Tuesday, April 16, 2013
In which your author is unable to purchase a pair of wellington boots
"Excuse me," I say to the Justin Bieber lookalike walking the floor, "I'm after a pair of size nine wellies, and you appear to be a bit short of stock. Are you expecting a delivery?"
Bieber looks me up and down, and answers thussly: "No."
I am agog.
"No? Whyever not?"
"Head Office says it's summer, and we don't stock wellies in summer. In summary: Summer."
"Yet you still have enormous quantities of snow shovels," I riposte, pointing out a display containing enormous quantities of snow shovels.
Bieber shrugs. "Sorry, sir. When Head Office says it's summer, it's summer and there's nothing we can do."
I ask him to speak up, for the sound of hail hammering on the store's roof drowns out our conversation, but my protests are for nought. In the face of a global shortage, where stocks are presumably diverted to the southern hemisphere, there are no boots.
I eventually track down the final pair in the known universe, and walks to the Bummy Woods can go ahead as planned.