The Room 101 thread - for things you hate or just having a bloody good moan

[Rusty]

Yup, didn't say this was good music but it's perfectly acceptable for a fun rap about a weird shopper

[Raid]

On the note of bad delivery services....

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/articles/cwywd2wzxp2o

I assume people will read that and assume Evri is bringing the average down. I have far less trouble with Evri than I do with DHL. Every time I get something delivered with DHL on a day I'm out, I attempt to use their website to add a delivery note and it just doesn't work; as in I get a "service unavailable" message whenever I try to access even the tracking page. It's been like this for two effing years. I assume they made basically every member of their web team redundant to make line go up.

[Stormbringer]

I've never used it, but I've heard the results of my friend who swears by https://suno.com/home , Ai music generator. He liked it so much he's paid for a subscription!
As a free user you get 5 'go's a day at generating some music. Give it the lyrics and a genre... see what happens.

I just tried it out. Amazing!

I Ain't A Thief



(I did the graphic design, but Suno did the music and ChatGPT the lyrics)

[Sly Boots]

[ManBearSquid]

[Stormbringer]

Right, now it's time to make raps out of every single event that ManBearSquid observed in Sainsbury's on the Royal Mile in Edinburgh...

¬_¬

[ManBearSquid]

I was thinking that we had a the guts of an album at hand.

[Stormbringer]

Here's the next one:

2. Steaming drunk, middle-aged woman pisses herself at the booze aisle, picks up a bottle of wine, gets served the wine at the till by the goon operating it. Some time later, I'm about to start working that aisle and I'm chatting to the supervisor that is on shift - we spot a rather wet looking floor. He checks the cameras: right enough, the woman starts pissing through her clothes, slight bend at the knees, before trailing pissy footsteps to the till area. Funnily enough, it didn't smell until it was disturbed by the mop.

Leak in Aisle Nine

Yo —
I clock in, half-dead, deadpan stare,
Fluorescents hum, stale wine in the air.
Lunchtime hits, aisle nine lookin’ bleak,
Someone’s dropped a bottle? Nah, that’s a leak.

Supervisor strolls, I’m chattin’ on beat,
Then I spot the floor — like it’s piss-soaked concrete.
He says, “Wait a sec,” checks the cam for the tape,
And boom — we see a scene we can’t un-shape.

Middle-aged lady, fully steamin’ and swayin’,
Bent at the knees, like she’s silently prayin’.
But she ain’t — nah, she’s just... lettin’ it flow,
In a maxi dress rainstorm, real slow-mo.

Stands up proud, like nothin’ just leaked,
Grabs a bottle o' red like it’s fine boutique.
Heads to the till — and what does my man do?
Rings her up clean, like this ain’t déjà-vu.

Ain’t even smell at first.
Not ‘til the mop hit it.
Like a ghost took a piss,
Then the room relived it.

Pissy footprints like art on the floor,
Modern tragedy in Sainsbury's decor.
I mop it in silence, soul slowly dyin’,
Tryna block out the scent and the lady still buyin’.

Just another tale from the aisle patrol,
Where wine flows fast and bladders lose control.
And if you ask me, retail ain’t divine —
But it gets real biblical in aisle nine.

But that's enough for tonight!

[ManBearSquid]

Ah man, genuinely crying with laughter. First is still the best one, though.

[Stormbringer]

First is still the best one, though.

Of course; that's why it's the title track of the album!

genuinely crying with laughter.

I just about died myself when Chat spat out those lyrics.

[eny]

This gives me "Dark Song of Eran" vibes!

[Stormbringer]

All right, here's the last three songs for this EP:

3. The time that a scrawny wee thief decided to call Big Sal, the security guard, a particular N word and, you know that Avengers scene with The Hulk and Loki? Well, that. Sal was usually very calm and composed, not one of these ego-driven security types that typically escalate situations, but fuck me...That fella soon found out how to cause an escalation.

4. There was the time a guy came running in and hid a massive bag of pills behind baked goods. Cue the cops coming in and taking a look around, only for the baker to spot them while replenishing the bread.

5. One of the regular shop lifters, codename "Smiley", rocking up to the shop in the evening dressed as Elvis.

Rolled the above into one:

Tales from the Floor

"Yeah...
Another night, another psycho on the shop floor.
Let me tell you somethin’…"

He slid through the door like a whisper in heat,
Cheap shoes, sharp mouth, no respect on the street.
Big Sal by the door, keepin’ calm as she does,
'Cause she ain’t the type to react just because.

Then the kid starts chirpin', throwin' out that N-word,
The one that flips stomachs soon as it’s heard.
And Sal? Man, she didn’t say jack at first,
She just blinked once....twice...and then things got worse.

Grabbed him mid-sentence, one hand, no strain,
Tossed him through air like he's paper in rain.
Wasn’t rage, wasn’t ego, just a limit reached —
You poke the wrong girl, that lesson gets preached.

“I don’t want trouble. I just do my shift.
But call me names like that? You get moved, quick!
Ain’t here to flex. Ain’t here to fight.
But cross that line… and you learn that night.”

Next up — a runner, hoodie up, eyes wild,
Storms through the doors, full sprint, no style.
Slips past the till, hits the bakery case,
And plants a whole payload o' pills post-haste.

Couple minutes pass, cops creep in slow,
Plainclothes stance, tryna act like they don’t know.
But my man the baker? Man’s sharp with the eye,
Says “Oi, there’s a brick in the buns — no lie!.”

Now the aisle’s lit up, blue lights through the glass,
Dude gets bagged with his pills by the ciabatta stash.
They drag him out calm, and the shop goes still…
Another day, another war in the bread refill.

“Don’t stash your sins by the seeded rolls.
Bakers see more than you think they know.
You run in dirty? You’re leavin’ cuffed.
Ain’t no stealth move when your luck’s that stuffed.”

Now Smiley... man, he's a regular troll.
Walks in all swagger like the King of Rock 'n' Roll.
Wig on tilt, shades glued to his face,
Jumpsuit glitterin’ like he’s robbin’ the place.

We know his style — he don’t bother to sneak,
Just sways down the aisle like it's karaoke week.
Stacks up snacks in the flare of his coat,
Then croons at the staff with a low baritone note:

“Thank ya very much...” — and he’s gone by the door,
With crisps in the cape and a can or four.
We could stop him, yeah, but what's the gain?
He’s just part of the chaos in a shop gone insane.

“He dresses in style. He moves with grace.
Pretends he's Elvis but we know his face.
Not every crook looks rough or poor
Some wear glam and a pompadour.”

6. There was a lad with down's syndrome who - when asked to return the sweets that they were trying to steal - decided he'd rather throw fists at three of us. Now, if ever there is an awkward scenario, three employees not knowing what the fuck to do to handle a big lad with down's syndrome while people walk in and out making their own assumptions of the situation - it was an experience. None of us touched him, and he was calmly asked multiple times to return the goods or we'd call the police, until he threw himself at the supervisor, a big burly lad, and they wrestled to the ground. The situation worsened after the supervisor let him up and the lad's trousers started to slowly slip to his ankles. He pulled them up, waited for the police, then asked if he could go home when they turned up. They arrested him after he tried to get violent with them too.

Pants Down

It started by the jellies, near the 2-for-1 stand,
We spot a young lad with sweets in his hand.
Didn’t pay, didn’t ask, just made for the door,
So we stepped up — just calm, no roar.

I said, “Hey mate, could you put those back?”
Nothing heavy, no threat, just a gentle tack.
But he turned sharp, fists clenched and raised,
And all three of us froze like we just got fazed.

He had Down’s — and look, that changed the frame.
Not ‘cause he’s weaker, but the stakes ain’t the same.
You move wrong once and it’s all online,
Three staff vs one? That’s a headline crime.

So we stood there, baffled, in a mental tug,
Like, “Do we call the cops? Do we offer a hug?”
Tried talking soft, tried letting him be —
But he launched at the super like a chopped-down tree.

Now the super’s built — like bricks in a bin,
They both went down, scuffle-slammed in the din.
No punches thrown back, just a hold, then release,
Till trousers dropped slow, like a sad striptease.

Crowd at the door just watching the show,
Judging from a distance like a retail tableau.
He yanked ‘em up sharp, stood silent and grim,
And we all just waited — no one knew what to bring.

Cops roll in. He’s puffin' and bold.
They try to speak calm, but he ain’t that cold.
Takes a swing at one, and they do what they do —
Cuffed him up fast, then off he flew.

But just before they dragged him to the zone,
He looked up sweet, said: “Can I go home?”

7. The guy who, during peak covid measures, showed up at 10am to get his cigs and crate of lager, and was near tearing-up as he told me that he knew the true cause of the whole pandemic. It wasn't the Chinese (not the word he used) or the bats, it was "them" up there - he pointed upwards. The wee green bastards, the Martians. He'd apparently written a book about it so that I would be able to read all about it soon. He was definitely disturbed.

Little Green Bastards

Doors open wide, I’m barely awake,
10am, and my brain’s on break.
A man strolls in — crate full of lager,
Eyes all wide, he tells me a saga.

Mask on chin, breath reekin' o' drink,
Says, “Lad... it’s them — it’s not what you think.”
I nod, like always, just ridin' the wave,
But he leans in close and he starts to rave:

“It ain’t the bats, and it ain’t the Chinese—
(those who made COVID are worse than these)
“It’s them,” he whispered, finger pointing at the sky
“Little green bastards! The end is nigh!"

I blink once. Just once. And then I say:
“Right...that’ll be twenty-three-pound-fifty today.”
He nods, pays up, I think I'm off the hook,
But then he drops the bomb: “I wrote it all in a book!”

He walks off proud, crate under one arm,
Leaving behind that specific charm.
That 10am lager-stained cosmic dread,
Where the world’s on fire but he’s three steps ahead.

And I stand there thinkin’,
Maybe he’s right... maybe little green men did spread the blight.
Or maybe it’s trauma, tinned in denial,
Poured out on the counter every once in a while.

We get the drunk urinators, the ones who spit,
The ones who shout slurs or just throw a fit
We got Smiley, the diver, the bakery-drop
But the little green bastards are right at the top.

So I stack these shelves with my soul on drip,
Sanitise hands, take the customer’s lip.
It’s peak pandemic — masks, lines, dread,
Now there's Martians living rent-free in my head!

And when the shift ends, I lock that door,
Then stare at the stars just to make sure...
'Cause what if he’s right, and we missed the call?
What if little green bastards are behind it all?

The man with the lager wrote it all in a book
I guess it wouldn't hurt if I take a look
It's War of the Worlds on a global scale
Just another day in the world of retail.

[Stormbringer]

I assumed that "Big Sal" was a woman but of course I may have been wrong...

[ManBearSquid]

Excellent stuff.

It's funny hearing some of it knowing that the real life details differ, such as Sal being a woman rather than a man and Smiley having a baritone voice (he had anything but that) and stealing sweets rather than booze, but I accept that I didn't offer all parts in such detail and that with art comes artistic license

Little Green Bastards was great.

[Stormbringer]

I now feel compelled to make some adjustments!