Scribbling #1: The Hidden Way of Tesco (Slovak Republic)

A vaguely amused audience greeted me on entering Tesco today. Happily, the mirth was not directed at me but at a young woman and older lady combo who were being directed again and again by the security guy through the screamers. Well… you know, those strange things with flashing bulbs by the shop entrance that make a screaming sound not because someone has stolen something but because the cashier didn’t swipe the goods that they’re carrying properly. Anyway, since that type of free entertainment was not particularly rolling-on-floor-laughing-until-I-run-out-of-oxygen-to-breathe (otherwise known throughout the on-line gaming world as ‘ROFLUIROOOTB’), I carried on with my Tesco adventure and didn’t particularly care what happened to the ladies next.

My wanderings to find the necessities of the day are taking less time to carry out. Not because I’m more familiar with the language, only because I know where certain things are in the store. And going by colours for full-, semi- and low-fat. It’s sad to know that, but there you go. But the best thing I found out today was not just the fact that Christmas sales make the better goods cheaper than the Tesco brand – but I found out how to stop the cashier from being so fast with the checking.

Here’s how it usually works for me in Tesco:

1. Having acquired my goods, I queue up to pay, as all good British people do.
2. I gave my Tesco clubcard, as all good and self-aware British people do.
3. I fiddled with the Tesco plastic bags, with the last resort being rubbing my hands together over both sides of said bag in a vain attempt to open it, as all good, self-aware British men do.
4. I gave my money to the cashier after they’ve said the price, as all good British people do.
5. The Keeper of the Till gives me my Clubcard, change and receipt. And doesn’t bother to wait for me to finish bagging and carries on with the next customer.
6. I feel amazingly pressured while I’m trying to open a stupid plastic bag. The customer after me pays and then leaves while I’m still mucking about.
7. Afterwards, I go home, feeling slightly depressed about the whole Slovak Tesco experience and wishing once more that we were talented enough to train the cat to go instead of us.

This time around, I got to step four and my brain retaliated. It had sub-consciously found the Way of the Slovak Tesco for the British Man. Before then, it was on a metaphorical cigarette break. Anyway:

4. I gave more money and change than was needed. This gave me more time in bagging, because the cashier doesn’t then check it once, s/he checks it twice, then gives me some of the change back in return, with a slight condescending smile.
5. The Keeper of the Till gives me my Clubcard, change and receipt. I have finished bagging.
6. I go home, feeling rather happy about the whole experience. Not only that but the Keeper is also happy, as s/he has believed that s/he has actually helped a customer today. Or alternatively s/he is slightly ticked off by the silly foreigner who can’t open a plastic bag to save his life and gives her the wrong change. Whatever, I don’t actually care about the cashier.

This is the Way of the Slovak Tesco.