Dear Tesco,

I don’t know any better way to start this blog, other than; I fucking hate Tesco. Now I know that you may call me a hypocrite, because I still shop at Tesco, but people do things they hate every day out of necessity. Oscar Wilde stayed in a marriage for years, because if he left his wife, it would be obvious that he was gay. It doesn’t mean that he was a hypocrite; it just shows that necessity sometimes outweighs ideology.

I am a student and don’t have what the middle aged, middle classed and middle management call “disposable income”, because of this I have to buy my wares at a shop with more “buy one get one free” offers than anywhere else. I can accept that. I know that the second I start earning some real money in life, I will stop shopping at that detritus-filled, building of the damned.

2010 was not a good year for Tesco. Comedian and self confessed ‘prick’ Ray Peacock led an attack on Tesco through his hilarious podcast with his mate Ed Gamble (who also claims to be a comedian, but the judges are still out on that).

Last year, Tesco sold knifes and fireworks, but threw people out of their shops for having hoods. They sold alcohol that definitely killed people, but they dragged a young disabled boy out of his wheelchair, because his Mum gave him a bit of chicken to keep him quiet while she shopped.

This is just a glimpse of how shit Tesco are.

ANYWAY. This all seems too serious. Here is my problem with Tesco;

They are shite.

Yesterday I popped into Tesco to get some food (potato waffles, etc). I got to the self service counter, which pisses me off on a whole new level. I can’t even start to understand how they are getting away with that. To save money, they’ve hired machines to do peoples’ jobs. In out current economic climate, how can that be fair? There’re not enough jobs as it is so how can giving computers our jobs help? I just want to kick Henry in the face; fucking smug excuse for a dyson.

So I got to the self service, because there were no people other than an old bitch working. I say she was working. She was doing that thing that they do at Tesco. She was in charge of the machines (I hope they go Terminator on her one day) and by in charge, I mean that she walked about and had to tell them off every 30 seconds. For computers, they are shit computers. They don’t do what you tell them. You scan an item, you sit it on the scales and then it bleeps and tells you that you’re committing some kind of Tesco crime. It assumes that you’re constantly trying to steal and cheat the system.

I scanned my first item. I sat it on the scales. BEEP BEEP BEEP. The old woman tutted, walked over and waved a fob at the computer screen. I smiled and laughed and she ignored me and walked away. I scanned my second item. I sat it on the scales. BEEP BEEP BEEP. She walked over, tutted and shook her head and waved her fob at the screen. I again smiled and she walked away. I scanned my third item. I sat it on the scales. BEEP BEEP BEEP TUTTING. You get the idea.

This happened for each of my twelve items. 36 beeps, 12 tutts and 12 fob flashes.

I have never seen anybody that hated their job so much. The premise is one of the oldest jobs in the world; she is largely a shepherd for computer sheep and she hates it, but not as much as I hate Tesco.

This blog isn’t as funny, because I tried to write is more seriously, so that my argument has some integrity. It’s still better than the letter I wrote for Tesco;

Dear Tesco,

Cunts.

I happily await your reply.

Paul McCallum.