'Like a sunburnt Terry Nutkins'
One of the characters who frequented the supermarket I worked in was not quite the 'town drunk', but you sensed that he has eyeing up the role and was updating his CV.

He'd come in of a lunch time(already pissed) and sniff around the booze department for an opportunity to pocket something that he could drink down by the river later. As soon as he entered the area, staff would flood the aisles and he'd shuffle out of the shop muttering under his breath. He walked on crutches so quite how he planned to make a quick getaway is beyond me.

One day I was walking back from lunch at the exact moment that the manager was informed that a customer had 'fallen asleep' in the frozen section, bent over with the top half of his body in a chest freezer full of frozen vegetables. 'What did this customer look like?' was asked and the messenger replied 'Er, It's that old guy on crutches who looks like a sunburnt Terry Nutkins'.

And so it came to be that the manager and his assistant dragged a semi conscious drunk through the shop and out to the bus depot outside, followed by me carrying his crutches, and bizarrely, a prosthetic foot and ankle. We sat him down on a bench and he told us to 'fuck off' and 'leave him alone'. This sudden outburst caused a young girl, about 6 or 7, sitting on the next bench to start bawling her eyes out.

'It's OK little girl', says the manager, 'he's not very well and we're going to take him home.'

'I know' blubbers little girl, 'He used to be my dad.'

Both managers held it in before they got round the corner and started laughing. I wasn't quite so kind. Looking back on it it's obviously quite sad, but the little girl's timing was exquisite.
(FartThroughAWalkieTalkie wished you were dead in ditch on, Sun 13 May 2012, 12:13, 2 replies)

in spasda recently
The Guy was checking through my goods whilst I bagged them. Then he got to some of the exotic fruit and vegetables that I was buying.

He picked something up to scan it, but looked confused. What was this rare and exotic item? Was it a dragon fruit, a physallis, a star fruit, a mooli?

No.

He asked me what it was.

"A leek," I told him.
(The Kwyjibo A big, dumb, balding North American ape., Sun 13 May 2012, 11:04, 6 replies)

I used to work for Oddbins.
Many of you may remember the chain, but for those who don't , it was a wine shop which was generally aimed at taking the bullshit and snobbery out of the wine trade. And, by and large, it was quite good at it. It was particularly known for the expertise, and eccentricity, of its staff. I worked in a few shops for them, but probably the most memorable was the Swansea branch. It was great fun, as the manager was a militant Welsh Nationalist, and was also involved in never-ending union disputes with head office. To successfully do either of these things, you need a good sense of humour.
There were plenty stupid customer questions ("do you have any red Chardonnay?" stands out), but his customer service was a joy to behold. Such as the incident when two little old ladies wandered in and started peering at the sherry display.
Boss asks, in his helpful and friendly manner, if he can help.
"No thanks, luv, just having a quick look" comes the knee-jerk response. Boss nods, goes "ok" and pauses precisely three seconds before gently gripping each by the shoulder, saying "RIGHT! That's long enough!" and making as if to steer them back out of the door.
Fortunately, he did it in such a way as to make it clear he was kidding - the two old dears pissed themselves laughing, bought a bottle each, and promised they'd be back next time. Could have been rather unfortunate if they'd not seen the funny side of it, though - not something I'd have tried in the shop in Henley...
( wynoh kills threads by his mere presence, Sun 13 May 2012, 10:47, 2 replies)

I'm all lost in the supermarket.
I can no longer shop happily.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sun 13 May 2012, 9:01, 5 replies)

Six and Two Threes
Some time ago I called into my local Newsagents, while I was there I asked the girl behind the counter for "Half a dozen first class stamps please". She looked at me quizzically, then turned to her boss and said ( I kid you not )"Mary..... er... what's half a dozen? ". Her boss looked at her in disbelief and replied : "Do you know what DOZEN means?"
The girl scratched he head then said "Er, twelve innit? Oh I see he wants SIX, oh I got it now!"
Ah the benefits of a modern comprehensive education!
(Mackeson_drinker, Sun 13 May 2012, 7:56, 6 replies)

When I was 8 I remember my mum and dad having a bit of a barny,
Shortly after Dad dragged me into the car 'quick quick we'v got to go to sainsburys!' Confused I buckled up my belt and said 'whats the rush, what are you panicking about?' 'its your mother,' He said 'she might be pregnant...I'v got to get her a pregnancy test NOW. If shes pregnant I'm fucked, your fucked. No more nice Christmas presents because I'l be up to my eyeballs in cunting debt!' We then proceeded to Sainsburys, hurriedly he bought the test (at this age I still wasn't too educated on the birds and bees so for me this was all a bit bazaar) We sped home and I plonked down in-front of the TV to watch tom and jerry.
Ten minutes later My old man walked into the sitting room with his hands on his head with the biggest look of relief I think I'v ever seen 'Thank the fucking lord!' He threw himself on the sofa cracked open a beer and slouching into it he gave a huge sigh.
'ohfuckohfuckofuck'
That was the day I found out how babies were made.
(shezam slouching towards nirvana., Sat 12 May 2012, 23:03, 6 replies)

I took my friends daughter to a super market last week.
Shes going nuts for these collective plastic figurines called 'Moshi Monsters' Quite cute actually, you buy a packet not knowing which one is inside and over time collect and swap obsessionally until you have the entire collection.
So she got this little purple blob it was called 'roxanne'
She looked at it quizzically.
'have you got that one already?' I ask,
'no'
She then breaks of its arms and legs, and smiles.
'see NOW it looks like a rock!'
(shezam slouching towards nirvana., Sat 12 May 2012, 22:49, 8 replies)

Never buy grocery items that are reduced for any reason other than being short-dated.
I worked for three years in a well-known supermarket, and every morning my first job of the day would be three or four hours in the warehouse, wiping down and repairing damaged food packs then putting them back out on sale at a reduced price. "Wiping down", because the items would be from pallets heaped with smashed-up stock and therefore covered in a combination of fabric conditioner, flour, mouse shit, broken glass, mould and exploded dog food tins writhing with maggots. On several occasions the smell was so bad it made me vomit into the warehouse sluice (which I had to work next to. Great on the days when the drains backed up and there were turds floating past).

Yeah. So next time you're tempted to reach for that lone, slightly battered Cornflakes with 20p off, just consider first what's happened to that pack ...
( drimble he'd been white, he'd been black, Sat 12 May 2012, 21:55, 2 replies)

Posts below have reminded me of this story which I shall shamelessly pearoast:
Many years ago I used to work in theatre as an assistant stage manager.

We we working on a production of The Rivals, on stage was a bowl of fruit. As the fruit had to be practical, i.e. eaten, we used real fruit. One of my jobs was to buy fruit every so often from the supermarket over the road. They used to give us gift vouchers in return for a mention in the programme.
One other thing that we managed to get for free was fags. Yes this was that long ago that we could get fags to smoke on stage for nowt in return for a mention in the programme.

One problem was that when people smoke on stage they have to put the fag out in an ashtray filled with water, health and safety and that. When changing the set the water tended to splash. So we came up with the idea of using KY jelly.


So that is how I one day found myself in Sainsburys buying bananas and KY jelly with a gift voucher.
( Mrs Entity is in hiding., Sat 12 May 2012, 21:05, 8 replies)

Clingfilm.
About 20 years ago, I escaped from my birthplace of Tasmania via a one way ticket to Western Australia.

The was a major recession in Australia at the time, and skilled job opportunities were thin on the ground.

I managed to gain part-time employment working in a pub. It was a fairly non-descript place, situated on a busy road with very few walk-in clientele.

the owner dreamed up a sure-fire strategy to boost punter numbers...employ naked women.

So, in an attempt to convert a dull pub into some kind of Gentleman's club (minus decor or ambiance), he arranged for two "hot chicks" to arrive at 3 o'clock each day, get naked and wander around behind the bar.

In another brilliant twist, the male staff were to wear formal attire, thus completing the transformation to an " upmarket" masturbatoriam.

It was shit. There was a building site next door, and as predicted, once word had got around a about the "naked chick pub" next door, every afternoon the bar would be full of pissed up labourers, slathering to grab the girls.

After a few incidents involving drunk horny semi-violent customers, we were issued with cut-down pool cues to "subdue" the more energetic customers.

After a bit, the Health Authorities got wind of this place, and told the owner he had to cover up the girls, as presumably there was a health risk from a naked badly wiped arse, or evil minge vapours infecting the beer.

So, not wanting to lose his hard gained custom from the hordes of sad masturbators, he wrapped the girls in clingfilm!

Now, a shapely woman in a tight fitting dress looks magnificent, and lends a small degree of mystery and imagination, due to the simple fact that the exciting bits are covered up.

A woman wrapped in a snug suit of clingfilm just looks plain fucking weird. Everything gets squashed and grossly distorted. Especially the pubes. Imagine a big black spider squashed beneath a pane of glass. It was also self defeating, as clingfilm doesn't breathe so there was a lot of misting and sweating happening under the plastic. The body odour was quite confronting too.

Eventually business dropped off, and the scheme was abandoned as the display of squished flesh was too much for even the most hardened drinker.

I left the place not long after and embarked on a proper career, but thankfully the experience cured me of the desire to ever enter a strip club.
( Ken Oath, Sat 12 May 2012, 20:42, 9 replies)

Parenting fail...
When I was a child and had to be forced into visiting the supermarket with one of my parents (immensely boring for any child) I always used to go and read the comics on the magazine stand and await my parents to pick me up at the end. This one time my father took me shopping on his own and I did my usual "I'm off to read the comics". I'd read the whole of the Beano, The Dandy and a few others before my father appeared and without mentioning a word just said "come on now, we're going home". It was only when we got home that it turned out that my father had already been home and had been promptly asked by my mother "Where's the boy?" followed by "Oh shit!" He'd forgotten he'd taken me shopping with him.
(Testicles just for you, Sat 12 May 2012, 19:51, 1 reply)

The Old Creepy Shop of Creepy Mannequins.
A few streets away from where I live is a shop which I shall not name but if you know Southsea at all, it will be familiar.
It's a fairly big, old-fashioned place that sells kiddie's frocks. Kiddie's party frocks that apparently fell through a wormhole from 1954 as nobody in their right mind would ever put their child in one.
I've been walking past it on about a daily basis for the last five years and I have never once seen anybody in there.
Not customers.
Not staff.
Not even a bored Lithuanian cleaner.
Leaving aside the question of how the hell they stay in business, the thing that most concerns me is the mannequins they have in the window. I have nightmares about these fucking things.
Picture Chucky from the Childs Play films except he's three foot tall and grey and wearing a bright yellow polkadot party dress. Picture twenty of these things grinning at passers-by with cold, cruel eyes.
And I'm convinced they move about when nobody is watching.
At this point discovering that the place is a front for White Slavery would be a relief.
(Big D, Sat 12 May 2012, 19:15, 8 replies)

www.b3ta.com/talk/1973922
( Dr. Shambolic je suis charlie, Sat 12 May 2012, 18:08, 3 replies)

Overheard on the aisles
I worked for a year in a supermarket immediately after college, basically to clear my debts, and I was the manager of the frozen food department. Meanwhile it allowed me to voluntary work for various conservation organisations, and eventually that's the area where I made a career.

Only two things stick in my mind from way back then, one was overhearing two women talking, and one said "And when I went back to the living room, he was still dead". I wish I'd heard the rest of the conversation so I could put it all in context. The second thing was when I went to work with a rotten hang over I used to put as many clothes on as I could, fashion an armchair out of packets of frozen peas, and have a nap in the walk-in freezer. Looking back it's a wonder I was never found dead. Still, happy days.
( Varmint, Sat 12 May 2012, 18:07, 7 replies)

Not an April fools joke.
My boss was probably the only guy to ever have to report a fire and flood on April fools to his head office.
The night before a member of staff had been shrink-wrapping some games and had then gone home and left the machine on, which had subsequently overheated and then burst into flames, which then triggered the sprinkler system. He had been called into work to assess the damage, first on the scene besides the centre security. He said it was so bad he put his breakfast down on the counter and it floated off.

He told me it took about five minutes of infuriating phone calls to convince head office that it wasn't a joke and literally had to hold the phone up to the alarm to finally convince them.

On the plus point all water damaged stock was reduced by 70% - including the playstation (boxes) that were placed under a running tap.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Sat 12 May 2012, 17:49, Reply)

Pissy pedestal mats and stained toilet brushes
I worked for about a year in a department store in London - the one all the really middle-class people love. When you applied for the job you didn't apply to a particular department, you were allocated to one in your acceptance letter. I was kind of hoping for haberdashery because it is a brilliant word but was landed with bathroom furnishings instead. Bathroom furnishings were anything from towels to toilet seats.

One of the things that makes the chain so very popular is its returns policy. If you bought it from them originally, you can bring it back with or without a receipt, regardless of when the original transaction took place, and you will get an exchange or a refund. There were a lot of returns and, as a section manager, it was my job to inspect them. I spent my days looking over toilet seats which hadn't been cleaned since they day they were installed, toilet brushes with shit still clinging to the bristles and bathroom bins with unidentifiable crud nestling at the bottom. People really did seem to be absolutely shameless about the dirt they were trailing in with them. I would try to avoid touching anything by asking them to show me the fault (while trying to hold my breath) and generally it worked.

One day, however, a really unkempt older lady with two walking sticks came in clutching a carrier bag and demanding to speak to a manager. She had purchased a pedestal mat, one of those semi-circular bits of carpet that fits round the bottom of the loo or the basin, and she said it had fallen apart in a very short space of time. I asked her to see it and she thrust the carrier bag into my hand. I gingerly slid the contents out and it made a moist splat as it hit the counter. Immediately we were engulfed in a miasma of months-old stale urine which had been kept potent by generous daily top ups. I squeaked out something about a refund but she said, "You haven't seen the fault. you'll have to turn it over." I tried to say it was fine but she wanted to make her point. I couldn't ask her to do it for me as she needed both hands to balance on her sticks. In the end, I had to pick it up and turn it over. It was sopping wet and covered in black mould underneath.

We looked it up in the stock catalogues and found she had had it for 5 years. I don't think it had ever been washed since the day she bought it. Even thinking about it now makes me want to obsessively wash my hands.
(Innogen, Sat 12 May 2012, 17:48, 3 replies)

As a student on gloucester road in Bristol
i once sacrificed a precious pound in order to take ALL the shopping trolleys (about 25) from outside somerfield, which i then abandoned 150 yards away
(court escaper, Sat 12 May 2012, 17:27, 4 replies)

How to disgust a check-out person.
Fill your shopping trolley with alcohol, and a single pack of nappies. Ask how much the nappies are, then say "Oh...forget about it then."
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Sat 12 May 2012, 16:40, 8 replies)

Llamas
I was admonished (politely) earlier for not posting recently. I’ve not really had the time, but seeing as my brain was trying to take leave of it’s own senses earlier, I thought I’d share my 30-second thought process as I walked down the condiment aisle in Tesco earlier when I saw a new product – Llama’s Baked Bites.

The thought process went exactly as follows. Imagine it as an inner monologue:

"Hmmm. Someone who farms llamas would be a llama farmer.

But if someone hurt that farmer, then that person would be a llama farmer harmer.

Imagine if it was the President of the USA that did it! The press would have a field day and he’d forever be known as Obama – The llama farmer harmer.

And if there were TWO murderers, both called Obama, but one was more violent than the other then in order to differentiate between the two we’d have one nicknamed Calmer Obama – The llama farmer harmer.

But then if it was revealed that the violent llama farmer was a bit of a bastard (maybe he’d been killing the llamas. Who knows. That’s not important here.) who’d been killed by the nice Obama then it’d be known as an incident called Calmer Obama – The llama farmer harmer karma."

I swear that this was a real in-head conversation that happened earlier. Thankfully I was brought out of my llama-based trance by someone asking why I was staring at a pack of Llama's baked bites.

Pray for me.
( SeasonTicketless is too often the statue, and rarely the pigeon., Sat 12 May 2012, 15:21, 3 replies)

I worked for a leading Automotive accessories store that also sells bikes
One woman brought her sons bike back for the free of charge first service, nine months after the returning date had expired. The bike was utterly ruined and needed to be replaced. She demanded that I repair it free of charge and when I said no, she began to cry, full on hysterical wailing. I still said no and she stopped.

An older man, pale and balding heading into his autumn years came into the store and asked to speak to me. He then came out to me and my manager that he was a Transvestite and liked to take pictures of himself. My Manager was mortified!

A recovering alcoholic junkie came into the shop and he was obviously very damaged by years of substance abuse. The manager promptly threw him out claiming that he was a shop lifter and not the sort of customer we wanted. In actual fact I had only the week before sold him a brand new bike that he had taken a long time to save up for. Why did I sell it to him? Because no one else in the store would serve him because he was clearly rather mentally ill. Cue a furious phone call from his support worker! He always asked for me after that.

I caught a shop lifter and asked him to leave and informed my manager who it was by saying rather loudly, "the tall man in the ladies wig"! Talk about making it obvious and drawing attention to himself!

Just before I was made redundant a directive came from head office that we had to build a display of tools in the entrance to the store. Despite putting security tags on every tool and tool box, each one was stolen by the same shop lifter, often right in front of the management team who stated that they could catch and deter said shop lifter!
( Rev. Jayneflakes Buy my book, I need the cash for drugs and hookers, Sat 12 May 2012, 14:54, 2 replies)

Ciderman
Another tale from morrisons, this time concerning the local alcoholic 'ciderman'. Ciderman was known from afar throughout the town for being a jolly outgoing sort of pisshead, who was harmless to the point of comedy.

I often saw him sleeping on the benches outside the store and conversing with the group of skateboarders who had made him their official pet/mascot.

The first time I had the pleasure of serving him at a till, he approached me like a crab. that is to say he walked sideways with a spry gait. He then deposited 10 bottle of Weston's organic cider on my till* and yelled "How you doing mate? yeah mate I'm all right? cheers mate, sorted!". I should note that I hadn't said anything at this point. "errm seven pounds fifty please" I nervously added

Ciderman grinned and pushed his fingers under the brim of his hat and without removing it pulled out a dirty, crumpled tenner. I gingerly took it and gave him his change. He them proceeded to push the coins back under his hat, again without removing it at any point. And with a hearty "cheers mate" he was on his way.

It showed alot about Morrisons customer/staff relations, that the politest customer was a homeless wino.

The next time I saw Ciderman he was preaching his message of shop tolerance to the masses. Walking through town on my lunch break I saw him towering over a terrified child of about seven. In what I assume what he believed to be a friendly manner of advice he was shouting at the boy while pointing at a nearby poundstretchers.

"you dont wanna go in there THEMS BASTARDS IN THERE, they fuggin' told me your too drunk. IM NOT TO DRUNK bastards!"

Meanwhile a few yards away the group of ska8er-Bois who had adopted him were pissing themselves laughing. One of them shouted to ciderman "leave him alone, your scaring the poor lad"

At this Ciderman jolts to attention and yells "ITS ALL RIGHT LADS, IM JUST 'SPLAINING TO HIM ABOUT PAHHHHNDSTRECHERS"

After I got back from lunch I spend most of my shift terrified that a bit of wee had escaped from laughing so hard.

*this is how posh Hertfordshire is, even the tramps eschew white lightening.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sat 12 May 2012, 14:13, 7 replies)

Skilled wife embarrassment
In Smiths, purchasing Civ 4, wife queuing with that and some fizzy water. I wander over to look at some rather exciting StarWars collectables, wife shouts loud as she can 'You've got a computer game; you're not having stickers too" in perfect Mum vs recalcitrant child tone of voice. Old lady behind her doubles up with laughter. I knew then that she'd make a fine mother. She also often leads an entrance into M and S with a shout of "I need some pants for this one". Brilliant.
( lordsaccharine b3taing is well retro mate, Sat 12 May 2012, 13:53, 4 replies)

Asda
Several years ago, my local Asda tried out a self-service deli section, where a stand in the aisle contained big tubs of stuff like pasta salad, rice salad, coleslaw and so on. Each tub had its own ladle and there were various sizes of polystyrene pots with lids for people to fill up.

If the manky hand-prints on everything and spilled, congealing mayo splattered everywhere were not enough to put people off, one morning some kid went a step further. This kid was probably about eight or ten years old and was sitting up on the edge of this unit, scooping up big handfuls of these foods and stuffing them into its gob, smearing the sauce all over his face in the process. Those he didn't like, he was spitting back into the tubs.
His mother wasn't that bothered, when confronted.
(dave likes cheese, Sat 12 May 2012, 13:49, 4 replies)

Smells like piss woman
When I have a need for money I can stick it out at crap jobs longer than most. I started with 12 others at Morrisons, and lasted 6 months longer than any of my fellow graduates of the 'how to use a mop' instructional video.

It was during this time on the arse end of the checkouts I became acquainted with one of the regulars, known only to the staff as 'smells like piss woman'. Most Elderly people like to get their shopping done during the week, or early in the morning. You know because its quiet. Not SLPW, she loved to come on a Saturday afternoon when it was heaving. One can only assume this was because of a grudge against society and Morrisons in particular. Thongs of shoppers in a packed supermarket would part in her malodorous wake in a manner akin to the red sea parting for Moses.

One particularly hot day she decided that my till would be the best place to go. presumably as the air conditioner above it was broken. There was easily 20 people queuing up with full trolleys, waiting as much as 20 mins to get their hands on BOGOFF pies. I looked up and suddenly this queue of 20 had been reduced to 3, and people were hurrying to join even busier checkouts.

Then the smell hit my nose like a sack of ordure soaked bricks. The air was textured all of a sudden, and in her full stinky glory SLPW was waiting to be served. The first customer didn't even bother to pack his bags he just slung all the stuff back in the trolley and ran to the car park. The woman behind him had turned pale, and was chocking back vomit as she handed over her credit card. SLPW only had a handbasket but tit seemed like an eternity to serve her.

She trundled off to the cafe, leaving me gasping for air. Then an apologetic supervisor loomed over me. "I'm sorry about that willenium, we call her SLPW and shes here every week. Look I'm sorry about this but im going to need you to clean your till.

Apparently she smelled so bad that it was store policy to clean the checkout she had used. I closed my till and spent 5 mins scrubbing it with bleach before anyone would even come near it again. The people who had left my line and were still queuing in nearby tills stared at the whole process with the only sympathy I ever received from customers in that store.
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sat 12 May 2012, 11:26, 7 replies)

I once worked in the music section of a store in London
One day, a typical yuppie type wandered in and started asking about classical music. Seeing as I was the only staff member who knew anything about it, said yuppie was pointed in my direction.

"Ah hello. I was wondering if you could help me."
"Of course."
"I'm looking for a particular classical music piece."
"OK."
"Except, I don't know what it's called, or who it's by."
"Err."
"It had a cello in it I think."
"Well that rules out the piano sonatas at least. Can you hum or sing it?"
"No."
"Well, here's Elgar's Cello Concerto in E Minor, if you don't like it, you can bring it back." [He didn't]
(theremin put the lotion in the basket on, Sat 12 May 2012, 10:40, 3 replies)

Like many of the others, I too worked in a supermarket.
And as such, I shan't bore you with the pranks that bored teenagers on minimum wage get up to, but instead a tale of our manager.
Matt was an oddity - a shop floor manager who did his best for the underlings in the Grocery department, happy to change shifts around and sort out pay disputes. Customers, however, were his bugbear. He'd always be polite enough to those who were polite to him, but could let go on those who were pushy.
On one occasion, I was restocking the carpet cleaners (amazing how long the Shake and vac tune will stay in your head when you don't even stock the bloody stuff) and a well-to-do woman, clearly out of her depth in somewhere that wasn't Fortnum and Mason's, asked for a specific type of a specific brand of carpet cleaner, being the green Stain Devil (probably for removing fox blood from the hall carpets). After assuring her that we had only the red and blue varieties (for chip fat and sick, respectively) she started to get quite annoyed with my inability to magically produce said green variant of powder. After a traipse out to the storeroom to see if a case was hiding out back, she demanded to see the manager.
"How can I help, madam?"
"Well, this young man here can't find me the green Stain Devil and I think it isn't good enough."
"Ah, well, we've never stocked that one, only blue and red. I can certainly ask the stockroom if they can order some in though."
"No, that's no good, I want it now. I've bought it here before and I think you're not telling me the truth." She must have been a whisker away from stamping her foot by this point.
"Madam, I know that we have never stocked that version, but I can order it in."
"Well, this is simply not good enough."
"Well, why don't you fuck off to Sainsbury's then?"

The only time I saw him be sarcastic to someone who didn't deserve it was when a little old lady asked, very sweetly, "Where do you keep your jam?" I was about to answer "Aisle 25" when he quipped "In the cupboard above my fridge." before wandering off out the back of the shop.

Top chap, though - he knew I was struggling to get by on a student loan and somehow wrangled me double pay for the whole of the Christmas holiday.
( Colonel Boris "...a desperate Buzzfeed imitation...", Sat 12 May 2012, 10:40, 2 replies)

Get out of my house!
In the late 90's they began to build a new supermarket just round the corner from my parents. This was the main talking point for some time, as being southern we had never had the chance to set foot in a morrisons before.

Part of the planning permission to build this was based around the preservation of a old building. The shop was allowed to knock down all of it but had to keep the front façade. This resulted in the outer walls being finished some months before the rest of the store. Holes were cut for cash machines in the brickwork and then boarded up.

Some time later as the supermarket was nearing the big grand opening, the bank sent round a chap to open up and install a cash machine.

Prying off the boards, he was then promptly attacked by a homeless man who had been living inside. Apparently as soon as he had opened up the ATM hole, this dishevelled guy had shot out alien-face-hugger style and began punching. All the while screaming "get out of my house"
( willenium Fist bump for verification, Sat 12 May 2012, 9:13, 1 reply)

Share and enjoy
At my local Sainsbury's is a young lad who is just a
little bit too enthusiastic to serve, bless him. On
one occasion he rang through my purchases, took my
money and, handing me my change said -

"Thank you sir. Enjoy your, er... toilet roll."

(For the record, I did, very much)
( Bela Lugosi's Dad, Sat 12 May 2012, 8:19, Reply)

Some woman was picking up all the cabbages
And trying to find a good one. I mean, that's bad enough, germs on all the cabbages.

But then, she sneezed. Into her hands. Without washing them anywhere. And PICKED UP CABBAGE WITH HER SNEEZY, GERMY HANDS.

I mean come on woman, you could have least got the asparagus all germy so my mum didn't have to buy that instead :(
(D.I.pshit solved another case on, Sat 12 May 2012, 8:15, 2 replies)

ASDA butchery
many years ago whislt working in the butchery department at asda, we had a guy who was always pissing about;}doing things like throwing steaks like frisbees that sort of thing, the one that comes to mind tho was when he had the store shut for a couple of hours after, throwing the plastic carrying trays arounin the fridge, what happend was that as one large tray was flying through the fridge his aim was off by some margin and the tray took of the fie sprinkler head, this flooded out the the whole butchery dept the deli dept the bakery and part of the shop floor,it also triggerd the automatic call to the fire brigade and the evacutaion of the store.



no punctutation was harmed in the makeing of this post
( fluffybunnykiller Is feasting on the clitoris of life, Sat 12 May 2012, 7:36, 3 replies)