This time of year seems to come around too quickly. It is mere hours until this blog enters its ninth year, and as you’ve probably realised over these years, it’s also the time of year when I post the least. This is a combination of being insanely busy at Employment Palace, and the fact that nothing ever seems to happen in October. Ever.
But, it’s November now, and exactly a month before the conclusion of the “Before I’m 30″ section of the site. Ugh. Something did happen a couple of weeks ago, which I personally couldn’t believe, and it happened in Asda… I started blogging about it, but didn’t finish it, because I was so filled with rage, that if I’d have gone any further with it, I’d have smashed something…
I’ve truly had it with Asda. Today was the last straw, and I shall never step foot through the doors of their sorry organisation as long as I draw breath.
Would you believe, that… that…. I can’t even bear to type these words….
I got KNOCKED BACK. You know, that sinking feeling when you’re 17, and although you’ve grown enough stubble to fill an armchair, the woman behind the counter looks at you and says “Have you got any ID”?
I’m less than 2 months short of my 30th birthday, and for the first time in my life, I get asked the dreaded question…
“Do you have any ID?”
At the minute, I do have enough stubble to make someone’s bed very uncomfortable, should the whiskers be removed and spread evenly upon it, but that’s not the point. I don’t look (or feel) 25, and I’m certainly above the legal age of 18.
I look at her with a wry smile.
“Er, no. I’m 29. Why would I need ID”?
“Well, I don’t know you’re 29. We operate a ‘challenge 25′ policy, so I need something to prove your age. So, if you don’t have that, I’ll just have to move your beer to one side…”
I thought she was joking. Ohhhh, no. Off my beers go, my jaw dragging along the conveyor belt along with the rest of my shopping. No matter what I said, those beers weren’t going anywhere. Her attitude was absolutely shocking. Her words were something like “You can go back round and set served by someone else, but you won’t get those beers through me”.
The stubborn old mule stuck her hooves into the ground, and I’m left, stocked, stunned and dismayed by the whole incident.
I wheel the infinitely wobbly trolley out of the door, and load the non-alcoholic shopping into the car.
“Would you believe it. For the first time in almost 30 years they’ve refused to serve me alcohol”. He laughs, and couldn’t believe it either. Obviously, there was one solution. He’d go in and buy the beers for me. Everyone’s a winner!
I walk, or rather angrily strut up to this…. “assistant”, with her bleached-blonde hair and make-up clagged on with a trowel. My 8 cans are still to the side of her till.
“Ah, came back with ID this time, have we?” were her sarcastic words.
“No, I’m not buying them, my dad, Who IS SIXTY-[SOMETHING], is buying them”
“Well, I’m not going to serve him either because I know he’s going to give them to you”…
That’s where I stopped typing! Needless to say, I walked out without the beer, and . Quite unbelievably, for anyone who knows me, I have stayed out of Asda since that incident, and now, I can’t see any reason to ever go back.
There WAS one reason. It was the only place I knew which stocked “Tymbark”. Now, I’ll not be surprised if you’ve never heard of it, as it’s Polish. That’s Polish, as in, it originates from Poland, and not the cleaning product. My dietary habits, no matter how bad they are, have yet to see me consuming Mr. Sheen. It is a fantastic blend of cherry and apple juice, which was stocked in Asda’s “Ethnic” aisle.
Whilst in Tesco the other day, I was delighted to find that they also stocked the very same product! Therefore, I officially have no reason to ever stagger through the doors of Asda again!
Right. Erm, that’s the first thing. I’ve actually forgotten the reason why I was going to write this post.
