Today when I walked past the main street of our small town I saw something which astonished me. A whole mass of fridges and shop fittings piled up on the pavement and in the process of being taken away. The small supermarket on our high street closed a few weeks ago and has been sold on to a new chain. They are doing what was announced on the windows of the shop as a major refit. When I saw the notices I simply didn’t believe it. I have known that supermarket for many years and it has been through several owners without ever showing any sign of improvement. I jokingly nicknamed it “the worst supermarket in the world” and have found quite a number of people who agree with me. Nobody has ever stuck up for it. Once I had the enormous pleasure of being buttonholed by someone outside it doing a customer survey and I didn’t hold back. I really hope that the new owners are going to do better. Here’s just one tiny story to explain why it matters.
The old lady, a quiet and unassuming soul, was standing her ground in the aisle of the supermarket, trying very hard to have her say. She had done her shopping and pushed her trolley all the way back to her bungalow, looking forward to her cup of tea with every step of the way, only to find that the milk that she had bought had gone off. For a few seconds she had felt like having a cry, but that would have done nobody any good so she had just put her coat back on and pushed her trolley back down the long straight road that led from her little estate into the town centre. She really didn’t want to have to explain to the shop assistant that her milk had gone off but there was no point just going in quietly and buying another pint because that might have gone off too if it had the same date on it. She had no choice but to say something. She had just finished her speech explaining what had happened and apologising for being a nuisance when I came past. The assistant was not impressed. She only half turned round from filling up a display of six packs of lager.
“We’ve never had any complaints about our milk.”
The injustice of this reply stopped me in my tracks. The old lady was becoming flustered. She stood there holding her pint of milk, unsure what to do. The milk was off. Surely that wasn’t right? It couldn’t be.
I glared at the assistant.
“That’s not true. I’ve had milk from here that was off twice in the last few weeks.”
The assistant straightened up and glared back. She hadn’t expected that. The old lady frowned at me, too worried about the whole business to feel grateful. I waited. Finally the assistant backed down.
“I’ll see what we’ve got in the back.”
I nodded at the old lady, who was biting her lip as she watched the assistant march down the aisle towards the store area and wishing that she could just go home.
This was a single tiny incident, just one of many which explains why I was so glad to see those fridges out on the pavement. Small town supermarkets serve real people with real worries and real needs. They should never forget that. Slogans are not enough.
