The Gardening Gloves Conspiracy

I bought a gardening magazine the other day and in it was a voucher for a FREE pair of gardening gloves courtsey of Wilkos. 'Hurrah!' I thought, because 1) I like things that are free and useful and 2) I can never have enough gardening gloves. I don't always wear gardening gloves, and I should because one day I'm going to succumb to some awful soil-borne disease like tetanus or clubroot and Andy will put on my gravestone 'I told her to wear gardening gloves.'

So off I pop today to Wilkos to claim my free gardening gloves. I find the ones that are on offer. They are very nice. Thick and sturdy yet pretty too, with a nice rose pattern on them. I take them to the counter. The checkout lady puts them through the till then stares at the voucher. She turns it over a few times. She stares at it a bit more. And then she dings her bell.

The dinging of the bell in Wilkos is like an invitation to pull up a chair, make a pot of tea and open your copy of 'War and Peace' because you're going to be there for a looooooooong time. I try not to sigh. The gloves, after all, are free. The customer services lady comes over. The checkout lady shows her the gloves and the voucher. The customer services lady looks at the voucher and turns it over several times. 'You'll have to void it on the till,' she says to checkout lady. It appears checkout lady doesn't know how to do this. Customer services lady says she would do it, 'but gardening isn't my department, I'll need to call someone from the gardening department.' It's all to do with codes, you know. And the fact the customer services lady 'can't leave the front of the shop.' Lord knows why. It's not like anything is going to happen in her absence. Not at this rate anyway.

Customer services lady goes back to her desk and telephones for someone to come over from the gardening department. Now, we're talking a fairly small shop here, all on one level. It's not a multi-storey department store. I could have yelled for someone to come across from gardening quicker. A gardening department lady appears. I am starting to lose the will to live and there are now 15 people in the queue behind me.

The customer services lady shows the gardening lady the gloves and the voucher. The gardening lady looks at the voucher and turns it over several times. 'You need to void this on your till,' she tells checkout lady. 'I told her that,' says customer services lady, 'but she doesn't know how to and I can't because it's not my department.'

I think, shall I give up and leave without my free gardening gloves. But...perhaps this is a plot by Wilkos to make me do just that? Perhaps this is all a conspiracy to save them having to give away loads of pairs of gardening gloves? I grit my teeth and steel my nerves. I am going to claim my free offer if it kills me.

The gardening lady performs several complicated manoeuvres on checkout lady's till in attempt to perform the elusive void. 'It's not having it, is it?' she chuckles when her many attempts fail. The remaining three of us and the 27 people now in the queue remain devoid of chuckle. 'I'll have to take you to Customer Services to see The Supervisor,' says gardening lady.

The Supervisor?? This is turning into some sort of Orwellian experience. 1984, only 25 years too late. I'm not surprised given the length of this simple transaction. I glance around, looking nervously for the hidden camera. Nope. It's all real. A living nightmare.

At the Customer Service desk, the customer services lady and the gardening lady explain the problem to The Supervisor. The problem? THERE IS NO PROBLEM, I want to shout. I HAVE A VOUCHER ENTITLING ME TO ONE FREE PAIR OF GARDENING GLOVES. I GIVE YOU THE VOUCHER, YOU GIVE ME THE GLOVES. ET VOILA!

The Supervisor is about 87 years old. I am transfixed by her heavily dyed hair. She isn't grasping the voucher = free gloves equation. Even the customer services lady looks like she is losing patience and is very close to pummelling The Supervisor into the ground.

And do I get my free gloves? Eventually, yes. Not until I'd finished reading 'War and Peace' and written half a sequel and drunk so much tea I was in dire need of the little girls' room, though. I'm looking at the gloves now. Covered in roses. Functional and useful.

But somehow, death by clubroot would have been a strangely attractive alternative to standing in a queue in Wilkos in order to claim them.