Thanks to glorious flexitime I have Friday off.
He-who-works-when-it-suits-him and I went to Tescos this morning and decided to have a late breakfast/early lunch before embarking on the weekly shop. The lady on the till was obviously having a bad day. There was a notice on the drinks machines:
“All Drink Machien dos no vork”
Now, when something tickles me, it tickles me and there is no shutting me up. Giggling, I whispered to my hubby with a fake foreign accent – “all drink ma-ch-i-en doss no veeerk”.
The lady on the till must have had the ears of a labrador listening for the sound of his lead. She was also in dire need of customer care training. When I got to the till I was still laughing.
“It’s not funny, you know. I’m supposed to leave off at half eleven and its twenty to twelve now. I have to keep boiling a kettle.”
“I was laughing at the notice.” I explained, biting my lip trying not to laugh too much. She came round to the other side of the counter and peered at the notice in question.
“What’s so funny about that – the drinks machines are not working. It’s not funny, I can tell you. I can do without that on top of everything else, what with people wanting fried eggs all the time when we’re short-staffed.”
By this time other people in the queue were laughing too.
She rung up our breakfasts on the till and my husband asked for two coffees. She jabbed at the till with a frustrated forefinger before hopping off her stool to make them.
“Oh bugger it!” She tutted and puffed behind the counter. “I’ve only got enough water in the kettle for one.”
She made one mug of coffee and said to everyone else in the queue, “you’ll all have to wait, I’ve only got one pair of hands.”
She put the cup of coffee on my tray. Helpful Hubby said sympathetically “it’s OK, I’ll go without”.
“YOU WILL NOT.” Her voice raised an octave. “I’VE RUNG IT UP NOW. GO AND SIT DOWN AND I’LL BRING IT OVER.”
Hubby dutifully did as he was told, tail between his legs. I was still laughing when she came over to slam his coffee down.
“What’s wrong with the notice?” she demanded as she glared at me.
“Err.. I think machine is spelled wrong.” I did feel just a bit sorry for her – her stress levels had obviously gone through the roof.
“How do you spell it then?”
I wrote on a piece of paper MACHINE.
My giggling fit started all over again as we left. She had crossed out ‘machien’ and written ‘machine’ above it.