Here comes the Festering Season
Guy Fawkes barely cooked, and already certain shops are in full-on Christmas mode, the bastards, with their awful decorations and even worse musical "entertainment", for which somebody must die.
I have grown to hate the so-called retail experience at this time of year, and for a very good reason - I was part of it, and it may explain a lot about the way my head works now. Y'see, in my days as a dreadful stude, I had a terrible evening & Saturday job in a terrible supermrket, selling tramp fuel to the local winos. Terrible, as it happens.
They had a Christmas tape. It was a C-60, with the same 30 minutes of jazzed-up carols on both sides. The version of Good King Wenceslas would drive even the sanest of people to regicide, and I don't care how many maids were a-milking, they could get to fuck as far as I cared. They started playing it in November, under pain of death NEVER to remove it from the machine. I volunteered to collect trolleys a lot.
Come Christmas, the entire crew of till operators were twitching, nervous wrecks, and some of the full-time staff were offered counseling. The girl from the deli cut her finger off in the meat slicer (again) just to get away from the place for a morning. On closing on Christmas Eve, the tape was ceremonially deep-fried in the staff canteen and there was much rejoicing.
"Where's the Christmas tape?" asked Mr Newton, the manager, "Head Office say we need it for next year."
In summary: in-shop Christmas music = worse than J. Blunt and C.Dion's bastard progeny.
Worse: Christmas-themed adverts on local radio. J. Blunt and C.Dion's bastard progeny, on acid.
Even Worse: The thought of J. Blunt and C.Dion actually having bastard progeny.
A true* story of a trip to the shops.
Everything's-a-Pound Shop Guy: Can I help you sir?
Me: Do you sell Rohypnol?
Pound Shop Guy: Why, yes. Yes we do.
Me: Excellent! How much?
Pound Shop Guy: *sigh* If I had a penny for every time somebody asked me that question, I'd have enough money to buy a gun and shoot you dead.
Pound Shop Guy: 50p.
* Not true at all
In case you missed it from yesterday's comments, Invicta's scan (from the Daily Mail, of all places) of a naked Felicity Kendal, rubbing against a pole, Penelope Keith talking dirty just out-of-frame. Life imitates art imitates manky devil writing his sordid thoughts into a blog.