Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 9
I work in a small shop in a Scottish seaside town, popular with the tourists.
I’m behind the till, ringing through a few postcards and a packet of mints for a tourist when, out of nowhere, a man starts full-on shouting.
Customer: “This is ridiculous! You don’t even stock the right adaptor! What sort of tourist store is this?! How am I supposed to charge my phone?!”
He’s waving a phone and making a scene, so I try to calm him down.
Me: “Sir, we’re just a small local store and we don’t stock a lot of electrical goods. There’s a small shopping centre in [Nearest Town], but here we—”
Customer: “—which is twenty miles away! I thought y’all in Europe were above all this Kentucky Fried Bull-S***!”
Before I can speak further, there’s a loud “TSK!” from my queue. An old local lady, late seventies, hair like a storm cloud and a tartan shopping trolley as her shield, marches forward and wedges herself between him and the counter.
Old Lady: “Whit’s this carry-on then? Shoutin’ at folk like a wean that’s dropped his ice cream?”
Customer: “What the f*** are you saying, you old witch!? Mind your business!”
Old Lady: “Oh, it’s ma business when you’re bawlin’ in ma ear, ye absolute berk plank. Yer brains must’ve fallen out an’ gone on holiday without ye.”
The customer blinks, stunned, as the queue erupts into muffled snickers.
Old Lady: “D’ye think yellin’ at the lassie’ll magic an adaptor out the wall? Honest tae God, you’re spreadin’ misery everywhere yer tumor blizzard, nae help tae anybody!”
Customer: *Blinks.* “Excuse me?!”
Old Lady: “Oh, you’re excused, son. Excused from havin’ a clue. Now shut yer gob, pay for yer sweeties, and stop actin’ a grotbag harmonica!”
The man looks around, realising everyone is now watching him, grinning. He mutters something under his breath, pays, and slinks out, adaptor-less.
The old lady turns to me with the sweetest smile.
Old Lady: “Two scratchcards and a packet of polos.”
She wasn’t next in line, but nobody dared tell her that as I sorted out her transaction.
I swear, I want her as store security forever.
Related:
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 8
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 7
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 6
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 5
Never Pick A Fight With An Old Scottish Woman, Part 4
