(there's another diary entry all about that and a chainsaw following this one when I get the chance)
So (under duress) I had to return to that hell-on-earth place that I just 'hate' B&Q (you'll find other stories on here involving this pit of inadequacy) as it happens, I also needed garden turf, and that's for the big hole I still have in the front garden from my chainsaw episode of a few months ago...
I Get there and it's chaos!
For a moment I thought the "God Squad" from the other weeks holiday had set up camp in the car park, it's like the Oklahoma friggin land-race in that car park, someone sees a free spot and it's anyone's guess who'll get there first!
I get in and ask the first "employee" I see:
"Hi mate, where's your turf?"
"Yeah... Grass, Turf... For the lawn... "
"Turf or Seed?"
(I paused... Could this be the Cretin I had the 'paint' issue with last year?)
"err... I dunno, maybe outside?"
"nope, I know that's where it usually is (out front) but it's not..."
"dunno then? Maybe try gardening..."
(I had already thought that but just thought I'd ask an 'employee' but that didn't work, so I guess I'll go and find some breeze blocks and strike up a more fruitful discussion with them... and off I trundled)
I found the gardening section and it was utter carnage, it was like a scene out of a jailhouse riot... I eventually found the TWO pallets of turf that B&Q must assume is enough for demand but the turf that was there resembled the leftovers of a kids party, there were pices, chunks and tufts all torn into bits, none with any real 'sellable content.... That was it?
Being the half-full :0) Kind of guy I am I thought I'd strike up a conversation with another 'employee' (there being no breeze-blocks around)
"Hya, is this your section?"
"I'm here aren't I?"
(I really do seem to Bring out the Best in people don't I)
"is this all the turf you have left?"
"yep! Why how much do you need?"
"I only need 2 lengths"
"there's more than 2 lengths there!"
"I know, 'just' but it's scraps and tufts... I need full bits"
"well that's all there is..."
(and... He... Turned... His.... Back... ASSHOLE!)
Ok, turf abandoned...
"excuse me mate, I also need gas, calor gas, 6kg bottles with the new push connector?"
"(and) We don't do 6kg..."
"(and) Theres no such cylinder...."
"(and) Are you sure thats what you want?"
"We do 5's" (I'm sure I heard a hushed 'idiot' in there...)
.... Deep breath mark ....
"ok... 5's then..."
"we've got none..."
... I stomped off like a 2 year old chunnering vulgarisms in bi-polar Irish mark!
At the tills I thought I'd ask one of the 'assistants' if they could call the other local B&Q for me to see if THEY had turf/gas...
Apparently 'we don't do that anymore'
So I called them myself, but "I'd better hurry, as it's real busy and we may sell out"
Quick jaunt down the motorway, "Kablam!" RIGHT outside, on pallets, TURF!
gorgeous, thick 'whole' lengths of green, carpet quality Grass!
("I'm bloody well havin some of that!" I chunnered)
Pushed my trolley to one side, grabbed a roll (which turned out to be heavier than I thought as as it happens, this I worked out just as my Sphincter expanded and I touched cloth!)
when to my horror, some fat arse was just about to bugger off with my trolley..
"OI!!! geddoff my trolley"
('it' stared at me blankly.... Obviously one of the generations of 'in-breds' being allowed to continue breeding on benefits!)
"why is it YOUR trolley?" it mumbled
"because it is mate, I've just put it there so I can put this turf in it... Do I look like Geoff Capes?"
(it had a puzzled look, perhaps it wasn't as old as it looked, all those years of inbreeding and standing outside the benefits offices waiting for this months Giro had obviously taken it's toll! And it probably didn't know who "Geoff Capes" was?)
I dumped the 2 rolls of turf in MY trolley and scarpered, there were bricks lying around and the 'inbred' might revert back a couple of years to it's 'neanderthal' state and club me then take me for it's mate or something...
Ok, lots and lots and lots of BBQ's all boxed, along with lots of signs "Don't forget your Gas, BBQ's don't run on Air!"
(they'd better tell that to 'captain cave man' outside, I thought)
So... Where IS the Gas?
Aha... Another 'assistant' surely they're not all idiots?
"Hya... I've literally just rung from being at one of your other depots, you have a limited supply of 5kg propane calor gas with the new 'push' fit connector?"
"we have??? Oh sorry, yes... We HAVE!... Have you got ID?"
"ID? why do I need ID? your flattering me a bit aren't you? I've not been 21 for a few years now!"
"(Sarcastically) Didn't they TELL you on the phone? We need ID! Otherwise you can't have gas?"
Actually (the wifes just remined me) as I went through the till, paying for the Turf, I thought I'd be clever and ask her if I could get Gas - she tannoyed for assistance - SH*T - and who should come to the call.... yep - the bloke I'd just had the bing with - I looked like a proper arse!)
Unfortunately, it didn't 'quite' end there, because as I was putting the messy, dusty, crumbling turf into my boot, I brushed against the spare pair of Work/Suit pants I always keep in my car (another story, another time) got covered in soil AND the protective Bin-liners I'd put in there to stop the mess....