Sunday

Mundanity Consumed: A small blog of the day.

Sunday: Following a day of work best described as Dresden 2: Dresdener, I made tracks on most sickly, and ungainly legs, grimacing and bitterly howling inwardly, as I negotiated the apparently myopic legions of Canterbury fools. Such a punishment as peope, I mused, could hardly be realised, as I dodged and weaved with unusual agility considering my ailing. I groaned and gruffed into CEX, muttering a brief “Best shop ever” to nobody, as I ducked in behind some tedious oxygen thieves.

Scouting the racks of interactive delights, I happened upon a mini-bargain in the shape of the fairly well received Resistance 2, a first person shooter for two pounds fifty. I snapped the box into touch with a “I’ll have that, I think.”, then sidled to a queue, as ever, standing like a resigned man awaiting the gallows (I always queue like this). The dread of the brief conversation. The interactions. The horror. Oh the horror. My turn came, I drew my long-coated physique up to the counter with as much confidence as could be mustered while suffering a bastard collection of maladies as I was.

“Hello” I uttered, as happily as I could. “Alright, mate? Thanks.” said the man, Sunday glowering behind tired eyes in his skull. I imagined momentarily what a friendship between us would be like. I replaced this with the thought of my sicky tummy.

He took the box and tapped keys, dvd inserted, said “Two pounds fifty”, after I’d given him three. A strange moment. A surreal nadir. I drew back like a serpent, ready to uncoil and snap forth a new request! Maverick questioning left my lips before I coud stop it!

“I don’t suppose you have any Gamecube memory cards knocking about?” I slithered from my snaking, witty lips. My prey cornered! He replied…

“I don’t think we do. I’ll check. No. We have a third party one.”

I sweated profusey. No way back. What to do? I had to make a decision. I didn’t expect a new branch of conversation to turn.

“Erm…how much is that?” I blathered, nausea boiling in my belly. I turned and gazed briefly at a Crysis dvd.

“Ten quid.”

OVER. I backed down from the possibe extra transaction, saying “Oh, okay, no worries then. Cheers though mate.”

I took the red bag and made good my disappearance. Nobody would suspect my further request!

On the way out, stuck behind a man with a rucksack on back like a nomadic turtle, I was halted. Upon emitting an initial “Excuse me, please”, I merely got a glance of recognition. A second “Excuse me, please”, with a little more force reaped no reward. Mr sack merely stayed put. Now on the edge of all reason, I said between gritted, seething teeth “EXCUSE ME. GOD!”, half barging through, now skittering on bitter feet, I loudly announced to an indifferent rucksack cockend “Don’t FUCKING BOTHER MOVING THEN MATE!”, not waiting to see if said sack boy had registered my distaste. Perhaps he did a finger at the back of my leaving frame.

That, we shall never know.

The day improved upon the purchase of two sandwich fillers in Tesco. One tuna, and one cheese and onion. I mused upon tipping them into my happy basket that “Just like my mother used to make”.

In reality, I should have thought “Just like my mother used to buy.”

A LONG DAY.

Advertisements

About neilstilwell

Abseiling into trouble, a sewer rat staring at the stars. Disgusting. You can assist my search for the one ring by buying a Kindle version of this diary from here. http://www.amazon.co.uk/frozen-fridge-Zoomeister-Diaries-ebook/dp/B00C426DD0/ref=sr_1_sc_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1366481719&sr=8-1-spell&keywords=a+frozen+turd+in+a+hot+frudge It has some other stuff in it, and a dreadful cover.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s