Road rage in the garden centre!

shutterstock_115256530I hope that wherever you’ve been hanging out today the weather has been warm. In our neck of the woods, a village on the outskirts of Scarborough, it’s been fabulously so.

I spent the morning working on an article that I’m writing for a magazine… whether they want it or not. No, I’ve been commissioned and sanctioned and certified and pronounced dead! [What the hell?]

When I could no longer feel, or use my legs, I suggested to hubby, that we went to the local garden centre. We needed some more bird seed and meal worms for the pesky starlings, amongst other birds that come into our tiny courtyard garden. [I keep going on about the size of our garden, don’t I? Yes, maybe it’s because I can’t quite believe that we’ve managed to create an okay space out of such a small area. When we first moved in, I thought that it would only be a matter of time before I wanted a bigger garden and we’d be on the move again. But no. For once I seem to have put down roots.  The house will be on the market next week!]

So, we headed off to the garden centre, which was an oasis of Friday afternoon calm. I wandered around the plants and steadily filled the large trolley with a selection. It would be rude not to!

Calm and serene we headed for the checkout. I needed to exchange some faulty solar lights and was directed to the manager on the CUSTOMER SERVICES DESK. Hubby stayed with the half a shop I’d just purchased, including a water feature.

I waited behind another customer, who was being dealt with at the CUSTOMER SERVICES DESK.

Yes, it was the CUSTOMER SERVICES DESK. Where you go, as a customer, to be serviced. You don’t get served, you get serviced. Big, huge, difference. I know these things, I’ve worked in retail.

There was no feeling, pain, sensation of eyes boring into  the back of my head, or anything that would have indicated what was going to happen next.

I didn’t exert too much pressure on the manager’s throat and she very kindly exchanged the manky lights, for another set, that hopefully will not be manky.[Watch this space.]

It was, as she went to get the replacement set, that it happened.

A guy ran at me and said something about being sorry , but I had actually jumped the queue. Then he avoided eye contact with me, as he desperately got stuck behind another customer. I told him that actually I hadn’t jumped the queue and had been referred to the manager. I would have happily elaborated on this, with some delight, as I felt the jumped up little twit needed to be educated about the CUSTOMER SERVICES DESK.

But, it was not to be, he ran out of the centre, bright red in the face.

Unbelievable, here’s where I think he failed miserably:

  • He apologised for being annoyed.
  • He didn’t glare, or eyeball me.
  • He didn’t have his facts right.
  • He attacked from behind,
  • He clearly hadn’t been relaxed by the lovely plants and things and needed to buy some more stuff, to achieve this effect.
  • He hadn’t heard the first part of the conversation, where I was asked to go and see the manager.
  • He should have minded his own business.
  • He was stupid.
  • He had a stupid face.
  • He ran away, before I could properly put him in his place.
  • He seriously peed me off!

Today, must be one of the first really warm days we’ve enjoyed and already we have, for want of a better word…arseholes that can’t handle the heat, getting hot under the collar and taking it out on other people.

It’s road rage in the garden centre.

The folk at the centre need to turn the easy listening music up a notch. No, on second thoughts, that’s enough to make me succumb to road rage in the garden centre.

Please , if you feel angry in any shape or form, stay away from the garden centre. Go out on the roads…where you belong and you will find some new friends to play with!

Until the next heat rage.

Update: I wrote this without my glasses on. Big mistake.

Now I’m a bit p****d! Oops, sorry. LOL!




2 Thoughts

  1. You encountered a passive/agressive plonker of a headcase. I didn’t think they got let loose in garden centres. They usually gang up on me in Morrisons on Saturday mornings. They’re there at every turn – hovering like flies at all the places I need to be. Dawdling by the cat food, gossiping by the milk, not letting me through without their trolley’s making contact with my shins. Gits!


    1. Yeah, they’re in garden centres now. I’m a little bit p****d right now. Wine again, In the garden. Sorry. Good stuff though.
      Yeah, the gits are everywhere. And they don’t have the balls to attack from the front, or hang around to be corrected. He was wrong. So wrong. And I’m so drunk it’s unbelievable. How can I type? It’s better than the usual mush. LIGHTBULB MOMENT. I need to be drunk 24/7. Okay! Have a good night. Off to wobble up the lane with the dog.


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