neonleon
Player Valuation: £35m
Just went down to Hackney Supermarket, which is my local one down here in the smoke. The wind was getting up a bit so I put on a warm duffle type coat with this fur lining type thing, which is loads cooler than I just described it. I'm wearing a peaked beanie type thing on the account of my hair being a bit greasy and in desperate need of a haircut.
I check my bank balance before I go in, its says there's £58 in my current account. Sound. I'll get a few bits of food, bottle of vino what have you, and a steak, as todays ale house threads kind of put me in the mood (this forum is unlikely to be sponsored by Linda McCartneys Sausages). Did the old commando in and out as fast as possible [Poor language removed] as I can't stand being in the supermarket. I seem to be interminably dealing with people with the spatial awareness of gnats; the kind of people for whom a trip to the supermarket is a day out to be savoured and enjoyed, to be taken leisurely and at a languid pace. [Poor language removed] that. Its a military mission for me.
So I go to the self scanning aisle - or as I call it the self scamming aisle, although it increase the sense of isolation during your weekly shop, avoiding all human interaction etc. there's a good angle on a cheeky scam - and after beeping my food through it only goes and refuses my card. I asked the dude on duty if I could withdraw the money from the machines outside, and he nodded yeah. The machines told me the £58 was my balance but i could withdraw nil. Its not the f*cking balance then is it? Worse still I set the alarms off as I wandered out, prompting a security guard to run after me and a tortured conversation explaining why my coat had a security tag on it. (which is a long story and there's a perfectly legitimate reason).
So despite the fact I have a healthy amount of savings in my savers account, I had to leave a load of shopping and argue the toss with some security guard. Turns out after the adrenalin rush, I had enough money in loose change to cover most of it. But I sacked it off and spent it on full fat Becks, which I'm drinking now.
I've deffo gotta start using their delivery service, the potential for personal humiliation is reduced, although somehow I'm sure I'll find a way. I feel like I'm living an english urban version of Curb your Enthusiasm sometimes.
I check my bank balance before I go in, its says there's £58 in my current account. Sound. I'll get a few bits of food, bottle of vino what have you, and a steak, as todays ale house threads kind of put me in the mood (this forum is unlikely to be sponsored by Linda McCartneys Sausages). Did the old commando in and out as fast as possible [Poor language removed] as I can't stand being in the supermarket. I seem to be interminably dealing with people with the spatial awareness of gnats; the kind of people for whom a trip to the supermarket is a day out to be savoured and enjoyed, to be taken leisurely and at a languid pace. [Poor language removed] that. Its a military mission for me.
So I go to the self scanning aisle - or as I call it the self scamming aisle, although it increase the sense of isolation during your weekly shop, avoiding all human interaction etc. there's a good angle on a cheeky scam - and after beeping my food through it only goes and refuses my card. I asked the dude on duty if I could withdraw the money from the machines outside, and he nodded yeah. The machines told me the £58 was my balance but i could withdraw nil. Its not the f*cking balance then is it? Worse still I set the alarms off as I wandered out, prompting a security guard to run after me and a tortured conversation explaining why my coat had a security tag on it. (which is a long story and there's a perfectly legitimate reason).
So despite the fact I have a healthy amount of savings in my savers account, I had to leave a load of shopping and argue the toss with some security guard. Turns out after the adrenalin rush, I had enough money in loose change to cover most of it. But I sacked it off and spent it on full fat Becks, which I'm drinking now.
I've deffo gotta start using their delivery service, the potential for personal humiliation is reduced, although somehow I'm sure I'll find a way. I feel like I'm living an english urban version of Curb your Enthusiasm sometimes.
