Wednesday 18th February - Agitation, Consolation and Ken

A trio of teenage girls came into the shop today and they clearly thought they were 'whacky'. I don't like whacky. I despise whacky. It's similar to the concept of 'cool'. Thinking you're cool automatically makes you uncool and the same applies to the theory of being whacky. Underneath the facade of plastic rabbit ears, poorly crayoned face paint, Spongebob rucksacks and colourful jewellery is most likely an unbelievably dull person. Increasing the volume of your voice, saying things like 'that is sooo me' whilst looking at a badge that reads 'drama queen' and squawking the messages of offensive greetings cards so that all around you can hear doesn't make you whacky. It makes you really fucking annoying. I'm sure it's just a phase. If it's not those girls have spinsterhood and cats to look forward to in the adult world.

Slightly less of an irritance than teenagers but still high on my list of peeves is mobile phones, and more specifically the appropriate time for their use. Customers that use them whilst buying something bother me. Firstly, it's rude. The fact that however the customer treats me I generally dislike them is inconsequential. I expect to be acknowledged and not treated as a second rate citizen. After all, good manners cost nothing. Slightly ironic, and rich coming from me but I don't care.

Secondly, and drawing on my extensive research of common sense, using ones mobile phone can majorly hinder the simple act of purchasing something. A customer with common sense would end the call swiftly or explain to the person with whom they were speaking to 'hang on a minute'. The Apes that I have to contend with adopt the classic 'jam the phone between shoulder and cheek technique'. This causes all manner of problems, particularly for ladies whose purses rest among the overcrowded contents of there bucket bag. Tilting ones head 45 degrees has an alarming effect on people. Balance becomes a real issue, the hand can no longer find the pocket and arms wave around as if independent from the rest of the body, though only from the elbow down on the side in which the phone is squashed. The rest of the arm stays glued to the persons torso. It's painful to watch.

One good thing to come out of this week was my first proper chat with Ken since Christmas. As usual we covered nothing new, the weather dominating proceedings with a sprinkle of Reading F.C to mix it up. Ken also made a rare purchase, a 'make tea not war' badge. Twas a gift for a friend he told me. Before he had selected this he asked me what the badge 'birthday slapper' meant. I explained a slapper was 'a girl who is not very nice' so based on my appauling but not completely dishonest definition Ken decided against that design. Nevertheless, the highlight of his visit was that I was able to get some photos of the great man without him even noticing, and he was all of three feet away!


Ken carefully selects his purchase.


He asked me if I liked his hat. I stupidly said I liked the colour.
As you can see, it's black.


He goes a bit shy when I ask him if he likes Cricket. Doesn't
like talking about the unfamiliar does our Ken.


We share a joke.


Charlie, hypnotised by Kens words.

One last thing, went to the Oakford film quiz on Monday night and though our team didn't fare so well in the overall standings, about ninth out of eighteen teams (some of the questions were REALLY hard) we did manage to claim a consolation prize for coming up with the best team name. Christian Bale's Directors of Fucking Photography took home this beautiful garden gnome, which was been signed by each member of the team: Kevin, Col, Izzy, Lizzie, Rizzy (Rachel) and myself.


Isn't he hideous!?


Annoying Recurring Customer Question

"Where is Jessops?"

It's 50 yards down the street! The panic in peoples eyes is ridiculous. Carry on going in a straight line you muppet.

Retail Lesson #4

Never try to explain the irony of the Reading postcards to anyone with a poor grasp of English.

Homework

Create a map showing customers how to get to Jessops. It'll probably look like this.

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Nico

Thursday 12th February - The Bug Incident

The most random episode in the sitcom of my life happened on 3rd March 2008. A quite astounding, you wouldn't believe it if you heard it tale of horror, fear and downright preposterousness. It is so unbelievably absurd that there won't be any adjectives left in the world when I am finished. It's a sequence of events SO catastrophically bizarre that even a combination of David Lynch and Derek Acorah couldn't have created such an ambiguous narrative. I might be exaggerating just slightly.

On a bitterly cold March night I made my way to my good friend Jack Burton's house to partake in an evening of PlayStation, Match of the Day and a late night fight between David Haye and a Welshman with a unpronounceable name, and as it happens, a glass jaw. The short pugilistic bout was over inside two rounds. At around 2.30am I concluded it was time for bed and promptly booked a taxi to chauffeur me back to my humble abode.

On arrival everything went according to plan. I double locked the door behind me, fetched myself a drink and floated upstairs looking forward to resting my tired bones. However, the moment my head hit the pillow the plan took an unexpected turn. My state of relaxation was interrupted by a noise. At first I just thought it was coming from outside but on closer audio inspection I realised it was my letterbox.

Holy shit!

Why on earth is someone using/tampering with my letterbox at 3 o'clock in the morning?
My initial panic was multiplied by the fact that this was a rare night where I was home alone. My housemates Alan and Tom were living it up on the slopes of Whistler and my girlfriend at the time Alex was staying at her halls of residence. The clattering of the metal hinge intensified and I had no choice but to take action.

What do I do I repeated in my head. I know, I'll turn some lights on! That will make them go away. I slowly edged out of my room and switched the landing light on. Still the clapping of the letterbox continued. I stood at the top of the stairs in only a pair of boxers, shivering, and once again found myself thinking the worst. Are they trying to get in? What happens if they get in? Am i going to die?
It's alright I deduced, I have a cricket bat in my room . I retrieved the bat from next to my drawer, picked up my phone as well and returned to the top of the stairs. My heart was pounding, my body shaking and I was, for want of a better phrase, shitting myself.

I flicked the downstairs hall light on and off a few times and all of a sudden the racket disappeared. I hesitated for a few seconds before making my way down to the front door. By standing where I was on the stairs my view of the door had been completely obscured so I had no idea what had taken place. When my head dipped under the ceiling and I saw what was in front me I was flabbergasted. My eyes were wide like frying pans and the hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention as I comprehended the reality of it all.

The first thing I recall was seeing that the letterbox was wedged open with a bit of cardboard. And then I looked down...

In the hallway were around a dozen disgusting looking creepy crawlies. Some lunatic had posted some fucking insects through my door at 3 o'clock in the morning! What the Bejesus is wrong with the world!?
Most of them looked like cockroaches but there was also a few I didn't recognise. I later discovered they were locusts. Here are some images of the little buggers.


(These are not to scale. Though in my mind they will always be obscenely huge. Also, while searching for these pictures I was nearly physically sick)

I WAS SCARED. I was positively freaked out. I needed to speak someone. I was cold, semi naked and alone. My masculinity went out of the window for the time being. It's too late to phone my Mum I concluded so rang up Alex who said she would be over shortly. As I waited for her I got to work disposing of my new housemates. My weapon of choice was my sturdy golf umbrella that featured a slightly pointed tip, perfect. I impaled, crushed, squashed and pulverised the miniature nightmares until they lay motionless on the laminate floor. Job done. Or so I thought...

Still feeling nervy, I decided to call the non-emergency Police number and explain to them what had happened. The kind lady on the other end of the receiver said she had never EVER heard of any story like it and reassured me that any officers in the neighbourhood would drive around and see if anyone suspicious was lurking in the area. She also asked if I had any enemies, or done something to anyone that might have warranted such a backlash. Unsurprisingly, nothing came to mind!

Knowing Alex's arrival was imminent, and confident that my bug loving adversary had long scarpered, I put some clothes on and decided to head outside to see if I could see her walking towards the house. I hoped it would cure any anxiety still festering within. Then I opened the door...

In the doorway was an empty plastic container, sand scattered around and approximately forty or so more of the tiny beasts. I practically leapt out of my skin. What the bloody hell is going on?
I can't kill all of these with my umbrella!
I could see Alex approaching and as she got nearer I shouted and warned her of the impending danger. She took one look at the insects and joined me in looks of astonishment whilst throwing in some hysteria of her own for good measure. It took me five minutes to persuade Alex to take a leap of faith over the bugs and into the hallway where I promised her that all the bugs inside had been sadistically dealt with. Once inside we agreed to go straight to bed as it was 4am, and contend with the problem in the morning.

After about four hours of awful sleep I got up early to face my demons. I was due to play football at 10.30am so wanted a clear mind and relaxed body ahead of the encounter. After much deliberation I selected a new weapon to battle my foes, the mighty hoover! After sucking up my dead pals inside I opened the front door to a bright and chilly morning and set about vacuuming forty live insects into a dusty grave. It was a most satisfying, yet haunting experience, and one that I will hopefully never have to repeat.

It hasn't happened again, funny that...




Nico

Monday February 2nd - When Charlie Met Ken

About 18 months ago, a man began coming into the shop on a regular basis. As I learned nearly a year later, his name was Ken. He was always dressed practically for whatever the prevailing weather conditions were. In the summer, a Panama hat complimented his shirt and shorts combo where as in the winter a knitted red and blue scarf, warm jacket and Russian Cossack style hat were the order of the day. Coincidentally, the weather would be one of his first and most used conversation starters with me.

Ken looked like how you might expect your mates Grandad to look. Around 70 years of age, short, slightly hunched back who tended to favour a slow shuffle rather than a walk. Facially his most interesting feature were his slightly pointed upper front teeth. They sort of reminded me of upside down white picket fence posts. And though he was always fairly upbeat rarely did I see those teeth crack a big smile. That I would have to wait for until the Christmas of 2008.

One thing that struck me immediately was that he was not completely well mentally. His style of behaviour was uncommon, though I couldn't diagnose what the problem was. He would always fire questions at me that i think he already knew the answers to but it was like he needed confirmation. Deep seated insecurities I pondered, possibly a difficult past that had taken it's toll on him psychologically? Things would become clearer as our friendship developed.

During the early days he would slalom in and out of the card stands and now and again would actually buy something. Strangely, he nearly always bought cards in two's, which led to me think that he was some kind of Noah's Ark enthusiast. He was always affable, occasionally the repetition of our discussions would grate on me but I thought here is a man who gets a real satisfaction from our little chit chats so thought better of my pettiness.

Mondays were usually Ken's choice of visiting day as he worked the three following days. Usually around half past eleven I'd look up from the Telegraph crossword and see his familiar face. As time went on he became more comfortable in my presence, telling the odd terrible joke that I always gave a fake chuckle too. He would always laugh at his own gag, which i found more amusing than the joke itself. Some of our encounters went on for about 15 minutes, and he often got in the way of customers but he was never any bother. He went as far as to tell me that other shops had told him to leave as the staff weren't allowed to chat so I made it my mission to give him some time on a Monday.

Our friendship was taken to the next level on a day that I wasn't even working. Whilst on holiday, Ken ventured into the shop only to see that I wasn't there. Legend has it that he asked where I was (I have no idea how he described me!) and my 'funny' bosses told him that 'Charlie' was away on holiday. So on that special day, to Ken, I became known as Charlie. And I am still known as Charlie today. The first few times Ken used this moniker I failed to respond but over time I started to remember and embraced my new found pseudonym. It was at this point that I first learned that his name was indeed Ken. It was a name I wasn't to forgot in a hurry.

Monday morning banter with Ken became a regular fixture in my week and although I never really looked forward to it, it did break up what was traditionally a quiet time of the day, and as I discovered, it had become part of his daily routine so I never begrudged his visits. The weather, Reading Football Club, his work colleagues and what he was doing for the rest of the day were the normal topics of discussion. Occasionally, he would present me with a problem that was troubling him, he did worry an awful lot. In this light I could see he was as a very gentle, caring man, never wanting to offend or upset anyone as it clearly affected him. He wasn't at his best when analysing situations. I did what I could to provide rational responses that I hope he understood and gave him the reassurance he needed.

As the festive season approached, our friendship became official. The first Monday in December and Ken popped in to deliver a Christmas card to me that simply read 'To Charlie, from Ken'.
Then this happened...

Ken: "Friends give each other Christmas cards, don't they Charlie?"

Me: "I suppose they do Ken"

Ken: "So does that make us friends then Charlie?"

Me: "I guess it does Ken"

It was like Facebook in the real world. He requested my friendship and I duly accepted. Twas a very sweet moment. However, the best was yet to come. I now had to decide whether to return this seasonal cheer with a card of my own. For the next two visits Ken left cardless as I waited for the opportune moment to make my move. I chose a safe design with a cat wearing a Santa hat, Ken will find that funny I resolved.

His next visit featured a very brief chat as the shop was absolutely manic and I couldn't spare a moment. As Ken prepared to depart I called his name and he turned around. I handed him the card and wished him a Merry Christmas and something magical happened because I have never seen a man smile so much in all my life. After he opened the envelope his eyes danced over the uncomplicated message (To Ken, From Charlie) with excitable energy and he said thank you with such genuine exuberance that I could have cried. He marched triumphantly out the shop and walked down the street clutching the card as tight as he could, his smile lighting up Queen Victoria St, absolutely beaming. I have no idea where he was going but I hope he told all he met of the Christmas card he got from a man, sorry, his friend, called Charlie.





Nico