Waitrose and their "Little Treat" masquerades. They’ll wave a shiny bauble, a delightful pot of jam one moment, then a frankly uninspiring packet of crumpets the next. And here I am, bracing myself for whatever pathetic offering they'd conjure up next, only to find… nothing. Absolutely nothing.
My account proved we'd cleared their spending hurdle. On the thirty-first of March, I sent my son, to surpass that mark, and he did. Yet, inexplicably, Waitrose, a company of such supposed standing, cannot fathom the simple task of issuing a voucher. It beggars belief that a high-street retailer can’t manage a bit of basic arithmetic. Now I’m reduced to scrutinising every single transaction with them, my eyes peeled like a hawk.
I dispatched an email, quite reasonably expecting that voucher to materialise as if by magic. But no, they cling stubbornly to their assertion that the required amount was never met. The threshold for spending on that fateful day was under seven pounds. My son spent over seven pounds. Either Waitrose’s grasp of mathematics is as rudimentary as a toddler's, or there’s a plot at play here.
But that, my friends, is just the appetiser. When you're judging a company, its history speaks volumes, and the most recent offences usually shout the loudest. My son, you see, must be meticulously covered up in public due to his autism and a profound aversion to germs. And what do you know? Security barred him from entering the shop because he dared to wear a face mask. Their head office claims ignorance. Either their local management is ... or the higher-ups are fully aware and simply deny the truth.
We are discussing a mentally disabled man being denied entry while trying to shop for his disabled mother. How a company handles such predicaments reveals their true colours.
And the belligerent staff, that's a saga spanning *decades*. From nineteen ninety-three right up to this very moment. There was one particularly memorable instance where a staff member, with irrefutable facts at her fingertips, accused my son Nick of outright lying. Then, as if that weren't enough, she demanded a search. I was incandescent with rage, naturally, and contacted head office. And their response? The branch manager sanctions this very behaviour. Well, I have a message for Waitrose: the laws of this land apply to your shops too, whether you choose to acknowledge them or not.
I patronise their establishment for their superior foodstuffs - many patronise us in return.
I do so remotely, mind you, for I am housebound, battling two cancers. Most of their human foibles, I’ve learned to overlook, to let slide. But these three incidents are beyond the pale, utterly, unequivocally unacceptable. I’ve never escalated matters to an ombudsman, primarily due to our chronic health struggles, but honestly, they’ve earned it.
There are the staff issues, the suspect "sweet treats," and the pervasive mould problems that plague their stores, particularly in the cheese aisle. I've had to drag my son back to return items frequently, and goodness knows how many more we've simply tossed aside. My germophobic son recoils from mould, and forcing him to trek for miles to return these contaminated products is a genuinely harrowing experience for him. And all of it, mind you, remained sealed, kept diligently in the fridge, well within its expiry date. Yet here we are.
High costs do reign, and shops oft cringe and bow, Yet Waitrose name doth not such acts allow. Our coin they crave, yet courtesy's denied, Good breeding's lack, where honour should abide.
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