Christmas Eve Shopping Joy
Posted on 24th December 2014
I work in Basingstoke town centre and yesterday, two days before Christmas, I walked past two different men who both looked stressed, “effing and jeffing” into their phones about how long it took to park and, “but I can’t find one!”.
Fools I thought, how stressful is shopping, it’s Christmas – lighten up!
I was so arrogant about it, I decided to take my two lively daughters in nice and early on Christmas Eve to soak up the atmosphere and get the last little bits for mummy.
What a naive twat.
We got in at 8.15am – plenty of time for a quick coffee and cookie. Done. Okay so far….
Then… out the mouth of a six year old… Loudly… “Daddy, I need a pooh!”.
Okay, I can handle that. Sorted.
With Coffee downed off we go – let’s shop!
“Daddy”, said the four year old, “I need a pooh!”.
Right, toilets, again. Still maintaining a little joy, we made our way up to cheapside and into Wilkos for 8.45am. Sorted. Now, back to Festival Place and I’m at the shop I need for 9am. Then, we can go home. Easy.
“This shop opens at 9.30am” a sign said on the door.
9 bleedin’ 30. You are joking right! It is the day before Christmas is it not? The day we all max out on consumerism!
Tell you what high street retailer. When your January report comes out for Christmas like-for-like sales and you talk about consumers deserting the high street – take a look in the mirror.
So, keeping two young bored girls amused for half an hour meant at least another two trips to the toilet, which was becoming a welcome break from my ever increasing rise in tension.
Then I had to contend with Beaverbrooks, where the young male shop assistant accosted me at the front door.
“Yes, I am just browsing thanks”. I took my daughters over to the stand we wanted to look at and then he came over again and asked, “What in particular are you looking for?”
“Fuck off and leave me alone!”, I said… In my head.
Instead, I chose the alternative, “Like I said, just browsing, I’ll come over if I need you”. I even thought about nipping to Waterstones and buying him a copy of “The compete twat of an idiots guide to body language”.
Just when I couldn’t take anymore and we were ready to go I got a text from my lovely wife asking me to nip to BHS to buy a disgusting lamp. She sent instructions, to which I replied, “I’ll get anything, just want to get out of town”.
So, girls in tow getting more and more bored, lagging behind and me stop-starting and stop-starting, we made it to the BHS lighting department.
“Can I help you mate?” a young assistant asked, to which I replied, “I’m not your fucking mate, mate. We’ve only just met and I’m a customer who deserves a little bit more respect than being called mate, mate!!!!!!!”… in my head.
I sent my wife a quick text…