I went to Poundland today to purchase a ball-flinger thing for Tucker. I bought him one last week and he loved it so much he nearly wagged his tail off. It only costs a pound, funnily enough.
The only problem with the ball-flinger, apart from me going – ‘Are you ready Tucker? Are you ready? Are you? Here we go…ONE…TWO…THREE…WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” as I launch it straight up into the flight path of the Glasgow to London shuttle, much to Tucker’s bemusement as he vainly attempts to follow the trajectory – is the quality of the tennis ball one flings with the ball-flinger. Tucker enjoys eating the fluff clean off tennis balls which converts into neon poop approximately 24 hours later. This means the ball dies before the flinger. Ergo, I return to Poundland, and so the circle of life continues.
Whilst waiting patiently in the Poundland queue –approximately six deep and thus hardly Disneyland standards – I witnessed tutting and sighing from the people in front, coupled with “EXCUSE ME – CAN YOU NOT OPEN ANOTHER TILL?” hollered at the staff on the two tills. At lunchtime. When people have lunch. Including retail staff. Complaining in Poundland about anything is the lowest of the bloody low. Go to M&S and have a nice chat with the cashier there while she thanks you for waiting a nanosecond and comments on the colour of the pants you’re buying –“These won’t stay white long, will they?” – if you’re not happy to wait for four minutes in Poundland, queuing to pay for your things. Your things that cost a pound. Seriously though. That irked me today.
I totally understand that shops are busy at lunchtimes and that staff need to eat too. And I’m fine with that, because I’m a reasonable person. Pharmacists though. They’re another story. Nothing riles me more than “The dispensary is closed due to pharmacist’s lunch break”. That totally pisses me off. Christ. Plan ahead. Bring a sandwich and eat it under the counter. Selfish gits.