Such a prescient, beautiful sentiment.

Tuesday, 26 October 2010

Bloody Jobsworths!

Are Everywhere.

Of all the times I rant and rave, yesterday was a small but sublime moment, courtesy of Mrs OR! My attitude to Labours' creation of a State controlled Britain and their allies on our big, global, corporate, planet Earth, are well documented throughout this blog. That includes a beef against the Halal force feeding, greedy, profiteering, bullying of the supermarket world of image driven slavery and arrogant dominance over our lives. Tesco is my bete noir. 
Though in a small, beautiful, rural town, this ugly corporation plies its trade with the same manic desire to legally rob the Eloys, as it applies to the slums and backwaters of the modern, multicultural cess pits that are our dear socialist, inner city EU masters' dream. A dream pursued by the reckless ignorance of the Labour Party with yet more economic egg on their faces this very day.
Anyway, I digress. We relatively happily potter round this unusually small store and collect, as best we can, healthy fruit, meats and sustenance. All the time with me struggling to lose the image of slaughter bequeathed us by that joyous, feminine loving, decent religion we are all invited to wonderfully embrace and adore. We fill our basket carefully, modestly but we feel, sensibly and wend our way to a busy checkout area. However, a considerable number of tills are unmanned and sit reflecting the disdain in which we hapless supplicants at this altar of manipulation are held. Just suckers to be plucked by a faceless, multi billion profit making poultry processing factory. Battery shopping if you will. So the fragrant, calm, unflappable, lovely Mrs OR says, let's use the auto till. Off we go. They sat like malevolent, sulky, spoilt brats. We brief on the necessary orders and procedures and waft our first item, a bunch of Millipede majors, over the scanner. Then it started. Don't this, do that, press this, FAIL!!!!!!
Up came Miss Irma. Honestly, apart from a very small stature, identical. After pushing the same buttons as we had done, flashing the Millipedes several times, with the same disastrous lecture and FAIL, she harangues us for attempting to check out too many items via the "death to human checkout staff" machine. Now we had only offered one thingy for consideration at this point. A boiling and only a second earlier, jolly, OR, walked away in order to avoid the probable assault charge. I turned to witness a look I only ever see very rarely on Mrs Or's face. It's a quiet, determined, elegant, fully controlled and always justifiable, anger. She pushed gently but firmly, the £80.00 worth of laden trolley, back into the store area, where Irma weakly tried to nudge it back towards Mrs OR and stupidly threatening Mrs OR with security. For what reason? Deciding not too purchase? Basket rage? What? I moved forward and realising what Mrs OR was doing, took the forlorn Millipedes from the recalcitrant platform and tossed them on top of the basket, saying clearly but not too loudly, thank you we we won't be wanting these.   
As my friend and neighbour would say, "Don't mess with us Oldies!!" We drove 12 miles to another town and skipped round Morrison's like a pair of mischievous ten year olds who had just thumped the school bully and got away with it!


  1. Mrs OR sounds great. I'd love to have been there :)

    I think it is us oldies that will be causing all the problems. Unfortunately for the government we can still remember what it was like to live FREE

  2. Good for her! I'm regularly "encouraged" to use these things at my local Sainsburys. However I always reply (rather firmly) that I will not use them and help put people out of work...

  3. I was priveliged to witness a similar episode in Tessa Cohen's place not long ago.

    An elderly lady had hove into port at the self-service till opposite mine (I was buying my daily dose of bile in the form of the Daily Mail) and was attempting to "make it go".

    At the first whiff of trouble the attendant came bristling over, or waddling more accurately, full of piss and importance, her 'tache all waxed, and began dealing with the elderly lady in a most impertinent and familiar manner.

    The first item on her little pile of comestibles had plainly confused the scanner and its recalcitrance was trying the little patience with which the assistant had originally been blessed.

    After enduring the fat one's spleen a little longer, the lady carefully gathered her purse, her bag and her dignity and informed the assistant that she would trouble Tesco no further and would take her custom elsewhere.

    As she turned to leave the assistant - unbelievably - called to the security chap, who had been loitering obesely in the way of customers attempting to gain egress to the store, to stop the lady. He gathered up his considerable girth and engaged first gear.

    At this point I had completed my purchase and was watching events unfold, as one does. I caught up with the lady on her left, extended my right arm which she graciously accepted without pausing her step, and we strode past the fat useless arse of a security orificer my gaze daring him to stop us.

    Outside, the lady thanked me, and the twinkle in her eyes was worth it all really....

  4. My boy had a similar experience today.

    Went into the same shite store, and used a scanner. Scanned two packets of paracetemol.

    Fat slut-bitch waddles over and says "You're only allowed two packets of paracetemol".

    Killjnr "I've only got two packets".

    FSB "Yes, but just so you know, you're only allowed two packets"

    Killjnr "You've just wasted your breath in saying that, haven't you? I'VE ONLY GOT TWO PACKETS. Anyway, what are you, the paracetemol police?"

    FSB "There's no need for that".

    Killjnr "There's every need for that. Keep your interfering, jobsworth beak out of my life".

    FSB "I'll call the manager"

    Killjnr "Call who you like. You'll be calling them for absolutely no good reason, won't you, and I'll take great pleasure in letting them know how you harrassed me for no good reason. In fact, I think I might sue the company. In fact, come to think of it, calling the manager might be a good idea, and I might end up with free groceries for a year or two, all thanks to you interfering unnecessarily in matters that are of no concern to you whatsoever, and harassing shoppers as they go about their lawful activity of spending money in the store for which they are responsible, the customers of which pay your wages."

    No manager, no free groceries, but he now DETESTS the legacy of New Labour as much as I do.

    Speaking of which, I went to the local crematorium today - it's what I do - and went for a gypsy's kiss. Standing outside the all-singing, all-dancing men's, wimmin's and disabled people's multi-culti loo was a woman - quite distressed. I approached and she said that her Mother was locked in. I KID YOU NOT!

    To cut a long story short, I produced my Swiss Army knife. I've carried a knife in my pocket every day for 50 years.

    Well, the fucking daughter recoiled in horror when I flicked open the screwdriver.


    Killem "Do you want me to unlock the door, or do YOU want to go and find someone else to do it for you? The choice is yours, I'm not bothered either way".

    The door duly unlocked, the old bird made good her escape.

    I found an attendant, told him the lock was fucked and showed him my trusty knife - AND GOT THE SAME CUNTISH REACTION!

    "You can't carry one of them any more. Your (sic) get nicked".

    I was going to tell him about the legacy that New Labour had left us, but do you know what?

    I just couldn't be fucking arsed.

    Brainwashed cunts.

  5. killem - laughed out loud! Brilliant.

    I remember having a half-inch bladed penknife confiscated at Bristol Airport (I'd forgotten it was in my wallet it was so small).

    What I really wanted to do was take their biro from the desk and show how, in the right/wrong hands, it may be used to kill someone in less than a second. But one doesn't like to make a scene, does one?

  6. "New" Labour was never more than real Labour writ large by a grinning billionaire to be!

  7. Bravo Mrs OR. Not only a gardening genius, but a woman after my own heart.

    I refuse to use self service tills. I would rather queue for 2 weeks than use them.

    I already have to walk round the shop, load my trolly, take said trolly back to the trolly bay after I've finished.

    I'm damned if I'm going to scan my stuff and deal with the paying while some annoying cow tells me there is an unexpected item in the bloody bagging area.

    Sod off Tesco... I didn't get a PhD to work your sodding tills and certainly not without a salary.

  8. Yep, not been to Tesco for ages. Can't say I've missed it.

  9. Brian, indeed, what's to miss!