Monday, 28 November 2011

Horrid Old Bag - cont'd from last post


Forgot to tell you about the really bad-tempered old girl in Morrison’s last week.  Here goes.  I was in the queue at the fags and booze section.  I thought I was at the front, so the nice Polish chap said: “Next, please” and cos it was dead noisy in there, I yelled out: “40 Silk Cut, please.”

Then, the Polish bloke looked a bit sheepish and I followed his glance downwards, and to my left – and there was teeny little old lady in front of me! Argh!  I never noticed her, she was such a tiddler.

So, I immediately said: “Oh, I’m so sorry, this lady is in front of me!” and before I could even say sorry to her as well, she said: “I never get anything but jip at this counter.”  And, cor, she didn’t half sound cross as two sticks.  So I touched her arm and said: “I really apologise, I didn’t see you, I’m so sorry.”

But she didn’t even look at me, she just said: “Oh, you can be sorry all you like.”  And I said: “Oh, but I really am sorry, it was a mistake, I wouldn’t dream of pushing in front, on purpose.”  And then another assistant came belting over to serve her, leaving the Polish chap to serve me.

So I said to him: “I really am sorry about that.”  AND THEN, the miserable old cow said to the other assistant: “Hark at her, being all sorry to him, what about me?”

And by now, me and the Polish man are as red as beetroots, so I said again: “Oh, I really didn’t mean to offend you, I’m so, so sorry.  I really can’t forgive myself.”
 

AND GUESS WHAT THE OLD BIRD SAID?

She (without even looking at me) said: “Well, you have offended me, and I don’t know about you forgiving yourself but I most certainly don’t forgive that sort of behaviour.”
 

By now, I was a crumpled bag of embarrassment and an Irishman behind me whispered: “Take no notice, she’s probably got the dementia.”  And she only heard him!
 

Now, I had just bought my fags and booze and was ready to leg it – top speed – out the shop, but the old lady turned to the man behind me and said: “I heard that, you…you Paddy.”
 

So, now (for crying out loud) I’m saying: “Sorry, oh my heavens!” to the Irishman and he’s yelling at me: “Don’t you be bloody sorry for that rude old bitch.” And then he says to the old lady: “Why don’t you get yourself out of it, you wicked old woman.  Shoo, away with you now!”

Luckily, the evil old hag had got her half bottle of Scotch and was stomping out of the shop.  So I had to wait and make sure that she’d gone off in a different direction to me, before I went home.

Did you ever!  I was expecting the usual English 'polite fest' of: "Oh no, don't you worry," from the old girl, and then I would have said: "I could honestly stab myself in the eye." And then she'd say: "Oh, it was probably my fault for dithering," and then I'd say: "Oh no, it was my fault for pushing in."  And on it would go for another five minutes whilst we both blamed ourselves.  Now, this is how proper people in England do it.  So if you bump into each other again, you can smile at each other, stop in the street for a little chat and both blame yourselves, all over again.

99% of old ladies know this: it is a primaeval thing.  Perhaps the Irish bloke was right.  Perhaps I shouldn't be too hard on her.
 

Now, back to the present day.

I went to Morrison’s today, did some shopping and as I was coming out via the fags and booze section, I saw the Polish man.  He looked shocked when he saw me and then motioned with his head and eyes over to my right.  So I looked.  And it was the self-same old girl who hates me!  Luckily, she had her back to me.  I looked back at Polish bloke, mouthed: “Thank you,” and totally Usain Bolt-ed it out of there.

It’s all getting a bit Beirut-y, for my liking.


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