PISSING VINEGAR Vol. 36: Sobeys - Ready To Unnerve
Written September 6, 2003

Okay, here’s the situation…

Convenience. It’s what many a business prides itself on. And, when that business just happens to be a major corporation, a little thing like convenience goes a long way in establishing a trusting relationship with people like you and me, the average consumer. In addition, one would think that this convenience factor would go over a whole lot bigger when the corporation in question specializes in providing us average consumers with some of our most basic needs. One would think, indeed.

Now, as you all know, there’s nothing I take greater pride in than shitting all over a major business. Take Scotiabank, for instance. The rivalry between me and the unofficial Bank of Satan has been well documented, and I kind of look back on our epic battle in much the same way a prize fighter looks back on the match that made his career. So, when a major corporation pisses me off, you know that you’ll be the first to find out about it.

So, here’s how it went down. Tonight, I chilled at home for a while, doing my usual net whoring routine, visiting all the regular websites. My fiancee was working until just after 1 am, and the fridge and cupboards were practically empty. Now, common sense would dictate that, when one is just about out of food, one would go to the supermarket and stock up. With that in mind, Carrie and I set out for the only grocery store that was open at two in the morning, that being the local Sobeys. Ah, the convenience of it! A grocery store that prides itself on the fact that it’s open 24 hours a day! Surely, this store knows all about serving the customer’s needs. After all, isn’t their slogan “ready to serve”?

Apparently, this is some sort of sick corporate joke. But, I’m not laughing.

The first sign of trouble was the one that read, “Please use the parcel pick-up entrance between midnight and 7 am”. No big deal, though. Sure, we had to practically walk to the other end of the store, then walk all the way back to the other end to get a cart, but hell… that’s just logical. So, we walk into the store, and the one clerk on duty is talking to one of the stock boys. Not uncommon, it must get a little boring in there all night, so it’s nice to have someone to talk to. However, the first word I hear when I enter this den of convenience… is “shit”. Honest mistake, to be sure, but let’s get one thing straight. When I go to a fucking store, I don’t fucking like hearing your fucking potty mouth, motherfucker.

I let it slide, though. After all, it could have happened to anyone. And besides, we’re not there to cause trouble, just pick up some groceries. I guess I must have missed the memo that said getting groceries after midnight WAS trouble.

Allow me to elaborate. See, I realize that not everyone does their shopping at two in the morning. I also realize that, as a 24 hour operation, the stocks have to be shelved sometime. But, for the love of some old woman, what I experienced at Sobeys was nothing short of a gauntlet. The entire store was strewn with boxes, cases and flats. But, that’s not the worst part. The fucking things were scattered all over the God damn aisles, making it impossible to navigate with a cart in many areas. On a few occasions, we literally had to turn around and go back up the aisle we had just come down in order to get to the next aisle, which would normally be a simple matter of turning the cart around the corner. And yet, with all of the obstacles placed in our way, the stock Nazis still did their best to make me feel like I was in THEIR way, when they passed me with yet another palette, no doubt destined for the middle of a fucking aisle.

In fact, the clutter was such an epidemic that there were several items on our list that we couldn’t buy. Not because they were all out, but because there were gigantic stacks of boxes directly in front of what it was that we were looking for.

My point is, stock boys have to do their job. But, do they really have to take ALL of the boxes and palettes and scatter them throughout the store BEFORE actually putting the fucking stuff on the shelves? Is it really too much to ask to take this shit one step at a time? And don’t even get me started about the clerk, who miraculously disappeared when we were actually ready to pay for our fucking groceries.

So, what started out as a quick fifteen minute trip for groceries turned into a forty-five minute tour de farce of ineptitude, disservice and (most importantly) inconvenience. Quite shocking, coming from a chain of stores that is supposedly so ready to serve. Well, it’s my serve, biatch. I’m serving notice to you fuckheads that corporate assholes, even if they are living in our own backyard, are still assholes.

And with that, Sobeys, our battle begins. But, unlike my tussle with the Scotiabank, our battle shall be most brief. Because, my good sirs, this battle, though just beginning, has already drawn to a close… oh, I’m sorry. Was that a little too cryptic for you, Sobeys? Let me spell it out for you… S-U-P-E-R… got that? Good… V-A-L-U. Hell, look at it this way. Even if they don’t know how to spell value, at least they have half a clue of what service really means.

Here endeth the ePISSle.