EDitorial ± 30-Sep-2010

Good Old Mr Tesco

Thursday, I said, is the capitalized Big Day. That'll be when they have it in. They sent me an email saying so. Mr Tesco, who looks after us and feeds us, wouldn't lie to us, would he?

The Boy, being a boy, when he sets his little mind on an object of desire, can think of little else. Not a Nerf gun this time, though he's keeping a beady eye on YouTube reviews, but a particular Wii game -- Mini Ninjas. Not a new game, either, but one he had previously, completed in a week, and which we then flogged on eBay. Did OK out of it and got most of his money back.

Now he's dead set on buying it again. Amazon would take too long, Argos don't stock it and we were outbid (by 20p) on eBay. Resourceful Dad shopped around and found it for a good price on Tesco Direct. What with free delivery to store, could order it on Tuesday and pick it up "after 4pm" on Thursday. Fine, said The Boy, though that's still a long time to wait.

Penultimate day of the working week and we've got oodles, bags and plenty of time. Dad's cooking so tea's running a bit late, then Dad insists on (a) stoking the dishwasher, (b) checking that we have the order number, (c) going to the loo and (d) making Wifey a cuppa. Way too dark and miserable to insist on two wheels, so father and son board the family motor around 7:45pm, wipers on.

Up past newly opened Suffolk One (don't call it the Swiss) and into a parking spot outside the Copdock Tescopolis. We jog in out of the drizzle and stride purposefully over to the desk: pick up your Tesco Direct order here, it says. Quite a few tills, nobody around. Let's give it a minute, I say, and somebody's bound to turn up. Nobody does.

Behind the desk is a sign: open from 8am to 8pm. My phone says it's 20:03. Not a problem, I reassure The Boy, we'll sort it out at Customer Services instead. Over we go. Sorry, she says, we don't have the right key for the Direct stuff. You know they're open from 8am tomorrow? Stony silence in the Ninja-less car all the way back home.