Growing Old in Geant

Last night on my way home from work I popped into my local hypermarket, known as Geant getting some shopping. Geant is a French owned company and their hypermarkets are very popular with westerners in the middle east.

There was probably twice as many staff than customers. This is not unusual with labour costing so little out here. Usually there are at least 4 staff on each till, the cashier, a packer, a supervisor and the cashiers friends to whom all the other staff are talking to, completely ignoring their customers.

As the shop was so empty, it was a very pleasant shopping experience.Until, that is, I went to pay. I was immediately annoyed because the cashier tore the barcode label on the oranges that I had carefully picked out. So the cashier sent the foreign worker chap that does the packing to get a replacement pack of oranges.

The Geant hypermarket is vast. It’s so big that a Saudi prince could safely store his 747’s in it and still have room left over for a handful of Bentleys. Our cashier was at one end of the store and the oranges (and trifles) were on the distant horizon, right at the other end.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… tectonic plates shifted…

Finally the packer returned. Tired from his long journey he had simply picked the first oranges he could find. Rather than the plump, juicy, bright oranges I had picked I now had oranges suffering from scurvy!

I’d also picked two small trifles as a 5 SAR treat. The cashier picked them up and saw that there were no barcode labels on either of them. His English was as good as my Arabic so my attempts to explain that none of the other trifles had labels on either were in vain.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… acorns grew into oak trees…

Occasionally I would look at the cashier and he would look at me. I couldn't use humour to diffuse the situation and assure him that the wait was no problem because we couldn't communicate with each other. We stood in silence.

Time passed… my blood pressure continued its steady climb…

Finally I could see the packer meandering his way back. As he approached he held out his hand triumphantly… he had picked two completely different desserts! He’d seen that none of the trifles had price tags so he’d made an executive decision and changed my menu!

Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and dispatched the packer.

Time passed… the dollar weakened… Geant was making me poorer and I hadn’t even paid the bill yet!

There was a conspicuous lack of packer on the horizon. I looked at the cashier. He looked at me. We both looked away.

Time passed… icebergs melted, continents slipped further into the sea…

Finally we could see the packer making his leisurely way back to us. He seemed somehow smaller than before. His miles of travelling were clearly taking their toll.He slowly handed over two trifles to the cashier.

Was that a bead of sweat on his forehead? I couldn’t believe it! One of the trifles had clearly gone off! Instead of nice fluffy whipped cream it looked like someone had spilled mustard on it!
Much gesticulating and pointing followed.

The cashier grumbled and looked at the packer. The packer looked imploringly at me. I looked at the cashier. Obviously someone needed to go and get another trifle.

Time passed… the universe expanded… the tides changed as the moon orbited the Earth…
I thought to myself "Bloody hell. No wonder the packer took so long. This IS a long walk!"