The Big Pumpkin will rip you off, but you won’t find pests like this one.


26/01/2016.

“Big Pumpkin,” apt tag for Beaudesert’s notorious rip-off proprietor.

The moment the words were uttered, the realization I had hexed myself was very strong; the chickens would soon come home to haunt me. Retribution came first from Woolworths Beaudesert, when their deceptive price marking had red grapes at $5.80 when real price was $7.98 doing me for two bucks. Boonah IG had reds at $2.99 but an excursion to that fair town wouldn’t have been practical without other tasks being undertaken. Over at Coles, Johanna uses similar tactics by placing expensive cuts of lamb near the cheaper off-cuts.

I had related my Big Pumpkin rip-off experiences to an acquaintance in which I stated how fixed price items are easy to keep track of at the checkout while loose items a greengrocers delight who bump the scale plate with the item and add a couple of bucks anyway. Beaudesert’s Big Pumpkin has two charming daughters well and truly versed in the art of deception with anecdotal goss has it that working for dad is mainly voluntary and real wages are pick-pocketed from careless customers. The street-smart young women are thus ready for the vagaries of life whatever opposition may face them.

BT 2/12/2015.

My appeal to this unpleasant creep that he quit pestering me have been futile. “I’m Father Christmas, the whole town loves me,” he replied to my request a few years ago that he desist. A professional ‘do-gooder’ he does the Rotary cause no good and pushes himself to an irritating, offensive degree.

“Having a bad day are we”? he’ll mutter as I pass without acknowledging him as I make my way to Aldi or Woolworths.

“Yer well, you’ll probably feel much better tomorrow.”

And so it goes until I’m out of hearing range.

The local weekly paper lauds him a hero so I must be out of touch. Shopping out of town has become a welcome distraction.

Meanwhile, back in Kooralbyn’s Countrytown Villas, a quasi Housing Commission precinct whose inhabitants, whether tenants or owners are, on the whole, more hateful than the average Australian, a foul procession of mental sickness has come and gone from the cytotoxic-friendly flat that attracts one-celled scunge, the latest object,Bill, moves outside at crow call where he lights up, then barfs uncontrollably and quite audibly, passionately expectorating pus into the foliage.

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