2270. On a mission

Laurie was the grumpiest man on the street; in fact he was possibly the grumpiest man in the town. He grew strawberries in his garden, and one thing was certain: none of the sweetness of strawberries had rubbed off on him.

He would sell strawberries at his gate in little plastic containers. There was an honesty box. Some people thought he under-charged but he said if the price was too low then people were welcome to go to the supermarket and purchase the more expensive, sourer, inferior strawberries. The supermarket manager resented that Laurie had labelled his strawberries as inferior. Laurie was undercutting business.

Further down the road, in fact on a nearby but different street, lived Velda. She would buy quite a few of Laurie’s strawberries apparently to make jam. She didn’t make much of a profit with the jam she said but it was an interest. It fills in a rainy day – as she was wont to say.

Laurie didn’t like Velda making jam with his strawberries. Adding sugar to his carefully grown fruit was a sacrilege. One day he saw Velda coming with a pram (she always brought an old pram to load it up and push the strawberries to her house). He rushed out to his gate and informed Velda that he didn’t like her buying so many of his strawberries. “There are other people in the world that might enjoy some.”

“Oh,” said Velda, “I was just coming to tell you that I heard several of the fruit in your garden have been injected with poison. I wouldn’t touch a single strawberry for the rest of the year if I were you.”

And Velda sauntered off to the supermarket where she triumphantly announced to her husband, the Manager: “Mission accomplished”.

1745. Just like Granny used to make

There they were! Sitting on the supermarket shelf like they were a common everyday thing! And so cheap! Fergus couldn’t believe his eyes. He hadn’t seen gooseberries since his grandmother passed away about forty years earlier. Gooseberries! Memories of granny and gooseberry pie flooded back. Fergus grabbed the sole remaining package of the gooseberries and purchased them.

“I haven’t seen these in over forty years,” exclaimed Fergus to the checkout lady. “My granny used to make gooseberry pie, and since she died I’ve not tasted a crumb of gooseberry pie. I’m going straight home and going to look up on the internet how to bake a real homemade gooseberry pie just like granny used to make. This is a dream come true.”

“Plastic or paper?” asked the checkout lady.

“A paper bag please,” said Fergus. “I don’t want the gooseberries sweating and going flat-out mouldy in a plastic bag. I live a good hour and a half away and by the time I get home in this hot weather the gooseberries could be cooked. Have you ever eaten gooseberry pie?”

“I can’t say I have,” said the checkout lady.

“You haven’t lived until you have,” said Fergus. “My grandmother used to…”

“That’ll be a grand total of forty-eight dollars and twenty-seven cents for all your groceries,” said the checkout lady. “You paying with cash or…?”

“And worth every penny,” said Fergus. “My granny used to make a gooseberry pie – only when they were in season you understand. Back in those days people never had a freezer. Or at least most people didn’t have a freezer. Only the rich had freezers and they were hardly the type of people that would spend time out in the garden growing their own gooseberries.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day,” said the checkout lady.

“The gooseberry plants are very prickly I seem to remember. Granny used to send me out to the garden to…”

“Excuse me,” said the lady in the long line waiting behind Fergus, “but would you mind shutting up and getting a move on. You’re holding up the works.”

“Oh I’m sorry,” said Fergus picking up his several bags of groceries and making a hasty exit.

When he got home he discovered that in his haste he had left the gooseberries on the supermarket counter.

1706. The tale of two food bins

Imelda always noticed something about the two food bins placed at the exit to the supermarket. There was a bin for food for abandoned and hungry pets, and there was a bin for food for down-and-out humans. The bin for pet food was always bulging to overflowing. The bin for humans never had much; just the occasional can of soup or a packet of pasta.

Imelda had three children. Occasionally she would place something in the bin for needy pets. She usually did it when she had the children with her. She should lead by example. One should always be generous; not over the top, but generous nonetheless.

And then Imelda struck hard times. She had to go to the local soup kitchen and ask for food.

“Unfortunately we don’t have anything on the shelves,” they said.

So Imelda went to the pet rescue place and pleaded food for a fictitious cat.

(Dear All – Starting tomorrow – and for a week or so – I shall simply be posting favourite stories from this blog’s past. I’m currently bogged down with work. When a story’s numbering suddenly goes to 1707 then the original yarns will have recommenced!)

1568. Dangling carrot

(The opening sentence to this story was a comment made earlier on this blog. Nitin suggested it could make an interesting opening sentence, so here it is!)

“Sometimes they dangle a carrot in front of you only to stick it up your bum.” Oswald was surveying the carrots at the supermarket. His wife, Kitty, had already filled a bag with half a dozen carrots for purchase. The sign said:

CARROTS! 30 cents each. Two for only 65 cents.

“They do that all the time,” said Oswald. “Trick the dumb buyer into believing there’s a bargain. They dangle a carrot in front of you only to stick it up your bum.”

Kitty emptied her bag of six carrots back into the supermarket carrot bin. It wasn’t the price she was worried about. It was the thought of eating a carrot that had… that had… you know what I mean.

1394. Winner of a car

Travis was excited, but worried. He had entered a win-a-car competition at the supermarket. It was a promotion. And although he had never won anything in the past, at least entering automatically by buying $50 worth of groceries gave him a chance. Indeed! It was to be his lucky day!

This was the day the keys to the car were to be handed over. It was a bright red car. Travis had already seen it for it was parked near the entrance door to the supermarket so that everyone would see it and spend at least $50.

So Travis was excited! Why he was worried was because the Press would be there taking photos and he didn’t really know what to wear. He wondered if he should get a nice pair of trousers with a brand new pullover. Modest in colour – not too bright and not too dull; casual yet appropriate.

So he did that; he went to town and got himself fitted out. It was more expensive than he thought it would be, but not to worry.

Now all he needed was for his name to be pulled out of the hat.

1333. Serendipity

Cushla had always thought that the word “Serendipity” was something meaningless from some old song, sort of like “Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay!” or even “Chim chiminey chim chim cher-ee!” How wrong she was, as she was about to find out.

Cushla had left school and had an ambition to be a model. She auditioned for every modelling job advertised, and was frantic to find herself an agent.

In the meantime, Cushla collected the trolleys from the chain store supermarket carpark. She worked for a pittance, but money was money.

One day, she knew she wouldn’t have time to get changed for an audition straight after work, so she wore a model’s gown and had her hair swept up like she was Cathy on the wild moors just stepping out of Wuthering Heights. What a picture she was wheeling the trolleys in the car park. She was wolf whistled and cheered on and commented about. Such elegance, grace, and creative abandonment all in one little supermarket carpark!

The billionaire owner of the supermarket chain just happened to be leaving the store when Cushla went by wheeling a great train of trolleys. He was blown away with her creativity. She was promoted there and then as the international co-ordinator for supermarket carparks. She travelled the world. She modelled and trained models in every company carpark throughout the globe. She was on a huge salary. She was very successful.

Cushla did this fabulous modelling job until she was wrinkled and old – about thirty-seven. But it didn’t matter. She was very rich. And anyway, she had already bought the supermarket chain.

1321. To reach a certain age

Robert stood in the aisle of the supermarket looking for a tin of coconut milk. His recipe for sweet potato pudding called for quarter of a cup. He couldn’t find it anyway. Fortunately there were a couple of supermarket shelf-stackers close by putting things on shelves.

“Excuse me,” said Robert, “could you tell me where I might find the coconut milk?”

“As luck would have it,” said a shop worker, “it’s right in front of you.”

“Oh! So it is!” said Robert. “I must be going blind!”

At that moment, Robert farted. It wasn’t a quiet fart. It was a long fart and very, very loud. The shelf-stackers pretended not to hear. Robert knew he’d reached a certain age because he didn’t give a stuff.

869. How’s your day been?

Adrian was tired of being asked inane questions by shop assistants. He’d pop into the supermarket to get a tin of cat food and be asked how his day has been.

“How’s your day been?” was the inevitable question. “How’s your day been?”

The shop assistant was barely out of diapers. She didn’t give a brass tack about how his day had been. She was trained by trainers in these massive food chains to take a personal interest in the customers, and this was achieved by asking how their day had been.

“It’s good, thanks,” Adrian always replied with a smile. “You have a good day yourself.”

The response to that was always, “Have you any coupons?” Coupons cut from fliers could be scanned for an automatic discount. There could be a good 18 cents knocked off the price of a can of asparagus.

“How’s your day been?”

“It’s good, thanks. You have a good day yourself.”

“Have you any coupons?”

Indeed! Adrian was tired of being asked inane questions by shop assistants. He decided to change his response:

“How’s your day been?”

“Look, my wife’s away and I spent all morning surfing the net and looking at porn and now I’m totally exhausted.”

“Have you any coupons?”

To listen to the story being read click HERE!

779. Oh for a tissue!

It was summer. Averil didn’t have a runny nose, but she was a bit sniffly. A dab with a tissue would be adequate to satisfy her desire to attend to the matter. She could have wiped her nose on her sleeve (while no one was watching of course) but she was wearing a sleeveless light summer dress.

The trouble was, she was in the supermarket and had already piled her trolley high with the week’s groceries. She would simply have to sniffle her way through the check-out.

Suddenly, on one of the shelves, Averil spied a box of tissues. She opened it, fully intending to place it in her trolley and pay for it on the way out.

A shop “warden” saw her open the box of tissues, and marched her off to the supermarket office where she was interrogated.

“But I was going to pay for it,” said Averil. Her summer dress didn’t have a pocket and she was still holding the used tissue in her hand. She used the bin in the office.

“We’ve heard that one before,” said the “warden”. “We’re trying to stamp out thieves this summer, and you’re the first on the list. I’ve a good mind to call the police.”

After one and a half hours, Averil was dismissed with a warning. She was told never to shop there again.

Averil drove home, grocery-less, and bawling her eyes out. With not a tissue in sight.

Listen to the story being read HERE!