I had occasion to visit a branch of Stodel’s Nursery this weekend+. For those of you from out of town, this is the garden centre equivalent of the Mugg & Bean – i.e. an impressive selection of overpriced crap cunningly coupled with jaw-droppingly bad service. It seems to be a winning business plan, because they’ve sprung up all over the place.
I’d just had lunch with Salman and he invited me to join him on an excursion to Milnerton’s premier emporium of garden goodies. He needed to buy a bag of Doctor Agri’s Magic Manure Mix (Now With Added Kryptonite-Based Lawn Steroids!) for the fucked up section of his garden where the aliens landed – or so he claims. I suspect that the bare patch may have had a more down-to-earth origin – such as an early-morning-after-a-serious-bender-stomach-contents-emptying episode, but that’s just a theory.
Having acquired the correct sack of fertiliser, we proceeded to the checkout counter where we waited…and waited… And. Bloody. Waited. Perhaps I’m an incurable optimist, but when there’s only one customer ahead of me in the line, I really don’t expect geological ages to pass before I get served. Salman and I had long since moved beyond cabbages and kings++, before he was able to finally conclude his transaction.
It would appear that Slowdel’s has a corporate policy that requires all their cashiers to either sustain a severe head injury immediately before reporting for duty, or at least have the ability to put on a sufficiently convincing act.
+ I know. What an utterly sordid life I lead
++ We were debating the relative merits of deliberately using cheap-ass imported Russian fencing foils as part of an overall competitive strategy