This may seem slightly conceited and self-referential, (like I care) but I was reading an old guest post earlier, one that I wrote for Ramblings of a semi-mad man nearly three years ago.
It was after a discussion on Facebook about supermarkets and their insistence on us using those bloody automatic checkout things and I remembered I’d written a rant about one of their even more irritating habits, so I had a quick read.
I actually laughed out loud a couple of times, which can’t be a bad sign, what with having written it myself, so I decided to repost it here, as it was only ever posted as a guest link previously and I thought y’all might enjoy it.
So here it is…
So, picture the scene, I walk into my house and someone has repositioned the bath in the living room, moved the sink and cooker into the bedroom, and swapped the beds around so that they are now located in the garden, and the lawnmower is in my wardrobe.
I don’t see anything strange in any of this, so after bathing in front of the tv for a few minutes, I go upstairs, mow the bedroom carpet, cook my dinner, which I sit in the bath to eat, before going to the toilet (oddly, now located in the pantry) and tucking myself up in my rather damp bed (it’s now raining in the garden) for a cozy nights sleep.
I wake up in the morning and……
Wait, what was that?
Sleeping in the garden?
No, that can’t be right, I would have noticed surely?
I wouldn’t just blindly perform whatever functions a room’s appearance indicated, even if I remembered it being a totally different room just the day before?
Or would I?
Well, that appears to be the sort of warped logic behind the thinking of supermarket marketing strategists, (I’m guessing, but this is the sort of wanky title they tend to bestow upon themselves) those evil bastards who use sensory and psychological tricks to attempt to sell us stuff we neither want nor need.
You know, the ones who thought up the idea of making all the ventilation blow the smell from the bakery towards the entrance, to make the Temple to Consumerism smell inviting.
The ones who put racks of sweets next to the till because they know that by then you’ll be so worn down by your kids constant bickering and demanding you buy them stuff, you’ll get them a confectionary fix just to shut them up.(Although obviously you’ll regret this when the sugar rush kicks in on the way home in the car)
These are the ones who don’t seem to realise that when you’ve already spent an hour battling impending trolley-rage, dithering pensioners and hoards of grockles, the last thing you need is to wander into a formally familiar aisle thinking “Hmm, quite fancy some crisps. Those sausage and mustard ones were really nice. No, actually, I think I might try…….
Because those evil geniuses have decided in their infinite wisdom, that if you happen upon a two litre bottle of industrial strength disinfectant where your favoured brand of delicious, crunchy, savoury potato based snack usually resides, you’ll immediately lose your appetite and suddenly remember some urgent toilet sterilising you’d been meaning to get around to.
Or maybe you’re on the home straight, making for the checkout, when you realise you forgot the soy sauce. Well, that’s ok, it’s just round this…… BIN LINERS?!! Ohforfucksake!!
And do you sit in front of the tv that evening, knocking back the Parazone (“Kills 99.999999% of anything you can’t see and are frightened of catching, DEAD!”) after cooking your stir fry in a bin bag?
Do you bollocks.
BECAUSE IT DOESN’T BLOODY WORK!
All they achieve is to make you even more stressed out because you’ve got to traipse all the way back up the detergent aisle,…. oops sorry, my mistake, make that the paté and shoe polish (?) aisle, to get your recalcitrant condiment from (where else? ) the erstwhile toiletries section.
So if any of you meddling, ex-psychology majoring middle management wannabes are reading this, will you Please Leave Everything Alone, We Know Where It Is.
That is all, thank you for your attention.