Dear Jim Morrison,
I visited your supermarket today, as I often do when I need to buy food. It’s quite convenient that I choose to visit your place, as it happens to be the closest to my house. Other than the newsagent/grocery place, but I’m always a little bit scared to buy food there as it’s all a bit exotic for my tastes (some kind of Turkish or something) and the guy that works there is basically a darker skinned version of the girl from the uni shop (see my earlier letter to her).
Perhaps opting to visit an hour before closing was a bad idea. I was initially dismayed to see the lack of fresh produce at the bakery until I realised that was probably my fault. I guess you can’t keep baking lovely baguettes all day, otherwise you’d have a massive surplus at the end of the day. If you did decide to do that, I’d be happy to take a few off your hands. The shop was also pretty busy, I assume with people getting those last minute things they need for the night. And with staff getting in the way of their last few people before they get to go home.
Every time I turned a corner it seemed that one of your staff members stopped right in front of me to have a conversation with another one. Jim, you really need to train your staff a bit better. I’m all for letting them have a chat on the job, but please get them the fuck out of my way. I mean, I’m pretty sure one of them was trying to sit on the end of my trolley. I’d also be very grateful if you told that chav girl to not let her children run off. The sound of her screeching the ridiculous made up names she gave to her children is pretty annoying when you’re trying to decide which margarine to get. I went for the own brand olive oil spread in the end, not before almost hitting Danesha and Chantellion with my trolley.
It was pretty freaking busy as well, but I know that’s not something you control. Unless you’re holding out on us in a pretty big way. I mean, if you do control how busy it gets, maybe through some kind of mind control drug in the food, I would appreciate it if you could use that power to make it a bit quieter when I turn up. As if weaving through grannies wasn’t enough, when my aisle pattern gets synchronised with 3 other shoppers, it makes it pretty hard to randomize my flow to make it not look like I’m stalking someone. I get enough strange looks from people without them thinking I’m following them.
The checking out experience wasn’t great either I’m afraid to say. My hopes were high, having witnessed what appeared to be a smooth, friendly transaction between the gentleman in front of me and the cashier, but when I didn’t even get a hello, I almost cried. As it turns out I may well have been greeted by her, as when she did start talking I had to lean in so far she was basically licking my eardrum before I could even hear her. Even then it was a struggle to understand what the hell she was saying due to her strong accent. It turned out she was asking a question which was akin to something from a text-based adventure game, as I was apparently unable to proceed before providing the correct answer.
Usually when faced with these situations, I smile and nod. When there’s money involved, I’m less inclined to nod incase I’ve just agreed to spend more. In this case I opted to respond in the negative, which appeared to disappoint my cashier somewhat. I think she might have asked ‘do you find me attractive’. The answer would still have been no.
On departing the store, it became apparent to me that your groceries are apparently made of concrete. I’m unsure why you chose this material for everything in the store, other than the fact that it makes things incredibly difficult to carry home. At first I thought perhaps I had forgotten I had to carry this stuff and neglected to consider the weight of the items I purchased, but I’m not that stupid, it must be your fault. I would appreciate if, in future, you used a lighter material to produce your groceries, such as air. You might also find this reduces your production costs, resulting in discounts all round. This tactic would surely allow you to win the supermarket war.
Unfortunately, my story doesn’t end there. In fact, it was on arrival at home that my complaint is based. Whilst in the store, I was unable to resist the temptation of your Toffee Crisp Cookies. In fact, it was the thought of these that gave me the strength to carry the concrete groceries home. Imagine then, if you will, my disappointment when, on opening the bag of cookies, instead of the displayed quantity of five there were only four cookies contained within.
My initial response was an attempted suicide by suffocation, but my head would not fit in the tiny bag along with the four cookies and I’m not entirely sure it would’ve been air-tight anyway. It was then that I hit rock bottom, and decided to write this letter of complaint. I have attached an image of the bag in question, presently empty (it took the other cookies to cheer me up) and would be grateful if you could bake the missing cookie and send it back to me. Please don’t over cook it, I like it when they’re soft in the middle.
Yours sincerely
Chris
See the bit where it says 5? That was a lie
