ERIBAFOLK POP UP EVERYWHERE
I did a bad thing.in Anything that's not Eriba-related. Tue Oct 22, 2013 6:31 pm
by Pepé Le Pew • | 2.228 Posts
I drove to the supermarket a while ago. Not a little while, because that would imply it was today, which it wasn't. It was an enjoyable if relatively brief drive, and I double de-clutched on almost every single downchange.
Had I been feeling sportier, I might even have heeled-and-toed a couple of times as well.
I parked the car right at the far end of the car park at Wa*trose (I've disguised the name of the supermarket for reasons which will become apparent) as usual, reasoning that:
a) the extra walk will do me no harm at all, and
b) I'm much less likely to collect dents in doors which have remained pristine since I got this car new in the July of 2004.
I strolled across the car park without a care in the world, chin up and chest out. I was so unconcerned by life's mundanities that day that I almost burst into a whistle.
As I strolled, I cast disapproving glances at the dented doors and mangled alloys of really quite nice cars which their careless owners had crammed into too-small spaces as near to the supermarket doors as possible to avoid having to walk any further than was absolutely necessary.
Past experience has shown that these cars are almost exclusively driven by women. I'm not being sexist; it's a simple fact, and one which needs no further comment.
I pulled a trolley from the trolley bay (a shallow one - it wasn't going to be a big shop, but too big for a basket) and went in.
A little while later I came out, having bought everything I went in for, and feeling pretty smug. I was feeling smug because I'd kept my wits about me while shopping, refusing to be seduced by the eye catching end-of-aisle displays of things I didn't need.
And because I got some real bargains, notably loose clementines and packets of Maryland chocolate chip cookies. The loose clementines were about two pounds a kilo whereas the pre-packed ones (in a little red string bag) were almost twice the price.
I picked loose ones from the shelf and put them in a plastic bag - once I'd managed to work out which was the end of the bag that was supposed to open - and wondered why on earth anyone would pay twice the price for the doubtful privilege of having some swarthy Mediterranean type pick his clementines for him and put them in a little red string bag.
The chocolate chip cookies were almost as much of a snip.
The unit price - pence per 100g - of a twin pack (two single packs wrapped together) was 15.9p
The unit price of a single pack was 8.7p per 100g.
Talk about a no-brainer, eh?
I was well chuffed, and reflected on my canny shopping as I wheeled the trolley to the car. In fact I was so chuffed that I confess to riding the trolley for about thirty yards, leaning over the handle to stop it wheelying, and lifting my feet off the ground in excitement as I sped across the car park, daringly almost out of control.
What a high!
Once I'd put the stuff in the car, I wandered over to put the now-empty trolley in one of the trolley bays provided for the purpose.
There was one other trolley in the bay, and as I approached it I realised that the other trolley wasn't empty.
There was something in it.
The something was quite a large piece of fresh ginger root, maybe four inches long or so. This piece of ginger had clearly been forgotten in some impatient shopper's haste, and it obviously hadn't been there for long, otherwise the trolley-collection chap would have collected the trolley and removed the piece of ginger.
Now I've never bought fresh ginger root, but since it lives in the luxurious and exotic section of the fruit and vegetable aisle along with lychees and star fruit, I imagine it's quite expensive.
I picked up the piece of ginger root, walked to my car and got in it.
I pinched it, that's what I did.
In hindsight, what I find upsetting is that I only paused to wrestle with my conscience for the most fleeting of moments, and fell all-too easily into the pattern of behaviour adopted by professional crooks.
I sauntered back to the car, with the ginger in full view in my hand. I didn't run, casting furtive glances over my shoulder as I went. I didn't leap into the car and high-tail it out of the car park leaving two black stripes and a demolished barrier hut in my wake.
I even sat in the car for a few minutes with the door open, nonchalantly eating a few of the bargain Maryland chocolate chip cookies with the ginger in full view on the passenger seat.
I was looking and acting as inconspicuous as it was possible to look, and I didn't even realise I was doing it.
How shocking is that?
I think I can go some way to assuaging my guilt by making a public apology, both to you chaps and to the staff at Wa*trose who probably tried valiantly to smooth the ruffled feathers of a very irate rich person who 'lost' their ginger.
Reflecting on this now, I can take some (small) consolation from the fact that had I returned the ginger root to the customer services lady (as I should have), saying I'd just found it in the car park (which would have been true), she would almost certainly have thrown it away in any case.
And probably thought I was a bit soft in the head.