Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Supermarket Trolleys – WMD.

Today, I am off to the cash and carry to do a bit of shopping for the office. Pretty damn mundane – boring even. BUT I have been with this mega-shop for the past 10 years and have yet to find a trolley that went the way I pushed it. The wheels go in all directions and the more you push it one way, it goes the other, then off on some other tangent. Keeping the trolley on the straight and narrow is a truly ‘fly by wire experience’. The strain, as a punter tries to manoeuvre a fully laden trolley around the end of an aisle is just colossal.

Once, during a seasonal visit to the store, I watched as a little man struggled with a leviathan of a trolley, stuffed to the gunnels with drink, box after box of it. This thing had the turning circle of a super-tanker – and he was trying to get it docked into the check out.

There he is, pushing and pulling, heaving and shoving, back and forth, hither and thither. Everyone behind him is waiting, sort of patiently. By now, this guy is sweating briquettes as the pull/push operetta continues – one final, big effort is all that is required to effect the successful docking at the till. The man took up a position, braced himself all rigid like - and heaved…..

Phaaarrrrrrrrrppppphhhhh!! Stunned silence, then uncontrolled laughter from the waiting multitude. The Captain of the good ship booze cruise had just let go the loudest fart I had ever heard. Our little area positively trembled – just like one of those Japanese security cameras taking pictures of an earth quake.

He cracked on that nothing had happened. He blanked everyone, paid and left, eventually - in a ziggy-zaggy-trumpy sort of way.

No matter how carefully I select the trolley, I always get one with no sense of direction. And even if I manage to find a ‘smooth runner’ – the more I load it, the less manageable it becomes. A Basil Fawlty moment invariably follows – "Right, that’s-blood-dy-well-it.
I’m-go-ing-to-thrash-you-to-with-in-an-inch-of-your-wire-bound-life. Don’t-mess-me-a-round-you-wob-bly-heap-of-in-effi-ci-ent-rub-bish".

There - man, does that feel good.

Of course …….. all this pales into macro insignificance when compared to ‘The Dark Place.’ For no place on Earth can compete with the hell hole that is ‘The Dark Place’. Where all trolleys positively go out of their way to take revenge on shopping Saxons. Where no items bought within the shop ever fits on a trolley. Where all trolleys are extra-specially constructed to ‘shin’ the pusher and to whip out ankle bones from fellow shoppers.

Where is ‘The Dark Place’ then? You know, don't you? Skin beginning to crawl is it? Hot sweats creeping over your body..... Yeah, you know all right. You'll find these all over the Country and always near a motorway.

Answer, (well my local branch of) 'The Dark Place' is 666 Beelzebub Avenue, Warrington. Yes, that's right, it’s the Vikings revenge, founded by Eric the total bastard – IKEA.

COMING SOON - my 5 visits to IKEA to try and get a tap cutter and my threat to take the entire night shift hostage if I didn't get my tap cutter.

ALSO – How I narrowly avoid murdering a Scandinavian Manager when he says to me "Allo, ve at IKEA hope you haf had a ferry, ferry gud shoppink trip"

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