Shopping

Every now and again I have to go to the shops to buy clothes. I hate going to the shops to buy clothes.

One of the things I hate most is being pounced upon by some cheeky little shit every time I enter one the trendier stores, desperately trying to sell me a store card.

'Excuse me sir, can I interest you in 10% off your purchase today?'

'F*ck no.'

'Don't you want to save 10%?'

'No I f*cking don't. Now f*ck off out of my way, you little f*ck. I want to look around your shitty little shop.'

Obviously the majority of that exchange took place inside my head!

I do quite approve however, of the policy of one particular chain to employ actual, real life grown-ups. These more mature staff members have a much better grasp of how to deal with customers and generally have a lot more to say for themselves than the usual monosyllabic grunting you get from the teenage brats in other stores.

Today, for example, the gentleman that sold me my new clothes wanted to double check that I was aware that I'd selected shirts with different collar sizes and that I was happy with the waist size I'd selected for my trousers.

'Not really,' I said. 'I'd much rather be buying a 36. In fact I'd settle for a 38.'

'It's just a number,' said the cashier.

'Yeah,' I replied. 'A nice round number.'

The gentleman then proceeded to ruminate on his younger days with a 32 inch waist.

'It was a long time ago,' he mused. 'I've had a lot of fun since then.'