Let me set the scene for you. On Saturday I popped to Waitrose (ooh-err!) to pick up some basics (purple-sprouting broccoli, quinoa blah, blah and organic cornfed, halibut poisson doits, as you do).
Upon returning to my car I saw a security guard hovering nearby. Now, as a self-confessed soft-arse, my first thought was ‘what did I do wrong‘; but on this occasion I was the victim of someone else’s wrongness. It turned out a bloke had dragged his trolley down the side of my car, leaving a fabulous scratch and several supporting scuffs.
The security guard (obviously hankering after some position of higher power) pointed out the culprit to me and suggested I ‘follow him to resolve this RIGHT NOW‘. Fired up and childless I stomped after him and prepared to rage..until I saw that the perpetrator was possibly the oldest human I’ve ever seen walking (if he was a day under 90 I’ll go a week without wine!)
My resolve started to weaken as the security guard verbally dragged his saggy ass out of the car and all but frog-marched him over to me. The jittery old sir denied it was even scratched and then offered me a handful of coins to repair it (huh?!) By this point THREE supporting security guards swooped in from the office, having seen the fracas on their monitors.
Long story short, I didn’t have the heart to take great-grandad’s details (much to the disappointment of Herr Waitrose and his cronies). I let him and his 10:10 eyesight kangaroo out of the carpark, narrowly missing several pillars en route.
Back in my newly-adorned car, I was split between feeling a bit miffed that I’d yet again backed down from confrontation and slightly smug about ‘doing the right thing‘. I was fairly certain that karma would repay me for letting Senõr Cataract walk away scot-free.
Well, I can tell you that karma is bollocks! Two days later, whist parking the car I slashed the tyre on a sharp rock that some douchebag had kindly tucked into the kerb. The delightful Kwik Fit teams at not one, but two tyre centres (the first one couldn’t fit me in) then proved that sexism is still alive and well by patronisingly asking “did the rock just jump out at you?!” Word for word the same question at BOTH centres! Dicks.
The next day, my usually pleasant-in-public man cubs decided to fight, scream and yell “POO” all the way round Waitrose; culminating in me whispering “if you don’t stop scratching each other I will hurt you” in a Hallow’een-esque menacing growl. I’m sure I will shortly be appearing on the much-loved ‘Overheard In Waitrose‘ Facebook page after saying “where do you think we are, Asda?!” slightly too loudly.
Needless to say last week was a bit of a failure…thanks for nothing karma!!!