Annabel vs the Internet

by Annabel Port

  I have a little wander around and see one of those metal shelves on wheels that the shelf stackers use to move stock around. It’s not a really tall one; it’s about waist height with a tray of potatoes on it. It’s calling out to be converted into a trasket. Begging me.

  I find a man who is replenishing the sandwiches and ask him if I can put my basket on top of the shelves on wheels and use it.

  Before I’ve even finished asking, he’s lifting the potatoes off and saying, “Yeah, sure.” I make a mental note to give him a promotion once I’m CEO. Then I put my basket on top.

  “Why don’t you get a trolley though?” he asks.

  I tell him, “This feels better to me.”

  “Okay, sure,” he says. And I mentally give him a pay rise too.

  I’m pushing around my trasket, my basket on the shelves on wheels, and getting a few envious looks from fellow customers. I think it was envy even though it was not dissimilar to the looks I got the time my flip-flop broke on the Tube and I walked barefoot down Oxford Street to the nearest shoe shop.

  The only thing missing is the remote-controlled flare but I’d googled how to make a flare and you needed potassium nitrate and they don’t sell that here since it’s only a Tesco Metro.

  It’s now time to concentrate on the pyramid of items. I really miss the big pyramid of tins in supermarkets. I see the man who let me make my trasket and possibly now regrets it and say, “Hey, why don’t you have pyramids of tins?”

  “Oh,” he says, then “hold on”, and goes off, I presume to hide in the staffroom toilets, but he comes back with the duty manager.

  I tell him my idea. He seems keen but says, “Well, our special offer at the moment for Belvita biscuits is coming to an end.” This doesn’t seem in any way related to what I’ve just suggested. We are by the Belvita biscuits though, so I take three boxes and form a pyramid with them on the floor.

  “It’s a bit small,” he says. He’s got a point.

  I say, “Yeah, but let’s leave it.”

  He tells me he can’t leave it on the floor. I’m worried he’s not getting the whole pyramid thing. The base has got to go on the floor.

  I move on to another idea. “Why don’t you have games of hide and seek in store?”

  “Oh,” he says. “We’ve been thinking of activities to make the store a bit more fun.”

  He really says that.

  “Do it!” I encourage him. He does seem very keen, so I’m very pleased with the feedback for that idea.

  I feel like I should buy something now so I see some biscuits I’ve not had for ages, Toffypops, and take them to the self-service till. When I get there, I get very, very lucky. As there is a man there fixing one. It’s all lifted up and I can see the wires underneath. I’ve never seen one being fixed before. This is perfect. This man must be an expert who can make all kinds of adjustments.

  “Hi, could you change that bit that says ‘unexpected item in bagging area’? It’s really annoying. You could change it to ‘are you stealing something?’ or ‘UH-UH’.” I make the Family Fortunes buzzer sound loudly.

  “Impossible,” he says. I’m pretty sure it’s not impossible. I don’t say that, though. I say, “I could voice it for you now.” He shakes his head. He’s not so friendly. I leave it because I don’t want to cause a scene. Everyone else here is so nice and I’ll be telling the board this when I meet with them to secure the job.

  I do some research as to who is on the board and make an unpleasant discovery. They already have a new CEO. He started on Monday. This is a big worry, but if I could discredit him somehow, they could get rid of him at the end of his probation period.

  I call up head office. A lady answers. I tell her I’ve got some information on the new CEO, Dave Lewis, and ask if she’s got pen and paper. She says a very unsure, “Okay.”

  “The thing is,” I tell her, “I saw him shopping in Waitrose.”

  She repeats it back to me in the writing-something-down voice, “shopping in Waitrose”.

  I ask her to pass it on and hang up. Then I call straight back. Someone different answers the phone but I use a different voice. I do my man voice.

  “Hello,” I say in my deepest tone. “I’ve got something I need to tell you about the CEO, Mr Lewis.”

  There’s a long silence. Eventually she says, “I’m not sure who you need to speak to, would it be a complaint?”

  “How about I’ll tell you and you pass it on?” I suggest. She agrees a bit reluctantly.

  I tell her, “Well I saw the CEO in Tesco at a self-service till and he got frustrated with it and gave it a little kick.”

  She laughs. I’m concerned she’s not taking this seriously. “I’ll leave that with you, then,” I say and hang up.

  I call back again. It’s yet another different person but I still use another voice. I don’t want them to think it’s a vendetta from one person. I’m sure they’ll think nothing of how the calls all came one after the other. From the same number.

  This time I use my American voice and say, “I saw Dave Lewis dumping a Tesco trolley and not even near a store.”

  “Hold the line, please,” she says and then I’m put through to customer services. I’m sure this isn’t right at all, but I repeat my claim of the trolley-dumping.

  “And where was this?” she asks.

  I grab a place name out of the air, “Mile End.” Then add, “By the canal.” This seems realistic.

  “And what exactly happened?” she asks. “Was he walking along or was the trolley dumped out of a car?”

  The car-dumping story is very appealing but feels less realistic to me. Who is dumping trollies out of cars? I want to discredit this CEO, but I don’t want to make him look like an animal. I tell her he was walking along.

  “Okay, thank you,” she says. The conversation is over. I hang up and call head office again. This time I use my posh voice.

  “Oh, hello. I was in a Tesco, behind Dave Lewis in the basket queue. It was one of the ten items or less ones and his basket looked rather full, so I counted the items and there were twelve.”

  She says nothing and again I’m transferred to customer services. I’m starting to realise that customer services are the dumping ground for any calls other departments don’t want to deal with.

  I tell the new lady about the basket situation. When I’m finished she says, “I’m so sorry. Which store was it?” I tell her Bromley-by-Bow and hear typing noises. She’s typing it up. Probably into a report for the board.

  “And was it today?” she asks. I tell her it was.

  “Did you continue to stay in the queue?”

  “Yes,” I say, “I just bit my tongue.”

  “And do you remember the checkout number?”

  Who remembers this? I tell her I don’t know. Then she wants me to describe the cashier so I say I can’t remember faces.

  “Well, I can empathise with you,” she says. “The rule is difficult to impose. I can appreciate how frustrating this was for you and am very sorry for any delay you experienced.”

  She’s clearly been well trained but this is not going to plan. I don’t want to get a cashier in trouble. I say, “The point is, though, it was your CEO with too many items. He should know better.”

  “Could you hold the line?” she asks me now.

  I’m on hold for so long I actually have to give up and hang up. I had planned to call back, accusing the CEO of using the magazine aisle like a library, not putting the checkout divider down for the next customer and eating an unpaid-for cherry tomato in store, but I feel like my job has more than been done.

  He’s been completely discredited. I just need to wait for his probation period to end and that job is mine. I can’t wait to use a trasket.

  29

  The Challenge:

  To overthrow something or someone

  This is how this challenge was set on the radio show.

  Geoff: “I was thinking that you could start some kind of uprising and revo
lution and overthrow somebody.”

  Me: “When you say you were thinking, how long were you thinking about it for, just out of interest?”

  Geoff: “Let me just check how long that Bruce Springsteen record was just now. Okay, four minutes and two seconds.”

  Me: “Oh that long, wow!”

  Geoff: “Not all of it though, as I was on Facebook for some of it. And I’d found a weird skin tag under my armpit, which I was playing with for a while as well.”

  The conclusion was that he’d put around thirty seconds of thought into this. I put around double that into deciding who to overthrow.

  I consider the government. The pros are: it’s very fashionable at the moment to overthrow a government. The cons are: it would be a massive effort and I don’t want to have effigies burnt of me for the next 400 years should I fail.

  I consider the monarchy. The pros are: I get to live in Buckingham Palace. The cons are: bad décor and too much Tupperware.

  I go through other British institutions: the NHS, BBC, armed forces, fish and chip shops, Marks & Spencer, the pub, the Post Office, Alan Bennett.

  Looking down the list, I realise I quite fancy overthrowing a pub. Mostly as I like the idea of ringing the last orders bell and I’m sure there have been coups staged for lesser reasons.

  It’s probably better to go for a chain as I can take one and then the rest will topple. Much like Hitler’s plans with Poland.

  I pick a chain pub. Actually, it’s less a traditional pub and more of a bar that also does food all day. I used to work in one of the branches so I’ve already got experience. I won’t feel too much like the newbie revolutionary overthrower on my first day.

  I make my way to a branch in London and walk in, trying to exude authority. It’s hard when you’re in jeans and a grey duffle coat.

  But it’s time to take control. I go to the bar, where I see two newspapers. They’ve just been casually placed there. I catch the eye of a barmaid.

  “Hi. Annabel. Head office,” I say briskly. “These newspapers are a bit messy. Could you put them so they fan out?”

  “Oh, okay,” she says but doesn’t do anything. I show her what I mean.

  She walks off, saying, “It’s just that customers will keep moving them.”

  I’m briefly annoyed that she’s answering back and making excuses until I remember that I’m not actually from head office.

  I move down the bar to another barmaid. There’s a very small liquid spillage about the size of a 50p.

  “Hi. Annabel. Head office. Could you just mop up that spillage please?”

  She does so straight away. I’m getting a taste for this now. I add, “And those brandy bottles behind you, can you straighten them out? They’re lined up a bit wonky.”

  She does so with a smile.

  I walk around now, inspecting the premises. It’s fairly full; most tables are taken. I approach four people eating and ask, “How are you enjoying your food?”

  The tell me it’s all fine. I feel pleased that my pub is doing so well. I take some empty glasses to the bar and tidy some menus up. Then I approach two men in suits. They’re just finishing their meal. I introduce myself as Annabel from head office and ask how their meal was.

  “Great,” they tell me.

  There’s now a slightly awkward pause so I blurt out, “And would you like a couple of coffees now on the house?”

  They seem surprised and pleased. They would very much like a couple of coffees on the house.

  I go to the bar and say to a barman, “Hi. Annabel. Head office. Could you just get me a couple of coffees on the house for those gentleman over there?” I point out the men in suits.

  He nods and smiles. I’m not sure if this is a yes. I carry on with my inspection and after a short time I notice that somebody is taking two coffees over. I see there is some discussion, though, and then the two coffees are taken away.

  I go over to the two men and ask, “Is everything okay?”

  They look a bit embarrassed. I assure them the coffees are on the house.

  “Oh, we’re having them,” one of the men says. “It’s just that we changed the filter coffees for lattes.”

  I’m so in charge, I’ve just given two men some free posh coffees.

  I’m a fairly rubbish revolutionary, though. I’m filled with fear that I’ll be found out. I do the sensible thing. And leave. And practically run down the street.

  This was a great start to my overthrowing career. I’ve got a real taste for being a rebel dictator. What next? I find myself thinking back to the royals and I realise I don’t have to overthrow them all. I could just do one of them. Like Prince Andrew. And I know exactly where he’s going to be today. The Big Bang Science Fair at the ExCel Centre in London. He’s going to be there in his capacity as patron of the Young Engineers. I’m sure he’s a great patron for these engineers, and they wouldn’t rather have James Dyson, for example.

  The only thing I don’t know is what time he’ll be there. I ring Prince Andrew’s office and say to the lady, “Hello, I’m calling from the Big Bang Fair at ExCeL and was wondering what time Prince Andrew plans to come down today.”

  She asks me for my full name and then my telephone number. And then asks, “Are you running this visit at this event then?”

  “No,” I say. I can’t lie.

  “What’s your position?”

  “I’m head of the East London Prince Andrew Fan Club.”

  It turns out I can lie.

  There’s a silence, then she says, “Okay, let me get back to you.”

  But she doesn’t. I decide just to go down there and hope for the best. I arrive around 1 p.m. I go to the registration booth and say to the woman there, “I’m here to take the place of Prince Andrew as the patron of Young Engineers.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says.

  Great! I’m here first. I can take his place and the overthrowing is complete.

  She takes my name and goes off looking for my name card and lanyard. I’m so hoping to get the Prince Andrew one. I don’t and, unsurprisingly, she can’t find an Annabel Port name card.

  “But not to worry,” she says. “I’ll make you one.”

  I’m not really sure what to do now. So I ask, “And what plans did you have for Prince Andrew?”

  She doesn’t know but she’s going to ask the event organiser, Jeremy. I see her speaking to another lady in the booth who then comes over to check my details. I confirm with her that I am here to take the place of Prince Andrew.

  She goes on her walkie-talkie and I hear her say, “I’m here with Annabel Port and she’s come instead of Prince Andrew.”

  Then she tells me Jeremy is coming, but the ExCel is so large I might have a bit of a wait. It’s interesting that nobody seems that fussed that the Queen’s son has been replaced by a nobody. In fact, they are all being lovely to me. Perhaps they’re even relieved it’s me. I might go round everywhere saying I’ve turned up in his place.

  I’m waiting for a long time though. So long that I’m starting to lose my bottle and worry about what I’ll do if Prince Andrew turns up now.

  Eventually Jeremy appears and I have to explain why I’m here again.

  “Oh,” he says when I’ve finished. “It’s just that the prince was here this morning.”

  This is disastrous. I’m about to be exposed as a liar. There’s only one thing I can do. Keep lying. I say, “Yes, he wanted me to come in his place for the second session.”

  I don’t even really know what I mean by second session. Or why in my fantasy world Prince Andrew would ask me to do this.

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll speak to the person in charge of the visit.” He goes on his walkie-talkie. “I’ve got someone here from the Duke of York’s office – could you come down to speak to her?”

  There are now two paths ahead of me. One where I’m humiliated and exposed as a fraud. And one where I have to spend the rest of the afternoon being shown around a science fair. I honestly don’t k
now which is worse.

  But then I realise there is another path. I take out my mobile and tell Jeremy I’ll make a call to double check there’s not been a mix-up. I press my phone to my ear then slowly start edging towards to the door.

  I make a face as if to say the mobile-phone reception is not great, so I’d better step outside. I go out the exit and even though it’s through a huge glass wall, without looking back I immediately run all the way to the train station.

  So I’ve overthrown a bar (kind of), and Prince Andrew (not at all) but now I want to aim even higher. A big international company.

  The very first one I think of is Saatchi & Saatchi. I’m not sure why that was my first thought. Maybe because as a big media company, it’s not completely unfamiliar to me. Or perhaps it’s because I like the idea of changing the company name to Port & Port.

  I begin by looking for the name of someone very high up the food chain. I find one for the chief financial officer. This is where I’ll start the overthrow. Once I’ve got control of the money, I’ve got control of it all. And can pay myself billions.

  The plan is, I’ll go to their reception, say I’ve got a meeting with this chap and then once he comes down, take it from there.

  I’m not optimistic. At my work, I couldn’t be further from chief financial officer in terms of importance and I wouldn’t come down to reception if a stranger turned up claiming to have a meeting with me.

  But, as I get to the top of the steps to the door, I look down and engraved into the stone are the words, “Nothing is Impossible.”

  This gives me a real boost. I walk in to the reception and say, “Hi, I’m here for a meeting with Dan, the chief financial officer. It’s Annabel Port.”