And Then A Centre….

A garden centre is wot I’m talkin’ about.  This one was big. Big? It was huge and once again I was amazed to see so much stuff that I never knew I didn’t need.

Why wozz we there then?  Her indoors had decided she’d like a big tub of flowers at the side of the drive. My question,’Why?’ once again fell on deaf ears and so we found ourselves in that huge garden place.

Having selected a tub and an assortment of those coloured plant thingies, we checked out.

Just after the check-out was a selection of garden chairs and benches of varying sizes and prices with a huge sign above stating; Please Take A Seat.

We were struggling to get a nice wooden bench through the exit doors when a helpful member of the garden shops security detail – garden shop security? explained the shops meaning of the term Please Take A Seat. This was slightly at odds to our literal translation.

A case to be made?  With damages awarded for mental stress?  A bit like all those burger and fast food joints where you order by pointing at a picture.  You been there?  See that picture of a big fluffy bread bun covered in vitamin rich shiny seeds? See it? You see how it’s overflowing with succulent beef, melting chunks of cheese and fresh, crispy, shiny assorted salad?  See the fries?  A perfect crispy brown.  You ever taken the time to compare what you actually receive with the picture of what you expected?  Trades description anyone? Hay, if people can order a hot coffee, burn themselves with the hot coffee then sue the joint ‘coz there was nothing on the cup warning them that the coffee was, indeed, as ordered, hot, I reckon there’s money to be made here….

Which reminds me. A guy enters a fast food joint and orders two burgers and a hot dog.  The dame behind the counter goes to the fridge, removes two burger patties, peels off the paper and slaps one under each arm.
’Whoa!! What you doing girl?’ enquired the customer.
’Just thawing out the burgers.’ she replied.
’Oh, right. You know what? Cancel the hot dog.’

Quote;  J. A. Konrath.

“Sorry to hear about your Dad."
He shrugged. "He was seventy, and we always told him fast food would kill him."
"Heart attack?"
"He was hit by a Pizza Express truck.”