Saturday, September 29, 2012

Waiter, There's A Fly in My Drink!

Often times I find going out to the supermarket in Leicester a trying experience, particularly when in Scotland a 24-hour Supermarket like Asdas is genuinely a 24-hour shop Monday-Sunday, rather than 24 hours Monday-Friday, 8-10pm on Saturday and 10-4pm on Sunday. The concentrated hours at the weekend make it feel like shopping in a cattle market in downtown Marakesh (or what I imagine that is like, since I have never been to a cattle market in downtown Markesh, and have no real interest in doing so) rather than a relaxing weekend shop at one's own convenience. Thus I tend to do my trips to the supermarket during the week.

However this Saturday upon doing my chores I noticed we had run out of pint glasses as the last one had developed a big crack. Now in my house most drinks are served in pint glasses if possible. Not that I am a big drinker or some kind of alcoholic who downs whiskey by the pint. I am a soft drinks kind of person, but I like pints of soft drink to save repeat trips to the kitchen. I'm also rather hard on glasses, subjecting them to hot and cold temperatures during the washing up, often resulting in them cracking and having to be disposed of.

The problem was that the university term is due to start on Monday and Asda was populated by scores of bored looking teenagers accompanied by guilt and panic striken mothers pushing trolleys around loaded with toasters, kettles and any other appliances their young cherubs will need at the halls of residence around the corner. This meant that the wonderful one-way system in Asda's carpark was like Alcatraz to navigate and wandering around inside the supermarket was no less challenging.

I picked up my messages, including speaking to someone I hope is the work experience boy at the pharmacy before the actual pharamacist advised me. I went over to buy some glasses and found 6 glasses were £2 in Asda. Ever frugal with the pennies I plonked a box of six pint glasses into my basket and continued my shopping.

It was only when I took them out the basket at the checkout I looked down at the pint glasses and saw this:-


Not exactly a pleasant sight in the supermarket queue


There was a dead fly in the glass. A very dead one, quite probably midway through decomposition and practically mummified. Looking around, somewhat flummoxed and embarassed, I attracted the checkout assistant's attention, much to her irritation as there were two customers in front of me.

"Umm... there's a dead fly in this glass," I said, holding the glass up like some kind of grizzly trophy.

She looked over at me, not quite understanding me. The mother and daughter behind me in the queue suddenly decided my glass was quite interesting. The little girl was fascinated, but then again it seems to me these days that little people seem to be really interested in gross things like farts and dead flies.

"It's dead," I said, though she looked a lot less reassured when I added. "Well at least I hope it is."

The checkout woman asked, "Do you want me to get a runner to get a replacement?"

I nodded, though I did wonder for a moment if this question was redundant. I wasn't raising the fact there was a dead fly in my glass to compliment them on a new promotion - buy a glass, get a tasty dead fly free.

By the way if you want to appeal to the frog market that is the way to go.

She then proceeded to go back to scanning the customer at the head of queue's groceries. I looked somewhat confused as I was not aware that Asda staff members communicated via telepathy. I must have looked so confused she eventually looked back at me.

"Why don't you just go and get a new glass?" she asked.

I nodded, ever eager to be helpful, but the dilemma I had was I still had this rather disgusting looking glass in my paw.

"Would you like to take the glass so that no-one else buys it until its been cleaned?" I said as I extended the offending glass towards her. It had the same effect on her as crucifixes and garlic does on Dracula. She practically fell off her seat recoiling from the glass and dead fly combo.

"No, just put it back on the shelf," she said finally.

"What if someone else picks it up and buys it. Shouldn't you put it to one side?"

"No, no, just put it back."

I look somewhat quizzically at her, but shrugged and went off to find a bug-free glass. Not before stopping to take a picture of the offending glass of course.

The Asda Homecare aisle where the glasses live was surrounded by one of the afore-mentioned mothers and her brood, one of whom was doubtless starting university on Monday. Once again the repelling powers of my arachnid infested glass ensured I was able to get to the shelf. To my credit I did put the offending glass as far away from the other glasses as possible and did warn the family.

"Be careful to check what glasses you buy," I said, holding proudly the glass and its enormous tick. I think they will be now.

I returned to the queue, feeling a little embarassed now, and the girl and her mother grinned when I got back with my new bug-free pint glass.

"I think I'll probably wash these when I get home," I said.

"That's probably a good idea," said the mother.

So I did.

New and most importantly clean pint glasses.


THE END

Motto: Asda give you extra. Just check what that Extra is.

2 comments:

Lindsey said...

You may need to explain to your non-Scottish readers that messages = shopping, Stu.

Stuart Kerrigan said...

You know Naomi had exactly that when she read it.