What a crappy Saturday that was. I went down the off license again to get my fags and everything, and I'm in my trackie because I can't be bothered to get all dolled up for Jay behind the counter. He's fifty and smells of fish. In fact the whole shop smells like pissing fish, which would be understandable if he worked in a fish shop, or knew someone who did. As it is I can't work it out. His whole physical appearance just says 'Dirty old sod'.

Then I remember that Sandra's asked me to run out and get her a dress for tonight. She can't go out because she says she's vomiting her guts up but needs a dress urgently, insists she'll be fine and dandy by this evening. Well I don't like to be used like this because frankly if you guzzle a pint of wine on Friday night and get a hangover then you shouldn't get to do whatever it was you wanted to do. She'll never learn, that woman.

So now I have to drive to Phalscam town centre with a piece of toast between my teeth, in a rush as usual because I have other things to do today, believe it or not. The best dress shop there is called Madames, which is appropriate frankly because the interior design makes it look like some high class brothel. The garish pink, the red and orange drapes, oh my God, it shouldn't even be allowed. It should be illegal. And the dresses aren't much better, well I say not better, they're fine for drunken tarts like Sandra because, well you only need to look at them. The one I picked up was salmon pink with bloody embroidered lace on the bodice, a slit up one side which means you'll be flashing your knickers and most of your arse if you're not careful, and then ruffles all down one side. I wouldn't use it to clean my car.

So then I'm examining this revolting symphony in turquoise number and one of Madame's girls, appropriately dressed like a hooker, and she says 'Can I help you?' You've never seen a more snooty cow, right? She has more lipstick than lips and no hair on her arms. I said 'Yeah, I'm looking for something for my friend.' I don't tell her what exactly I want because I don't want to be swamped in hideous dresses. Then the whore says 'Actually the stuff in here is very expensive, I'm not sure you could afford the dresses here.' And I say 'WHAT?' And she says 'Well, I'm sorry, I don't think we have anything for you here. Perhaps you should go somewhere down the road.' And I do not take shit like that, so I say 'Excuse me, where the fuck do you get off talking to me like that, I'm a customer!' And she says 'If you're going to use that sort of language' and 'Please, I'm trying to protect this store' and I said 'No, I am a customer, bitch! Does my appearance offend you, huh? You whore, I could get you sacked!'

Then the Madame comes over and explains that it's an upscale store and that her girls aren't comfortable with the way I'm currently dressed. I said, 'Am I dressed like a fucking criminal? What, have your girls been watching me as I came in?' Bloody bitches. Eventually I just stormed out of the stop.

I was too angry to bother with another shop. Instead I waited until the girl who'd ripped into me ended her shift and got in her car. Once I'd got her car registration I decided to make a few phone calls. I suppose once the police come to question her about a stolen car she'll be a bit more considerate, you know what I'm saying?

The End

13 comments about this story Feed