Oenophilia - or not, as the case may be!

I don’t often complain but I had good reason to. I'd bought a bottle of wine in a well known up-market supermarket (bit of overkill there… it's probably enough to be just ‘super’). Anyway, I got it home and realised it had ‘2008’ printed on the label. I was incensed. I’d paid the best part of eighty quid for it too! 

I took it straight back and asked, no... demanded, to speak to the store manager. Eventually, a guy in a sharp suit with a gold bordered badge, that had the letters ‘GEOFF’ on it, apppeared. Not sure what the word meant or how it’s pronounced so I assumed it meant he’d achieved some sort of knowledgeable status within the wine trade, you know, like a Sommelier. He looked mildly put out as he saw me approach with the wine bottle in my hand.

I ignored his attempt to introduce himself and just went for it.

“I bought this wine here earlier and it’s way out of date,” I said, thrusting the bottle forward so that the GEOFF couldn’t avoid it.

He stared at the bottle for a moment and then said, “Sorry? Out of date?”

“Yes! Out of date. Look.” I pointed at the label.

He stared some more. Then he looked at me… kind of condescendingly, I thought.

“That’s the date of the wine, sir… the year it was produced. It’s a Château de Beaucastel, Châteauneuf-du-Pape Rouge.”

I felt a rush of blood - we can’t all have GEOFF knowledge, and I prickled at the way the ‘French’ just rolled off his tongue, heightening the condescension level - but I took a deep breath and calmly said, “Uh, yeah, maybe, but, uh… it’s not acceptable. It’s, uh… confusing. It could be the ‘use by’ or ‘best before’ date, you know? I mean, I’d take a chance on a ‘best before’, even though we’re talking nearly fourteen frigging years later, but ‘use by’... I mean, I don’t want to get poisoned!”

He smirked. I didn’t like it. I wanted to punch him but you shouldn’t really punch people in supermarkets… well, maybe if they’re not wearing a mask or doing that blocking the aisle with a trolley full of unhealthy food while they chat with somebody they know, somebody they haven’t seen since ten frigging minutes earlier on Facebook.

Anyway, the GEOFF caught my attention again but before he could speak I pulled out my ‘till’ receipt and held it out accusingly. I kind of felt I had nowhere to go, the GEOFF held the high ground and the knowledge.

“Look, seventy-nine pound fifty. That’s a lot of money. The least you could do is be clearer about these things… uh, the date thing.”

“Sir, this is a perfectly good, high quality wine. It is renowned for its elegance, balance and ageing potential. In fact it matures with age. There is no issue.”

My face felt redder than the wine. Customers we’re staring. I wished I was Basil Fawlty… “get on with your shopping, you half wits!” Nothing worse than having your dimness called out in public. Time for a get out. “Uh, okay… uhm… could you recommend some crisps to go with it?”