It’s Saturday afternoon. I’ve just done a lunch at Fego coffee shop in Gateway. The egg and cheese tramezzini was too much for me to finish, so I’m carrying a brown paper doggie bag. I walk passed Stuttafords and – for the first time ever – I decide to enter the shop on a clothes-shopping whim. Me. Clothes. Shopping. Not in this universe. Over the years I have tuned and tweaked my clothes purchasing technique to a fine art. It’s called the Birthday and Christmas List Super Shopper Saver technique. Zero effort required. And ladies, I can truly say, everything is really on sale – 100% off guaranteed!
Unfazed by my transgressing of the natural order of things, I venture into the gloomy world before me. Strange long-legged ladies dressed in black suits swirl passed me brandishing bottles of exotic fragrances and tubes of war paint. Deeper into the catacombs I go. No, no, don’t look there! It’s black and lacy and naughty and draped all sexy-like over their naked lifeless plastic bodies. Look away look away. Oh crap, that attendant caught my eye. I know what he’s thinking – freako perv!
And then as quickly as this alien world formed, it dissolves and I’m in my happy place again. I see shorts and shirts and – ooh, men’s underwear. I need a new pair. So I whip a pack off the hook and continue my quest for the holy grail.
The Jeans section. The Levi’s sub-section in the jeans section. Levi’s 505 - the only style of jeans on the planet that actually fits me properly. And they got it in one colour only… Faded blue… the single colour I already own. So sod. Quest failure of note.
Your hero groans, reminding himself that this is exactly why he hates clothes shopping. In a huff of irritation, he stomps off down the corridor, passed the security guard, passed the sliding doors, out the shop and he’s free! The tension lifts, the air smells clean and -
“Excuse me sir,” as I feel a short tap on my shoulder.
I turn around and an unimpressed guard points at the underwear that I have jammed in my sweaty criminal fingers, cleverly obscured by my large brown paper bag. Oh… my… God… I am sooooo sorry. I didn’t realise…
You know, there isn’t really anything you can say at that point. It just looks bad. But the guy was actually very cool about everything. I mean, we had a good laugh about it after he had put his rubber gloves and lube away. So I went up to the counter, mumbled some weak self-effacing joke about trying to steal the merchandise, and then left the shop at a brisk pace.
There was only one thing left for a boy to do. One thing that would lift the black pall of the afternoon and relax and de-stress the mind. Browsing gadgets at Incredible Connection. Mmmmm, feeling muuuuch better now.