Work started with a meeting where we were told to expect a full lockdown in the next few days. As measures are ramped up, weíre putting staff on the doors to control the flow of customers. The hardest lad in Tesco is definitely getting that job isnít he? Looking forward to saying things like ďSorry Grandma, not today loveĒ and bodyslamming any unruly customers to the ground. Iíll act tough, until a load of teenagers from Blacon turn up trying to get in, at which point Iíll run off and hide in a cardboard trolley.
Had a guy asking me if we had any flour, because he wanted to make pancakes. The only one we had was a little bag of self-raising flour (which Iím sure you can use to make pancakes canít you?) but he actually got quite upset, saying: ďNo that isnít the right one.Ē I was gonna point out that Shrove Tuesday isnít for another 11 months but I thought this pancake-obsessive might have gone and chucked himself off a bridge.
Fart Boy is having a house party on Saturday night! Do I do the right thing, follow Borisís advice and stay at home, or head out to what could be the social event of the century. This is possibly the toughest decision Iíve ever had in my life. Heís got a house with his girlfriend and kid, but for the time being heís got a flat as well as itís on a long lease, so heís basically sticking two fingers up at the world and inviting everyone round this weekend. Heís charging £5 to get in (cheeky bastard, Iíve got into strip clubs for less) and £2 a can. Iíd actually consider taking a bout of Coronavirus on the chin to experience one of his house parties.
Liverpool fans need to stop complaining, just because their plans to celebrate a first Premier League title in 30 years are on hold for a while. Other people are going through much, much worse at the moment, who we need to care for and look after. Thatís right, the Tesco Chester Pool Tournament has been suspended at the Quarter Final stage. Came in to find all the pool cues removed this morning, and a sign on the pool table saying ĎTemporarily out of useí. Iím still adamant this has happened after I smashed the young lad (4 red balls remaining) last night, but it is due to the virus apparently. We can do nine hour shifts together in a confined space all day, but a quick game of pool is too risky. Itís political correctness gone mad.
Fart Boy has a new career in mind after Tesco. He wants to be a paramedic. ďI want to go and give people mouth to mouth,Ē he said. #### me. Honest to God, if Iím ever in a horrific car crash with my leg hanging off, and he turns up, just whack a DO NOT RESUSCITATE on my forehead.
Saw a sign at work today that said: ďBe alert. If you see anyone you donít know, ask them who they are and what they are doing.Ē My productivity took a nosedive after that. Janice said she was shopping. Terry said he was shopping. Barbara said she was shopping. George said he was shopping. Linda said she was shopping. Barry said he was shopping. Iíve not managed to get any work done all day.
Debated what sort of people buy a £20 jar of honey (which we have in store) today. I agreed with Fart Boy when he said: ďSome people have more money than sense.Ē He then tickled me when he said: ďMy drug dealer doesnít even charge me that.Ē
A lady asked me for a tin of Stewing Steak. She wanted quite a nice one, but all we had left was Tescoís own brand. ďOh, I donít want that cheap one,Ē she said. Fart Boy came up and said: ďI donít blame you. Itíll be full of shit that. No meat in them.Ē This lad has got to be a secret rogue operative from Asda or something.
Day 7 tomorrow.
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