Saturday, February 2, 2008

Why I Hate Harrods.

Before I came to London I was of the impression that Harrod's was a noble place. A place where the rich went to buy opulent and luxurious goods. A place where the social elite congregated to purchase their truffles, their perfumes, their spices and their caviar. A place where you had high tea and drank champagne at the oyster bar.

Whilst the amazing fresh fruit and vegetable displays rotted on their shelves, Britons were busy fighting over the last pack of fish fingers in the frozen food section.

It's nothing like that though. Well it probably is, but you have to get inside. Which isn't usually an option due to the throng of idiots that surround it constantly.
On a Saturday, if you're European, consider yourself to be wealthy and have the the worst fashion sense this side of the Eastern Bloc then for some reason you'll find yourself walking around out the front of Harrod's. There's no explaining it, it just happens. You may not want to be there, but on a Friday night someone inside the big domed tower overlooking Brompton Road flips a switch that turns on a special bad taste magnet which is so strong that if you live anywhere from Germany to Italy to Portugal and have one single item in your wardrobe that is embroidered, is glittery or has rhinestones on it, you'll wake up on Saturday morning some time and realise you're wearing your embroided/glittery/rhinestoned clothes and are blocking the footpath out the front of Harrods.
It's probably not your fault, but by god do you bunch of retards piss me off when I'm having to pass through that area.
Seriously, what the hell is with people who can't get from one point to another without doing any of the following:
1) Drifting.
Drifting is when you walk along the footpath and ever so slowly deviate from your initial course and begin walking diagonally across the footpath, cutting off everyone behind/beside you. Whenever someone attempts to pass you on the otherside, you then counter-drift in front of them. This is usually when you'll feel a sharp blow to the back of your head, courtesy of me.
2) Stopping.
This enrages me so much. People who walk along, then suddenly decide that the best time to stop dead in their tracks and reach around in their pockets to find their rhinestone encrusted Nokia is whilst they are on the busiest footpath ever. If you do this, know that I will probably cut you.
3) The Flying V
Yes, like on The Mighty Ducks. This is when there's a bunch of people walking shoulder to shoulder and taking up the entire footpath so anyone walking in the opposite direction is forced to edge between them, walk onto the road to avoid them or just turn around a walk back the other way. For fuck's sake you people, the footpath is wide enough to accommodate maybe four people, there's eight of you. It's not going to work. Go single file you assholes and stop making everyone else walk around you. Often this is a family. I still hate them. Children are not an excuse.
4) God-ing it.
This is when you believe that you are a supreme being that can walk through crowds without having to ever move for anyone else. You think the crowds will part, just so you can get to the luxury optics aisle to find a tinted lense for your Prada monocle.


I hate going anywhere near Harrods.
If it's not the European fashion victims clogging the footpaths, it's the Japanese tour groups.
And then you've got the protestors picketing against Harrods because they use fur in some of their items.
Fuck off with your posters of skinned dogs. I don't care if Harrods has a tiny zoo full of animals it slaughters nightly to create fur lined chihuahua carriers. Yes it's bad that these animals get treated so badly, but if I've pushed through 10,000 people to get to Harrods, I'm not going to turn around just because you're giving me a fucking pamphlet.

Wow, does this rant ever stop!?

Well yes it does.
Sometimes all it takes is one little moment to make it all worthwhile.
Today, that moment was a dick joke.
On the tube, I was nearing Knightsbridge, preparing myself for the impending battle through the Harrods crowds.
As the train was about to pull out of South Kensington the standard announcement rang out.
"Stand clear of the doors. Mind the closing doors. This is a Piccadilly line train stopping all stations to Cock..."
For some reason the message cut out and so the train's destination changed from Cockfosters, to somewhere arguably less savoury.
This was enough to make me giggle, because I'm basically a 4 year old. But the best part was just down the carriage from me there was a man and his son. The son was about 8.
When the announcement was made, the little kid threw his hand over his mouth and began laughing. He looked up guiltily at his dad who smirked, ruffled the kid's hair and laughed as well.

Yep, dick jokes bring people together.
It's badly dressed Europeans out the front of Harrods that tears them apart.


Fever Dog said...

Has anyone ever stopped to ask you the best way to Cockfosters and you've replied "You could try serving it warm?". Speaking of Tube stations, Otis Lee Crenshaw has a very good song about how sexy the Tube can be. I think you'd like it.

And I don't think any judge would convict you if you went on a killing rampage outside Harrods if you explained it like you have today.

Anonymous said...

Fosters = Catspiss, feverdog, don't forget it.

Excellent post, JC.

I hate the footpath sheep, too.


Amanda said...

I would have laughed too... that sort of amusement should not go unnoticed.

jiminycricket said...

FD: NO, That hasn't happened, but it sure will now! I'm looking into this Otis Lee Crenshaw fellow.

Kae: Very true. I tried Fosters here in the UK as I presumed that it would taste better being brewed differently and whatnot. Nope, it's still shithouse. Re: footpath sheep. I totally get footpath rage... It's not good.

Amanda: It's things like that which make London bearable for me. Once again a dick joke saves the day.

Boy on a bike said...

I first went to Harrods back in about 1983 and it sucked dead dog's balls back then too. At that point, the Pound was worth stuff all and the UK had been invaded by Yanks with tea chests full of money. Harrods was overrun by Texans in great big hats.

Favourite Harrods story.

The deli is supposed to be able to produce any type of sandwich.

A bloke rocks up and asks for an "elephant's ear sandwich".

The guy behind the counter looks at him and says, "Sorry sir, we're out of bread".

Love the story, hate the store.

jiminycricket said...

BoaB: That story is gold! I have to admit, the one time I went into harrods it was interesting. I only went to the foodhall and looked at tiny tins of caviar that were worth more than my monthly wage. They also had all kinds of fruit and vegetables made out of marzipan. Wow.
No Texans in big hats though... They've been replaced by Romanians in glittery berets.

the boy who likes to... said...

Just hearing or reading Cockfosters makes me laugh.
There is a stop on the way in to London on the overground called Ladywell, that's just as amusing. (Sometimes Im embarrased at my own childish behaviour)

Re: walking, if I see any people walking like your first 3 points, I always end up doing the 4 point. If people are going to try their best to walk in my way I might as well walk in a straight line.

Anonymous said...

i've been working there for five years and by god we really need more people like you to come in and HELP US... especially since the takeover by the arabs... the colours are neon and glittery and you can't walk anywhere without bumping into a silicone boob or bum. please come in with a chainsaw and fix it :(

Anonymous said...

I also work at Harrods. Fucking hate it. Please do take the time to google the 'angry Santa' who managed to get into the light control room and splash "FUCK OFF" over the front of Harrods. What a man.