The Annual Dying of Boredom Ritual
(aka. Lantern Parade Day, Part One)
It’s the day of the kids’ lantern parade;
a charming tradition where we all pretend the kids have made the lanterns whilst
knowing that the parents have made every inch of their exactly-to-scale tissue
paper version of The Millennium Falcon, or Elsa and Olaf, or whatever, in a
tooth and nail, fight-to-the death game of one-upmanship with all the other
parents in the town. Consequently the shop is like a morgue because they’re all
touching up their (sorry, their kid’s) masterpieces at home. It’s empty. Except
for MAMAA (aka Middle Aged Man Always Around) Mr SS, who spends two hours
drinking green tea and recounting the weekly sales from his market stall: how
many, how much, who to. Inside my head I alternate between vegetation and
apoplectic rage. The Christmas love begins..…
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| Photo: MarinaRossi, Pixabay |
The Traditional OOF Shop Furniture Fight (aka Lantern Parade Day, Part Two)
The joyous annual tradition of trying
to wrestle a room’s worth of furniture (i.e. the stuff on display outside the
OOF shop) into a tiny space suddenly full immovable zombie people. They’re not
shoppers, they’re waiting for the parade. I explain we’re closing by wacking them about
the knees repeatedly with a 6ft church bench, a wooden washstand and a life-size
Father Christmas. They glare at me and refuse to move. We’re all feeling the Christmas spirit.
Impersonating a 19th Century Cockney Barrow Boy (aka Lantern Parade Day, Part Three)
Every year TBE (aka The Boss Erratic)
forces me to close the OOF shop early, set up an illegal pop-up stall, turn
into a character from Oliver Twist, and flog plastic flashing tat by bawling at
passing parents until they give in and buy their kids some crap wand or other garish
shit. I then have to pack up and run away before the crap stops flashing and
the kids start screaming.
TBE didn’t secure the life-size Father
Christmas outside the shop properly (naturally). Consequently he got knocked
over, smashed his face and now looks like an angry disfigured gargoyle designed
to give kids nightmares rather than presents. Matters weren’t helped by the
overuse of super glue by a zealous part-timer with more enthusiasm than skill.
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| Photo: http://todayswhisper.com/scary-santa-claus-will-make-cry |
TBE was given a beautiful advent
calendar to sell in the OOF shop; a beautifully unique, handmade advent
calendar just perfect for the usual OOF shop customer. TBE passed it on to me -
In the second week in December.
It didn’t sell.
TBE’s faultless Christmas planning, Part Two
It’s always good to capitalize on the
Christmas shopping phenomenon by making one’s shop as festive as possible as
early as possible. This includes the music. And, in keeping with this, I was
given a festive CD to play;
on 20th December.
Come to think of it, this is no bad
thing. It’s already started to jump and stutter and set my teeth on edge. If I
had to listen to it for any longer I’d probably strangle someone with their own
tinsel and run naked down the street screaming obscenities about Michael Buble (Come on; we’ve all done it).
MAMAA’s homemade booze
MAMAA Hep Cat Pensioner comes in with
his dodgy looking liquid in an unmarked bottle (OK, that sounds worse than I
meant it to….):
Hep Cat: Have some of this. It’ll put
hairs on your chest.
Me: No, I’m working.
Hep Cat: Go on, just a sip.
Me: No, I’m working.
Hep Cat: Oh go on, just a little sip.
It’s good stuff.
Me: No, I’m working.
Hep Cat: Go on, just for me.
Me: OK, just a little sip……
Hep Cat: That’s not enough! Have a
really big gulp.
Me: No………..
Etc etc – for about twenty minutes….
It was all very different a long time ago in a shop far far away.......
Fear and Loathing in the fresh food
aisle
I used to work in a department
store. One Christmas Eve I manned one of the tills lined up across the centre
of the store. To the front of me were the glass doors that opened onto the high
street. Every inch of glass was covered with faces and bodies, squashed and
waiting for opening time. Behind me were the glass doors that opened onto the
mall. Faces and bodies were squashed all along there too. When the doors were
opened the two crowds ran towards each other like a herd of love-starved
romantics all desperate to be together.
And then they met.
Romantic it was not. More like The Charge
of the Light Brigade. This was war.
At one point a woman got carried past
my till totally spark out, shop assistants grappling at her limp head, arms and
feet in a bid to not drop her. An unfortunate soldier. I think she was taken
to the casualty tent away from the Front Line; next to the Manager's office and the staff toilet.
And then there was Cream Rage.
Apparently, the de rigueur way to
settle an argument that features the last pot of cream and two people who both
claim they saw it first, is for one claimant to grab the pot, rip it open and
pour it over the head of the second claimant. Problem solved. Sort of.
Anyway, enough of these musings. I'm off for the holidays now. I've left a dead mackerel down the back of the till and a confetti bomb full of my notes on how to Hang The Bloody Hangers The Right Way Round, so the OOF shop should be all set for the holiday period.
Have a lovely Christmas, I'll see you on the other side. Mwah!
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| Picture: Alex80, Pixabay |
What shenanigans! Happy Christmas!
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