uncleduck

Farewell to Woolworth's. Farewell to my supplier of cheap shoe-laces, shoe-polish, 7" singles and assorted knick-knacks. Alas for Woolworth's, they haven't seen enough of me or my ilk for some time - hence their current problem.

Farewell also to the place where I was briefly a 'have-a-go-hero', defending Woolies' wounded carcass from the vultures who sought to steal souvenirs instead of having the decency to pay (with 20% off, all stock MUST go).

Imagine the scene, a month ago. Wollies have the clearance notices up and shoppers are cluttering the place up with their bags and their need to stand in the aisles chatting about how awful it is. The DVD and music counter has been picked clean only 3-for-£10 compilations of cover versions remain. Homewares has a reasonable selection still available though I give up on trying to access it thanks to the rather fat lady and her half-dozen buckets and basins blocking the way. I wonder if she really needs to complete her collection of Addis homewares or if she is buying for the sake of it. I wonder where else stocks Addis homewares and make my way towards my real reason for being here.

I dodge a single-minded Granny carrying an ironing board under one arm and a dangerously pointy Christmas tree under the other and notice that for once I am not annoyed by the sound of Slade are wishing everyone a "MERRY CHRIIIIIIIIISSSTTTMMASSSSS" through the PA system.

Arriving at the Pick & Mix I am greeted by a thousand childhood memories of bribes for good behaviour while in town and treats bought with some spare change. I am not alone. A group of boys from a local school are in conversation.

"You do it!"
"No - you do it. I'll be seen."
"Don't be a chicken."
"Are you in or out?"
"Squaaaaaaaaaccckkk"
"Nobody will see you."

I keep glancing at them from the side of my eye while filling my Woolworth's Original Pick & Mix tub. The leader is looking my way, aware they are being watched. I reach up to grab a giant strawberry and hear a barely whispered "NOW!"

A trembling hand reaches towards a tube of sweets, grabs them and puts them into his pocket. He looks nervous, then relieved that he has not been struck down by lightning or mugged by store detectives.

"See, easy!" says his friend, "I told you nobody would see."

I tap the thief on the shoulder.

"Wha?" he grunts.
"Are you going to pay for those?" I politely ask.
"Pay for wha?". Part of me wants to tell him that the word ends with a "T".
"Those sweets."
"Wha swees?". Does he dislike the letter "T"?
"The sweets in your pocket?"
"I havan any swees in ma pocke."
"The Fruit Pastilles, from that shelf, that you put in your pocket around a minute ago."
"Oh aye, those swees, tha's jus for handiness. Of course I was gonna pay."

He puts the Fruit Pastilles back where they came from and leaves the shop, red-faced and muttering profanities to his friends. Meanwhile I pay for my own swees, go to the door and quickly look up and down the street for the aforementioned group of boys before walking (briskly) to my car.

»Saturday, December 27, 2008, 6:12:58 PM GMT    »Write comment     »Send entry    

Posted by: uncleduck    in: My entries

Modified on December 28, 2008 at 10:17 AM