, no sales and non existant stock control a regular pile of cash used to make it's way out of the bag and into my pocket. I was never found out and only left when I went to college. They thanked me for all my hard work, not knowing that I'd cancelled the sale on a rather large Hayter lawnmower and pocketed nearly £400 for a decent stereo system.
( The Beast can't help looking at womens breasts on the tube, Wed 16 May 2012, 13:25, 7 replies)

Other people's shopping
Whilst waiting at the checkouts I can't help looking at other people's shopping. My favourite is probably the trolley with only 20 four pint bottles of of milk, a bag of around 50 lemons and can of WD40.
(Beelzebub's Ball Bag is pleasuring your wife on, Wed 16 May 2012, 13:02, 3 replies)

cursed to be underwater
my department flooded twice.

first time, a pipe burst on the ground floor and filtered through to the basement. all power was instantly killed to prevent an electrical fire. did i mention that the basement floor had no windows? this left the kitchenware, wedding and gift department floundering around in darkness, trying to shepherd out old people who were still trying to trawl through shelves of ugly pottery animals in the pitch black while dirty water poured down the staircase and through the air vents in the ceiling.

two hours later. no joy. all three departments must go home but our keys are inside our lockers inside the dark, water-logged basement. we take off our shoes, hitch up our trousers and go wading through the basement.

second time, my concession flooded. our stockroom was directly below the street and leak started during a particular bad rainstorm. over about £100,000 worth of stock. i was 16, alone and absolutely petrified. best yet, the stockroom was slightly sloped so the filthy water would run down to the other concession stockroom. me and the other two concession girls made a fireman's chain, dumped all of the stock on one side onto the department floor then made a make-shift barrier on the floor out of boxes, duct tape, bubble wrap and anything else sticky / waterproof that we could lay our hands on. all the while, you guessed it, old ladies were running amok, rummaging through the wreckage of the stockroom.
(ladyintheradiator, Wed 16 May 2012, 12:57, 2 replies)

All night garage, Gloucester Road, Bristol, c.1993
In response to every order shouted through the plexiglass, the friendly sales assistant would always reply "DO YOU WANT RIZLAS WITH THAT?". Pretty much everyone did.
(Simian Typewriter Supplies Pty. Ltd. is house hunting in the neighborhood of infinity, Wed 16 May 2012, 12:20, Reply)

The clue is in the name
I'm in a shop in the USA. It was a Harley Davidson store, over the bay from San Francisco -- so we're talking sophisticated California here, not Pigfuck Alabama or Cleft Palette Louisiana.

The assistant is ringing up my purchases, and notices my accent. "So, where are you from, then?" she asks, with what might have been an alluring smile about forty years ago. "England," I reply. "Oh, really? And what language do people speak there, then?"

!
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 16 May 2012, 12:03, 6 replies)

Is a bank a shop? Are the banks all bastards?
We had a customer with a contract to build roads in the north east of South Australia. Normally it's so dry that the area is barely habitable but it was just this poor bloke's luck that as soon as he began work the weather turned wet. His overdraft got bigger and bigger as he paid workers to sit doing nothing and paid off machinery to do the same. His limit was AU$500,000 which would be something like $18,000,000 today. And he was way over that. Something like $850,000 in debt.

Manager Ian McI thought the contractor was good for it but was eventually over ruled by head office. So he spent the best part of one afternoon signing documents requiring the contractor to show cause why the bank should not foreclose. These had to be sent by certified mail.

The next morning he told the office junior not to go to the post office for the mail since he had to send the documents out himself. Half an hour later he was back with the mail. He handed it to the junior to open and went to his office.

A few minutes passed and there was a sort of strangled cry from the junior. He jumped up and rushed into the manager's office with a cheque in his hand.

It was drawn on the Reserve Bank of Australia by the South Australian government, payable to our contractor for a mere $730,000. It's still the biggest cheque I've ever held.

So the manager had to go back to the post office and sweet talk the postmaster into giving him back the documents. Which was illegal, but nobody complained.
(Redemption blamed it on the Bossa Nova since, Wed 16 May 2012, 11:55, Reply)

Mile High Club
I had a great time working for a small chain of computer stores in the late 80's/early 90's (Logic Sales North London anyone?) - still one of the best jobs I've done and I could tell loads of stories but in particular I'll never forget the proper plane-spotter (complete with Pan-Am flight bag) who shuffled up to the counter one day and loudly asked for "a box of 5 1/4 inch floppy dicks please!"
( DeadEyeDick, Wed 16 May 2012, 11:50, Reply)

Not so cool
dude.
A few years ago the missus & I bought a room aircon - you know the type on wheels where you hook up the back hose to an open window and get slightly cool. For a second or 2. Anyway alarm bells yada yada...
About 2 months later in mid-40C-summer this thing starts to sound like a rock tumbler or that washing machine with the brick in it you can see on youtube.
Suffice to say it made a noise it shouldn't have.

Off we trundle back to the store, explain what's gone on and then they plug it in turn it on and it hums quietly. "Fugguggery" thinks I. Hums beautifully. Then I spot the problem and turn it onto "Aircon". A noise akin to what I imagine aircraft wings being sheared off midflight might sound like erupts from the little cooling device filling the entire space of the warehouse sized showroom.
The assistants can't turn it off quickly enough and rush me thru to get a refund.
On a busy mid-summer Saturday with many potential customers now rapidly leaving the aircon sales section.
The solar panels helping to power the split system inverter helps keep the house cool these days. Not that we use it too much cause the insulation and whirlybirds in the roof do a pretty good job anyway.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 16 May 2012, 11:40, Reply)

DJ 7-11
Way back when, I used to be a regular clubber - a proper little Ravey Davey Gravey. I was often to be found ligging with the DJs afterwards, too. Some of them were twunts, some of them were excellent fellows / fellesses, but it's certainly true that most of them had egos that needed lights on top to warn passing airliners to take a detour around them.

Now it came to pass that one fine night we were heading back for the after party, and on the way we stopped at an all-night store for supplies. I happened to be chatting to the night's headline DJ as we entered the store, who was naturally feeling rather pumped up from the triumph of his set.

It therefore rather deflated him, much to the hilarity of the rest of us, when we heard one of his own tracks playing on the shop's PA as muzak. Not just one he'd played that night, but one that he'd actually produced himself.

Took him months to get rid of the nickname "DJ 7-11"...
(moon monkey is busy making memories worth repressing, Wed 16 May 2012, 11:39, 1 reply)

Shopmobility scooters
Reading Tesco Quality's post about life in Boots reminds me of a holiday job I had there once. 7am starts, box stacking, printing shelf tickets, it made for a loooong day. Sometimes we'd relieve the bordom by trampling on some 3 for 2 chocolate gift sets out the back, then putting them in damaged stock which meant they'd be written down to 20p and sold in the staffroom at lunch. Other times we'd just eat the chocolates out the back..

Anyway, in my few months there, we only had 1 really odd customer. I was quite a strong lad, 6ft2 and handy. A call came over the tannoy for me to go upstairs to the photo lab. An old biddy, must have been about 20 stone and looking like she wouldn't be able to support her own weight on her chubby little legs, had come into the store on her borrowed shopmobility scheme scooter. She'd gone in the lift to the first floor, then the battery had packed up and she couldn't move.

It turns out that the gearing in these scooters means you literally cannot push them, and being the big metal council scooters, they must weigh about 10 stone before the added 20 stone of flabbergranny on top.

She refused to get of it saying she couldn't walk, we tried to call the council to get through to shop mobility but they weren't much use, and then some crazy old woman in the crowd started shouting and screaming that it was our fault, can't we just call the AA or the RAC, why don't we have a spare charger in store etc. Some other coffin dodgers joined in about how it was unacceptable, what are we going to do about it, she can't just sit there etc.

To make it worse, old biddy was completely blocking the till in front of the photo shop and just sat there looking pissed off like she was going to kill someone. About 20 minutes later a fella from the scooter people turned up with a replacement battery and she was jolted back into life.

It's a fucking pharmacy, tampon & shampoo store, not a garage. Don't blame me love!
(harrypitta friends with the chilli saucerer, Wed 16 May 2012, 11:09, 2 replies)

A long time ago, in a town far far away...
Years and years ago, I took my then girlfriend away for a weekend in Harrogate. No idea why I chose there now, think it might have been a special offer weekend deal or something.

After driving for hours and hours, we arrived, further north than either of us had ever been. Being February, it was pretty cold. No worries, we had coats.

We couldn't check into the hotel until 1 o'clock and it was only about 11, so we decided to have a wander round some shops to kill the time. Parking up, we followed our nosees towards what we thought would be the town centre.
Suddenly, out of the blue, it started hailing. Proper hardcore hail, too; big chunks of ice hitting the ground with a deafening roar - nearly as loud in fact as the sounds of agony coming from my mouth as my bald shiny head was pummelled mercilessly.

There was only one thing for it: we sprinted into the nearest shop - which turned out to be an antiques/bric-a-brac/junk shop. When I say "nearest", it was in fact the *only* shop, as we hadn't actually made it to the town centre yet.

Sadly, there's no hilarious pay-off to this story (although the look on my girlfriend's face was pretty funny as she saw where we were stuck)... the shop was pretty amazing though; there were random things just piled everywhere, there must have been things in there that no-one had touched for decades. Contraptions, ornaments, tat, strange bits of metal of which I had absolutely no idea what they were, tools, books, cutlery... pretty much everything you can imagine. Some of it was hideous, some of it was broken, most of it fell into the "why the actual fuck would you keep this, let alone try and sell it?!" category. I really can't imagine how they ever sold enough stuff to pay the bills.
There was an utterly gorgeous Grandmother clock though. It was awesome, I was seriously considering shelling out the £1200 he wanted for it when I was interrupted by my girlfriend saying "Come on, it's stopped. Let's get the fuck out of here".

tl;dr - I went in an antique shop to get out of a hailstorm; it was full of shit with a few gems
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 16 May 2012, 10:38, Reply)

I was in a bakery in Glasgow once*
I pointed to one of the items in the glass fronted display case and said "Is that a cake or a meringue?"**

The baker said "No you're right, it's a cake"***



*I wasn't

**I didn't

***He didn't
(Professor Kenny Martin Hmm? What?, Wed 16 May 2012, 10:27, 2 replies)

Top Notch Customer Service in a Supermarket
Can’t do the time travel wibbly lines so opens a portal that throws us back in time

(((())))

Anywhoo, around 30ish years ago I was doing the usual trip to the shops with the wife and go buy some things for the house that I don’t really give a rats ass about.

After a decent few hours looking at electrical appliances the missus chose a new coffee maker and something to do with poached eggs that would make our lives complete (Until the next time an infomercial brainwashed her anyway- Being married to a Yank and living in their country can be a pain in the ass at times).

Paying at the till was pretty hard a job, I was wanting help looking for the coffee maker in an alternative colour but the two assistants were sat to one side looking slack jawed at us and seemed to be talking more about what the older one had done while on his holiday in England! Grumbling about lack of respect for customers I made my way to the till while my wife tried to placate me, after all the older bloke was handicapped, probably working at the place as a way to feel useful after some horrific workplace accident. I started to agree with her he did look pretty fucked up but I think he should not be shopfront if he could not do anything, besides his stump was scaring me.

Eventually we found a competent staff member, got our maker in the right colour and made our way to the till which was empty..I looked around and who did I see....the same older bloke that had riled me earlier chatting up a pretty hot member of staff that should have been on the till. I was pissed, I put the coffee maker down and made my way over to the two ready to give them a piece of my mind…..only to be beaten to the punch.

Some old bird, my guess an ex employee or maybe a customer pissed at the lack of service kicked off. I will admit that she was a little too harsh with what she did, I mean a few sharp words may have done the trick but this mad cow went at it like a man possessed and proceeded to physically assault the bloke and then threaten to smash the till over the head of the female employee. I did the cowardly thing and stood in fear, this woman was a nutter. Thankfully the assaulted shop worker got back up and told the nutjob that she should leave, naturally nutcase lady was not to happy about this and it all kicked off again, using various bits of shop equipment as aids to the fight which thankfully ended when the same store assistant used the best defence used by many US shop workers… pulling out a shotgun. The situation defused shortly after that and we paid for our stuff and buggered off pretty sharpish- as did the guy who had used the gun, I think he may have quit as he seemed to throw off his crappy store uniform. Major thanks to him, I judged him as a shelf stacking monkey but he proved that I was wrong. Shame I cant remember his name really….I think it might have been Ash but I definitely know that he worked in the housewares department.

Didn’t get why he said "hail to the king" though, that was a decent catchphrase but made no sense to me. Meh.. (Wanders off to eat Battenberg)
(mon bison powered by magnets, Wed 16 May 2012, 10:18, 6 replies)

Do Internet Cafes count as shops?
We did sell sweets and crisps too though...

Anyway i digress. So I used to work in a fairly busy internet cafe (half internet half gaming) and it was pretty much the dream job if it wasn't for the shitty wages and the shitty owners and the strange customers.

2 that spring to mind involve porn, and keep in mind this was a fairly busy cafe on a fairly busy street. One was a German who had very odd browsing habits. I kept catching him half loading a page and stopping it before clicking on the little boxes with the red cross. Odd but I ignored him and he would be in every day, same computer same habit and eventually i had to figure out what was going on.

Looking in the "my docs" folder i noticed that the video folder was HUGE, 2 or 3 gb in size and naturally i opened it! It was FULL of porn, everything from normal stuff you see in top shelf mags in your local shop right through to watersports and pretty hardcore BDSM. Now don’t get me wrong I really don’t care but the fact that he was leaving them on the PC I had an issue with as we had a fair amount of kids in using it and my moral compass got the better of me. When he came in the next time I mentioned casually that I knew what he was downloading and he should do a better job of covering his tracks. He freaked and pretty much ran out of the shop never to be seen again.

The other story, this guy was special, special in the he can still function on his own but maybe shouldn’t. He came in anyway and sat down at the PC nearest the window and started browsing. After a while though other customers started getting nervey and twitchy. One or two got up quickly paid and left and then one came up and called me over to the corner where he whispered for me to look at the weird guy.

He had his pants and trousers down to half way down his thighs and was happily stroking away at his little friend. I had to go down and tap him on the shoulder (with my head looking the other way before you ask) and told him to leave. I fully expected him to run out the door but nope. He shuffled his way into his trousers again and came up and paid. That Euro was dumped in bleach before any of the staff would touch it without gloves and it was quickly given as change.

A look at his history showed it was Britney Spears nude pics that were Really bad photoshopped versions.

Length? I dunno I didn’t look
(Samantha Bricks Better half done a poo on, Wed 16 May 2012, 9:17, 4 replies)

Stopped at BP to fill my car up, and whilst there grabbed some veggies for tea from the Co-Op shop which was attached to it. Young lad behind the counter weighed the peppers, red onions perfectly happily but got a bit stuck when it came to the courgettes.

"What's this?" he asked, so I told him. It was like a light being switched on in his head. Always happy when someone learns something, I smiled and went to proffer my money when he looked at me quizzically and asked "what country do they come from?"

I told him they grew in the UK and he looked at me as if he'd just caught me in the act with his mother. Bless.
(Captain Skippy pooed in a bag and left it on your doorstep, Wed 16 May 2012, 6:46, 1 reply)

Dick's Sobriety.
I used to work for 1 of the 2 big supermarket chains in Australia. Over 5 odd years I worked as a casual and full-time & did pretty much everything from storeman on the back dock (that's what you get for showing you can come in early) to grocery asst., fruit & veg, night-fill, deli counter and checkout-chick. It was in a fairly affluent suburb.
The checkout manager Eee-lane was a nasty old harridan who hated me from the outset - if I'd cared enough I may have bothered to find out why. Didn't really matter tho because I worked elsewhere in the store most of the time. I did however get 2 written warnings from/due to her.

The first was because I had the temerity to ask a customer if they really needed a plastic bag for that 1 carton of milk (with handle) - they complained, I got a written warning. Just to be clear (& I did make this point at the time) at no point did I deny them a bag for their 1 item, I simply asked if they really felt it necessary to have one.

The second was even better. I was on the back dock on Christmas Eve. It was a fucking madhouse. Due to the old bitch not being able to do her job she'd fucked up the rosters and ended up calling me up to the front-end to go on checkout.
Sometime during the afternoon someone managed get into my till and lift $400. I didn't nick it, I didn't drop it and I wasn't short-changed - I know these things. This was before widespread CCTV and there was no "guard" over the till draw - as I said we were flat chat and if I'd inadvertently left the draw slightly open the higher denominations were at the end of the draw where the next till lane was.
End of shift my float was down and I got called into the office with cunt-face and the store-manager. She started in straight away - accused me of stealing and threatening me with the sack. I explained that in all the time I'd been there my till had never been out, we were really busy (above & beyond normal trade) etc.
I also stated that if they were going to accuse me of stealing I wanted the police involved as I knew there was no proof and more importantly I knew I was innocent so I had no fear of them being called.
I eventually got a very carefully worded warning for the fact that my till was down $400. Left happily of my own volition a couple of months later due to uni and having got a better paid job.

Kinda wish I had nicked it tho - I would have bought a shit-load of piss and toasted that weasly faced witch many times until it had all run out.
(Misery McUglywife an attention seeking sociopathic fuckstain., Wed 16 May 2012, 1:22, Reply)

These boots are made for walking.....
Just in case you are thinking about the faux leather things you pop on your feet, a quick apology.
Its about a high street store that peddles pharmacy goods, and other general healthcare goods, and does a bloody good business at Christmas with their "Three for Two" offers.
And no, its not bloody Superdrug.

Now, a young Tesco Quality had bagged a job at this grand store to be a shelf stacker. Nothing wrong with that, I hear you say, even starting at 7am in the morning to punt out, by onesself, all manner of pantyliners, nappies and shampoos.
After the cages had been returned to their places, I would then be "on the till". Yep, I was also a till monkey, happily serving the good customers of my home town their wares.

Yes, indeed to this day, if you ask me what colour box is the "Tampax extra - Torrents of blood like a raging river", then I will happily murmur the reply in a daze of happy rememberance.

There are always advantages to working in such a place, the ladies on the cosmetic counter... However, I did ask one rather trowelled lady once how long it took to plaster on the makeup - I was met with threats of violence including "how would you like this rather big Denman hair brush stuck up your arse?". I retired to stacking more boxes of Tommee Tippee breast milk devices on the shelves.

Other moments of wide eyed hushedness included...

The old lady, every Saturday morning, as soon as the store opened. She made a bee line for me on the till.
At least 70, if a day. And regular as clockwork. EVERY FUCKING SATURDAY. A basket. She would approach, bolder than a African Lion in heat.

1 x tube of KY Jelly
3 x boxes of Durex, ribbed.

And no words were said while I picked up the items, scanned them into the till, popped them into a "small bag", and of course, she would say "you will double bag it for me deary?". And of course, I would double bag. Fuck you enviromentalists, some old lady is getting some. If she wants it double bagged, I'll double bag it.

Oh, and the "country" types. Dragging their teenage daughter in and baskets full of the aforementioned "Tampax Extra Torrent Strength".
I assure you all, my eyes are on the till, listening to the beep of the bar code as it passes by. No words ever were mentioned of this ever, it is like a secret code to those girls whom I was in 6th form with. I held mighty respect for not disclosing that "Big Tits Sarah" has got a minge exploding like Old Faithful in Yellowstone Park.

And the discounts were not bad either! 33% of own brand and 17.5% off any other stuff. Roaring trade at Christmas, especially on the testers. Want a bottle of the finest Eau de WHATTHEFUCKISTHATSMELL? Tester bottles by the hundred. All upstairs in the canteen, Pop a pound in the "honesty box" and take a bottle with you.
Profits abound, my lovely boys and girls!

However, these promised days could not live forever. I had to leave the sacred aisles of shampoo and boxed gift sets of Brut. But not before, THE BAD DAY happened.

The day started normally, Old Lady came and took her supplies, and various nubiles escorted by their mothers would buy their stocks of Kotex and other assorted goodies. Small talk would be passed to the good people. Please's and thank you's would be happily passed with the smile that I would happily muster.

The stench happened first. If I had known then about the Old Ones, then I would have thought that Cthluthu himself had passed a wrist shaped shit in the doorway.
Eyes watered, strange moans and retches were heard from the hair dye aisles. All I had to assile to evil stink was Vicks Vaporub, which I had been assigned, to be the good keeper of, in case of this day.

The evilness approached the till. My till. Oh mother of all holy please, not this, please no...
Oh yes.
A lady of odd complexity, some may say a look of being shell shocked, perhaps of being faced with a husband presumed dead in some awful accident suddenly showing up and asking for a brew.
She placed a toddler on the side counter, and the stink was magnificent. Since those young days I have consumed some drink, some foodstuffs to ferment in my bowels and the next day the escaping aroma is something that Hades himself would be pleased with.

But, no. This... stench, the evil clagging invisible mist was permeating the protective layers of Vicks Vaporub. It was simply melting from my upper lip, and the my eyes were quickly being consumed by a fog of dense evilness.

All she said was.... "I've had to take a nappy out of this pack, I've had to change him. Can you get rid of the old one for me?"
And with a thump, the most evil thing in the world was deposited in the basket holder. Pensioners were in cardiac arrest, the makeup from the trowelled ladies was dripping off, and in the distance I heard sirens approaching.

I had to be strong. The serve was done. The card was "click clacked" through the machine. All throughout, screams and the noises of pure evil was heard.

And guess what? The kid was chomping on a "Chupa Chup" lolly from the front of the till. Did I charge for that? Did I fuck.

The till was closed for about 3 hours after that, and it never recovered. I left shortly after, and I understand it was burnt down in a strange "electrical fire".

I feel, to this day, privileged though, to have met Cthulthu's Child.
( Tesco Quality 60.825659, -0.788337, Tue 15 May 2012, 23:49, 11 replies)

Glasgow woman...
goes into a butcher's shop one winter morning. The butcher is stood behind the counter next to an electric fire. She points and asks, 'Is that your Ayrshire bacon?'

The butcher replies, 'No, it's my hands I'm warming.'
( ThisCaledonianClown has left it far too late, Tue 15 May 2012, 21:13, 4 replies)

Moon Monkey
has just reminded me that I got a funny look from the cashier in Wilkinsons a while ago when I bought a pregnancy test and a Stanley knife.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Tue 15 May 2012, 21:08, 2 replies)

Sainsburys; Alperton
Standing in the queue behind a scruffy man purchasing the following items:
1 bottle supermarket brand Vodka
50 X 6 packets of burger buns
5 bottles of bleach
What sort of BBQ's does he host?

Also once saw a fella in the crisp isle, he stared at the crisps for a minute or so, removed Kiwi shoe polish from his trolley and replaced it with Sainsburys own brand Bacon Crispies. What on Earth can Bacon Crispies do better than shoe polish???? WHAT???
( SpookySpoon www.vivino.com/users/hig.func, Tue 15 May 2012, 19:56, 3 replies)

A cheap shop with a quite astonishing sound system.
Just before xmas, a few years ago I was in a branch of Dunnes. I don't know how widespread Dunnes is - it has a few branches here in West Yorkshire and as a rather discerning shopper it's not usually my first choice. It's basically a seconds shop, masquerading as a not quite M&S.

I don't remember why I was there - possibly socks or grots which are good value - but as I walked through the door the in-store PA was playing some plinky plonky "Ha Ha Santa Claus, Tra La Santa Claus" wank. Seasonal par for the course.

Then there was a crunch, a bit of crackly noise, and then "Won't get fooled again" on the PA.

At an astonishing volume and clarity. I love The Who anyway and retrospectively I was only 9 miles away from the site of the recording of "Live at Leeds." Most astonishing was the clarity of sound. Every single coathanger was vibrating, this was at teeth-bounce sphincter troubling volume.

It didn't last. Old ladies fled, gum chewing chavs dropped their slack jaws by a further 15 degrees and after about two minutes of full Who noise there was a further sound of a scuffle, a desolate interregnum and a reversion to the seasonal shite at rather more palatable volume.

By hell it was good while it lasted though.
( The Disappointed Caravanner of the year, Tue 15 May 2012, 19:49, 7 replies)

Walking at night, past a closed shop
Behind the counter
Crouched a blue figure
It sang this song...
(Dr Skagra glorious glargzhem, Tue 15 May 2012, 18:33, Reply)

That time the power went off.
Store I worked in suffered a power cut, store was evacuated and we were ushering everyone out. I was holding open the exit door as they weren't working and a couple of lads were blocking the entrance door.
This fella came marching towards the door, out of which are pouring customers and staff, the inside of the shop in total darkness etc.
"Excuse me" I says "The powers off, we're closing the store until it comes back on, sorry".
"I only need the lottery" he claims, trying to push past everyone.
"The power is off Sir".
"Yeah but I want the lottery." says he, now getting cross cos he can't get past everyone coming out.
"The power is off, we have no lights, the tills aren't working, everyone is outside... The power. Is. Off."
"Fuck sake, what kind of service is this?!... I'll just go to the fucking petrol station then!"...

His face when I pointed out that they had a power cut too was just a picture. By this stage there were people laughing at him and he got a round of applause as he walked off.
( Maffers I flow kinda strange like Spina Bifida footprints, Tue 15 May 2012, 18:10, Reply)

To quote Jack Dee, why do people take their kids to supermarkets to hit them?
Kids and supermarkets are excellent opportunities for family strife. Especially these days when it's not just the sweets by the till that the precious little darlings clap eyes on and need to be prised away from the object of their affections with a crowbar amid much bawling that would lead someone in the next aisle to assume they were being tortured by the Yakuza.

My favourite little playlet that I observed not so long ago was the 3-year old toddler who trailed behind his parents down the magazine aisle when he stopped dead and gazed fixedly at a colouring-in book, eyes shining with longing and obsessional aquisitiveness. A few yards later on the parents caught on that their precious was no longer keeping pace with them, turned around and called his name to get his attention.

In an astonishing Pavolvian reaction he looked to them, then to the book, then to them, and without them even having to say 'No, you can't have it' he obviously recognised the pattern, that he was not going to be able to have it, his face immediately crumpled into a miserable grimace, tears squirting from his eyes and the caterwauling rising wail emitted from his tiny presence 'But I want it I want it iwawitiwawiwawiawaowuiowuoauiouwoiauouwiuowua' reaching ear-piercing decibels very quickly, breath expended and out of words, a brief pause before a huge gulp of air which I knew was to be the refuelling of the lungs in preparation for a massive scream, I covered my ears just before the hand-quivering, foot-pedalling, anguished screech emitted forth.

I said this was obviously part of a pattern, right? Well, the parents certainly seemed to think so and their trump card was to wait until the screech declined into wild sobs and then said 'OK, we're going now' and turned their back on him to walk off. Which, much to my not surprise, managed to generate an EVEN LOUDER squeal as his terror of being abandoned overcame his complaint at being denied a colouring-in book and in a howl modulated by running footsteps jogging his diaphragm, chased them down the aisle wile bawling 'Don't go don't go dowgo dowgodowgodowgo' etc. which started to descend into the guttaral growl more often found in death metal vocalist repertoire.

I later saw the little screambox at the tills while I was getting my goods scanned and he looked like he'd seen things that no mortal man should see, the hollow-eyed unfocussed mute miserable expression on his face. All because of a bloody colouring in book.

Imagine if you worked there! It must happen about 500 times a day. There but for the grace of God go I.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Tue 15 May 2012, 17:59, 9 replies)

Only just today in a coffee shop
I was gagging for a cup of tea whilst shopping so i went to a coffee shop that served good old english breakfast tea. i waited for the woman infront of me be served by a strangely accented woman.
My mouth was as parched as gandhi's flip flop as i said, "a cup of english breakfast tea please"
"would you like some morphine with that?"
"MORPHINE????" i declared at the top of my voice
"yes, morphine" as she pointed to the muffins
(slipmatt Thats sooper dooper, Tue 15 May 2012, 17:25, 2 replies)

I once had a job in a supermarket unpacking boxes
Some of the boxes had blue packing tape, while other boxes were secured with brown adhesive tape. My job was to cut open the boxes, and stack the contents on the shelves. I used a knife we called a Stanley knife, though Stanley was just a brand name. It was just a standard cutting knife with an extendable and replaceable razor. I would cut the tape down the seam of the tape, where the two edges of the box lid met. That way, I could open the box without damaging it, and shoppers could then use the boxes to take home their groceries if they wanted. Some of the boxes we would flatten by jumping on them and throwing them in the skip in the rear alley of the supermarket. Obviously, this was after I had unpacked the contents. Some boxes, especially the fruit boxes had a waxy coating on them. This stopped them absorbing the moisture of the fruit or vegetables and getting soggy. Occasionaly, some of the box contents would have broken during transportation, and the inside of the box would be soaked with Norsca body wash, for example. Or Tropicana Fruit Drink, to give another example. I think they called it a Drink because it didn't have enough juice in it to be labeled a juice, but I don't really know much about product labeling laws, if I'm honest. The job didn't pay very much, and was fairly monotonous, but I got to learn a lot about boxes.
( cumquat may will not be commenting further on the allegations, Tue 15 May 2012, 16:21, 7 replies)

pearost
B&Q
be aware, I recently went to a b&q store in mersey side and was approached by a member of their staff and asked if I wanted decking? well, I got the first punch in, but I feel the lesser vigilant person might not be so sharp.
(Dan dan dan They tik urh jerbs!!!, Tue 15 May 2012, 15:41, 19 replies)

A few years ago
I got caught at work with my dick in the bacon slicer!
I sued my employers in an industrial tribunal as I am subsequently unable to father children.
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Tue 15 May 2012, 15:38, 6 replies)