I Hate Queuing In Supermarkets…

Tags

annoyances, Culture, funny, Groceries, Humor, Life, People, shopping, stay-at-home Dad

 

I bet the first thing you thought when you read that title was ‘Big deal, NOBODY likes queuing in supermarkets, but you don’t see me writing a blog about it, do you?’. And you’d be right, but I’m going to write one anyway because writing about it is cathartic and also because I’ve got a bit of time to kill before I go out for my run.

Plus because I REALLY hate queuing in supermarkets, I bet more than you.

I’m at stay-at-home-dad and as such I’m frequently at the supermarket. Because If I didn’t go my kids would use my t-shirts to wipe their bums, and would have to fight the cat for food….actually that might be quite entertaining.

Not the t-shirt thing, the cat thing.

I’m using bullet points, because I want to highlight each and every bloody annoying thing about queuing, but this will probably be impossible because NOBODY can fully encapsulate all there is to hate about this horrible thing we all have to endure….

You will notice all the annoying things are in fact people, because as a famous person once wrote somewhere, ‘Hell is other people‘. I would amend that to ‘Hell is other people…in a supermarket queue‘.

All the following have happened to me at one time or another…

 

• DON’T STAND SO CLOSE TO ME: You know the person, the personal-space invader who doesn’t respect boundaries and stands just a bit too close. As in so close they are literally touching you. Why are they trying to climb in my back pocket? Why do they keep touching my elbow? Do they think I want to smell their breath and thereby know what they had for breakfast? Do they like me, is that it? Well why don’t they ask me out instead of molesting me with their trolley? If they aren’t going to propose we go for a candle-lit meal for two then they can BACK OFF!

 

• I’VE ONLY BOUGHT A CUCUMBER:These ones look at you full of hope and despair and their face seems to say: ‘Look at my big sad eyes, I’ve only got this cucumber, and you’ve got that big trolley full of food. Look at my eyes, couldn’t you just let me nip in front of you? Please, I promise I’ve got exact change. Pleeeeeeeassseee!’

 

• I’VE ONLY BOUGHT A CUCUMBER AND I’M GOING TO MAKE SURE YOU KNOW IT: ‘I’m not like big eyes, I’m going to stand here and huff, and look at your trolley, and make sighing noises, and keep looking at my cucumber. and then at your trolley, and look at my watch, and sigh, and huff, and……’

 

• I’M GOING TO TALK LOUDLY ON MY MOBILE PHONE RIGHT NEXT TO YOUR EAR: ‘YES!!! YES I KNOW, I SOUND LIKE A CLICHE, BUT EVEN IN 2018 PEOPLE LIKE ME STILL DO THIS! ISN’T THAT WILD!!! DON’T YOU THINK EVERYBODY WANTS TO HEAR ABOUT HOW WELL THE OPERATION ON MY PILES WENT? NO? WELL HOW ABOUT HOW I’M SLIGHTLY RACIST AND WILL MAKE THIS ABUNDANTLY CLEAR WITH SOME OF THE THINGS I SAY ABOUT MY NEXT-DOOR NEIGHBOUR AND THE THINGS HE EATS. DON’T WORRY THOUGH, I HATE MYSELF MORE THAN YOU HATE ME‘

 

• I’VE GOT ONE TROLLEY FULL OF FOOD BUT IT’S DIVIDED UP INTO 32 SUBSECTIONS: Well, Clive at number 16 can’t get out so well anymore, and my brother David asked me to just get a few bits, and Sarah at the hairdressers is all out of cleaning stuff, and Louise and Alma’s car is in for an M.O.T and Dave at the pub needs some crisps getting in and yes, I’m shopping for them and I’M GOING TO PAY FOR THEIR ITEMS INDIVIDUALLY.

 

• CAN I SEE YOUR PIN NUMBER PLEASE? ‘Oh you’re paying for your items? Great! Oh you remember me don’t you? I’m the one who has been touching you for the last five minutes in a manner that may well put me on the sex-offender’s register in any other context. Well I’m still here now and have moved into a position (at your elbow) that gives me a perfect view of your PIN number as you input it. Aren’t I nice?’.

 

• I’M NOT GOING TO PUT THE BATON DOWN YOU PUT THE BATON DOWN: ‘I don’t care that the person in front of me put the baton down to separate their items from mine on the conveyor belt. This display of standard good manners will not extend to the person behind me, no. I will simply put my food down and then expect them to place a baton down for me. I’m that bloody lazy that extending my arm a foot is just too much effort. Oh what the hell? He’s shoved all his food close to my food and has put a baton down after his food but not mine! Right well I’ll take his baton and put it between my food and his. Squawk! He’s taken it back and told me in perfect French that that baton is his and I should get my own! Some people are so rude!’

 

• I’M PAYING WITH A CHEQUE: ‘What year is this? 2018 you say? Oh well, that chip and PIN business still doesn’t sit right with me. No, I’ll stick with my cheque. How much? £1.27? OK, let me just put my glasses on. How is your daughter by the way? Oh, that’s nice. Now where’s my chequebook. Ah, here it is. Now where’s my pen…no, no, I need my pen. Now how much was it again? Contactless payments you say? Ooh no, I’ll have no truck with that. No. £1.27 did you say? Oooh there are a lot of people in this queue now aren’t there, and to think it was only me twenty minutes ago….’

 

• I KNOW THE CASHIER PERSONALLY AND NEED TO TALK TO THEM IN-DEPTH DESPITE THE FACT THAT THEY LIVE NEXT-DOOR TO ME AND I SEE THEM EVERY DAY: ‘…so yes, Deirdre was taking him to the cinema, you know for their anniversary, because she said it would be great for them tO get out, you know? And so they were going to see that new dinosaur film and – no love I’m paying with a cheque, I don’t trust cards – and so they got there and it was full, can you believe it? And so they decided to watch that other film with her out of those vampire films, you know the ones? It’s those ones with her from that thing with the guy from Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Yes the films with all the wizards and that nice lass from Beauty And The Beast. Oh she does have such lovely hair. It was the the third one I think, The Goblet Of Secrets. Anyway…..’

 

• I WILL QUIBBLE EVERY PRICE: ‘It’s how much? No, no. That’s not what it said on the shelf-edge label, is it Mary? No, check it please. And the tomatoes too. And also these are on offer, buy one get one free. Yes they are. It said it on the poster. The yellow one in the window. Yes they are. Could you check it please? Also I’ve got 58 coupons to use on each item’.

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Tired Of Endless Questions From Your Kids?

Tags

annoyances, Driving, fun, funny, holidays, Humor, Parenting, Questions, stay-at-home Dad

Are you tired of endless questions from your kids? Do you grind your teeth every time one of them asks you ‘where are we going?’? Or perhaps, after telling them where you are going, you are going hoarse from constantly answering the follow-up question of ‘Are we there yet?‘ Or maybe you just want a relief from the constant stream of gibberish questions that children emit, every second, of every minute, of every hour, of every day?

You could want respite from such quandaries as:

‘What’s a cow?’

‘Why aren’t we there yet?’

‘Why is that car there?’

‘Why are teeth?’

‘Why aren’t we there yet?’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Why can’t I drink some cola?’

‘Why aren’t you and mummy married?’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Why aren’t we there yet?’

‘Can I have some chocolate?’

‘Why can’t I have some chocolate?’

‘Where are we going?’

‘Why aren’t we there yet?’

 

And many, many, many, many more…well fear not, because Philco Industries have created the all new Stupid-Bloody-Questions-That-Children-Keep-Asking-And-Follow-Up-With-Even-More-Bloody-Stupid-Questions-Till-You-Start-Thinking-That-Being-Sectioned-Might-Be-A-Good-Thing-Dampener-Board (name subject to change).

 

 

 

Simply insert this board in the car, tell the kids ‘It’s to cover the holes in the fence that the cat keeps using to go next door‘ and then sit back and relax, as the questions are blocked out* and absorbed** by the reassuring 2 inches of wood.

 

This faux-limo-style separation between you and your darling, adorable, lovable but oh-so-bloody-annoying children, will mean that journeys will fly by***.

 

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*You can still hear them

**It’s more muffled than absorbed

***This is a lie

****This is also a lie

 

 

 

 

Things I Miss About The UK: My Overprotective Smoke Alarm…

Tags

annoyances, cultural differences, France, funny, Humor, technology, uk

 

 

One day in the kitchen…

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘Aww hey there Phil, how you doing today, say, what’s that you’re cooking hon?’

 

Me: ‘Oh nothing special, just a bit of toast’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘To..toast? Did you say Toast?! FIRE FIRE FIRE CALL THE FIRE BRIGADE FIRE GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!’

 

Me: (wafting tea-towel desperately, to halt the piercing noise) ‘Stop! Stop! It’s not a fire it’s just toast!!!!’

 

 

 

 

Another day in the kitchen…

 

Me: (Stretching and rubbing sleep out of my eyes) ‘Mmm think me and the kids’ll have a taste of France for breakfast’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘Morning Phil, what’s that you say, fancy something different?’

 

Me: ‘Yep, just slid a couple of pain au chocolats in to the mini oven, don’t take but 30 seconds to co..’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘PASTRIES! PASTRIES! FIRE FIRE!!! GET OUT CALL THE POLICE!!! THE HOUSE IS GONNA BURN DOWN!!!!’

 

Me: (going deaf in one ear due to pitch of alarm) ‘Where’s the tea-towel gone? stop making that noise!!!!’

 

 

 

One day in the garden…

 

Me: ‘The sausages are nearly done, who wants some first, hey son, don’t open the kitchen door you’ll let the smoke insi…’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘OOOOOH LORDY LORDY!!! WE ALL GONNA BURN!!! FIRE FIRE CALL THE POLICE!!! FIRE!!!’

 

Me: ‘Son, just close the door, she’ll quiet down soon enough’

 

 

 

One day in the living-room…

 

Me: ‘Okay kids, that’s the pumpkins all carved up, now lets put some candles inside th…’

 

My Smoke Alarm: ‘SAVE YOURSELVES!!! FORGET ABOUT ME!!! RUN, RUN FOR YOUR LIVESSSSS!!!!’

 

 

 

 

 

 

The kitchen here in France is lovely…but it’s awful quiet…

Getting Blood Out Of A Stone…

Tags

angry, annoyances, ex-pat, France, Humor, jobs, money, moving house

It’s a couple of days after completing our final journey to France from the UK, a lengthy 13-hour trip that I won’t miss. The contents of our house has, as it will not fit inside a mark 8 Honda Civic, made its own way there.

That’s to say we’ve hired a removal company – we don’t live in The Beast’s house from Beauty And The Beast and so our furniture cannot walk and catch a plane, train or automobile. It is also incapable, praise the lord, of singing.

If my furniture could sing it would also be screaming as I would burn it immediately.

Or sell it on eBay.

But I digress.

The removal guys have just finished unloading all our furniture. They are from a Polish, UK-based company, but are not Polish themselves, rather they are Romanian.

They’ve done their work efficiently and quickly up to this point, although the older – let’s say, ‘cuddlier’ – one of the two has moaned a few times about the boxes being unlabelled. ‘I don’t know where it goes’ he has said on several occasions, sweat running down his face, ‘but it’s heavy’.

I’ve felt bad, as I have been unable to offer them a hot drink – they have my kettle! – but they don’t seem interested anyway, just keen to finish.

It’s just before 3pm – they arrived at 9.30am – and now they have placed the last piece of furniture in the living-room and are ready to set off to their next destination (‘Toulouse’ they tell me ‘ten hours’ drive’ ‘You will have a break though?’ I venture, the only response I get is a shrug of their shoulders).

They then become uncharacteristically chatty, well the cuddlier one does anyway. Am I buying this house? Renting? How much is the rent? Why am I moving to France? the questions keep coming.

I answer them to the best of my ability – there are a lot of unknowns about my current, and future, situation. Cuddly removal man then pours out his heart to me.

I learn that he pays £600 to rent one bedroom in a house in London. He can’t save any money. He hasn’t seen his 18-month-old son for a long time. He used to work on cruise ships as a chef, the money was good, he once earned £2,500 per month on a smaller boat cooking for a family of five. He might buy a couple of vans, and come to France, set up his own business. He can’t afford the rent.

This goes on for some time and there’s a definite air of expectation about them, then I realise – they want a tip.

I’ve encountered this kind of behaviour before. Once in Tunisia on an all-inclusive a barman that had been incredibly distant with us throughout our two weeks there suddenly lit up like a Christmas tree on our last day, hoping we’d leave him our unwanted change.

We’ve paid out almost three-thousand pounds for them to move us and, despite the authentic performance being put on, they have two major obstacles in their way.

The first is that I do not respond well to this kind of tactic, it puts my back up and it also sours the otherwise impeccable nature of their service.

The second, and most immovable obstacle is the simple fact that I don’t have a Euro to my name. I’m a pauper. Oh on paper I’ve got a few quid – I’m not stupid – but it’s all UK money, the markets being dreadful at the moment.

I’m also lacking employment, so until this changes someone wanting a tip out of me has more chance of getting blood out of a stone.

Maybe I’m being too cynical, maybe they weren’t after a tip and just wanted a sympathetic ear…

…but no, I’m fairly sure that if the cuddly one was on his own he’s have rubbed his fingers and coughed suggestively at me, the universal sign for ‘Give me some extra money for a service that you have already paid for’.