and their ‘Whoosh’ are cunts.
The Mrs is usually a self sufficient type. Goes out and does things herself.
However, the other day she had a rare headache and decided to order some paracetamol and a couple of other things on the Tesco Whoosh thing.
Anyroad, the stuff arrives. But it’s some ethnic personage who talks Waka Waka.
He asks the old lady for her passport, otherwise she won’t get the tablets (and the oranges, milk and bread she also ordered). I was not standing for that, and I read their own rules out to this jobsworth pillock…
‘Tesco legally requires customers to be at least 16 years old to buy paracetamol. Under their “Think 25” policy, delivery drivers are required to ask for photo ID for any age-restricted or medicinal item if the recipient appears under 25.’
Well, as in fine physical condition as Mrs Norman is, she is 46 years of age. And – no offence to my beloved – she does not look either 16 or 25. She is a mature beautiful woman, and obviously no kid or Gen Z. The knobhead wasn’t having it ‘De App sez ya got to have eye dee!’ I told her she was wasting her time, so I told him to stick it. It was a matter of principle. ID on your own doorstep? For fucking Paracetamol?! Nobody takes the piss out of my wife. Needless to say, neither of us will be using this dreadful tinpot service again. And, I dare say our written and phoned complaints will disappear into the ether with the ones made by other customers. More disgruntled ex- customers in the link….
Nominated by Norman.
Starmer urging the Scots and Welsh to support England.
Hang on, wasn’t the English, Welsh, Northern Irish and Scots coming together for Unite the Kingdom march faaar-Right?
Its ok when its in support of a bunch of fannies kicking a ball around.
3
There should be clearly marked lanes in supermarkets.
The amount of times some middle aged gormless fuckin woman stands daydreaming in the middle of the aisle,
or some dozy fuckin pensioner.
Gets on my tits.
a green, ablebodied, quick walking, knows what theyre doing, and is in a rush lane.
Then a red, slow moving , all the time in the world, get underfoot lane.
some slsckjawed old twat can then fuck about with 2p off coupons and talk about holidays in a massive queue,
while important , quick thinking, no nonsense types like me can quickly pay and get the fuck out of there.
2
Can’t help but agree.
While we’re at it, have your fucking card out, in your hand and ready to tap.
There should be a “wait while Hell freezes over ” lane while the purse is retrieved from bottom of the tartan shopping trolley.
0
And I’m over 70, and often contemplate murder in supermarket checkout queues.
0
oh ,
and if you work on a supermarket checkout,
not everyone wants a inane conversation with you about holidays, kids summer holidays,
football, the weather or frankly anything else.
You might think your hosting a talkshow and im somehow interested in your fuckin opinion but id prefer if you sped up before my goods defrost and you paid more attention to giving me the right change.
Do your job you dizzy cunt.
im not your mate.
i think your a boring cunt and if i see your manager ill tell them what a useless,
chatterbox cunt you are.
its nice to be nice.
2
oh ,
charities you may think setting up a kiosk or desk near the exit of a supermarket is a savvy business move,
and that the time to mither someone and scrounge for a direct debit is when im carry my own weight in shopping bags.
wrong.
it doesnt shame me to tell you i couldnt give a fuck about if people dont have clean drinking water in african,
im honestly glad they dont.
And as for youths with muscular dystrophy why should i contribute to a minibus for them?
they never do anything for me,
the shaky little cunts.
i sometimes get a stiffy at the shocked face of some charity karen ive told i couldnt give a fuck.
2
Even though supermarkets have their faults, there was nothing compared to what I suffered weekly at one of our corner shops, before the big ones became popular. I remember when you had to queue up behind dozens of people before being served by one person and how ridiculous it sounds now. Whilst in the queue with the week’s shopping list my mother gave me, the woman serving would shout out for everyone to hear. Don’t forget to tell your mother to pay something from last week’s bill before I allow her anymore tick. I would walk out with embarrassment and mother would go back to have it out with her. We would go to bed that night hungry. Hoping tomorrow would be better.
1