Asda at Night: A Place Where Evil Lurks.

How many of you good folk out there in WordPress land live close to a 24 hour supermarket? Chances are that it’s quites a few, so no doubt you be able to relate to my recent late-night shopping experience.

Normally I’m more accustomed to the hustle ‘n’ bustle of shopping at the traditional hours of business,  last night saw a break from that trend and me head toward the retail colossus that is Asda at Cribbs Causeway. More often than not, I try to avoid shopping at such an ungodly hour (12.00am) as I’d far rather be tucked up in bed with a nice brew. Primarily I avoid it because I assume that late at night is when murderers and lunatics do there shopping, as well as the predictable selection of inebriated social inbreds and Chavs, most of whom are readily accompanied by annoying, tricked-out shit-boxes with 13 year old girls in the passenger seat – girls that look more like the ‘Bratz’ than they do actual human beings. My recent trip to Asda did not disappoint on any of the aforementioned.

Firstly, why would I willingly shop there at such a time knowing all the above? Well, kids – I didn’t have any choice in the matter. I was intending to hit the Mall at a respectable hour in order to shop for Olivia’s 21st Birthday present. Instead, I decided to play a game I like to call ‘fall asleep in front of the telly at 5.30pm then wake up at 9.00pm when everywhere is shut’. What a prick. Once I finished calling myself a whole host of colourful names, I was left with Asda as the only option left to me. In the interest of procrastination, I buggered about a bit before heading out of the house at around 11.45, blasting it down the M5 and arriving at just after 12.00am.

Upon the very second I reached the car park, I was greeted with the sight of Chavs. Barely literate, gibbering retards all of whom finished each and every sentence with either the word ’safe’ or ‘innit’ – sometimes both. I tried to avoid eye contact, or to be found casting my eye over the barely-legal hussies hanging of their every belch in case I became the latest victim of a stab attack. With that obstacle cleared, I headed indoors to find Liv something nice. The place was desolate, like the opening of Vanilla Sky when Tom Cruise runs around Time Square in a dream. The only people about where the shelf-stackers. They can be a peculiar bunch, they either take their job way too seriously (I saw one guy stack ‘Hob Nobs’ on the biscuit shelf with the kind of precision a geometric scientist would be proud of), or they look as if they’ll kill the first person that speaks to them – something I wisely chose to avoid.

I have to admit, it was oddly liberating to have such freedom of movement in a supermarket, and if it wasn’t for the feeling of being an outsider I would of quite enjoyed the whole thing. Sadly it was spoilt by social outcasts and one diminutive Asian gentleman who appeared to be following me around the store carrying a basket filled only with Cheese – they guy had a serious problem with Cheese by all accounts. Every corner I turned he was the there, with a look on his face that either meant he had terrible wind, or he was plotting to disembowel me at the first opportunity. Needless to say, this meant a sharp exit was on the cards, so I picked a couple of things I hoped Liv would like and walked briskly to the checkout, looking over my shoulder for small, scary Asian men as I went. The final hurdle was the self-serve checkouts.

I fucking HATE self-serve checkouts.

Is it just me, or do they never work? Why do they have to have the most annoying, shrill female voice talking you through the options? Why is it that no matter how slowly you scan the items in your basket they don’t register? After 5 minutes of trying, and reaching the point of homicidal fury myself, a kind woman came to my rescue. She scanned my items for me, whilst I stood by looking pretty foolish indeed. Bags full, items payed for (Except the bottle of Coke Zero, which didn’t scan and I got for free – don’t tell Asda) I left for home, vowing never to return again at the same time.

The best analogy I have for Asda at night is to think of playing the ‘Resident Evil’ games – fiendish puzzles and fighting off hordes of Zombies and creatures of evil.

You certainly need your wits about you.