Monday 9 July 2007

Record Shop Boy v The Silent Stare'n'Smile Technique

Shop assistants are a weird species.
Who in their right mind would wish to willingly expose themselves to the insane horror that is the general public?
Especially in the gibbering madness that is retail?
These people ain't normal. You've gotta be some sort stunted masochist to want to endure this demented freakshow on a daily basis.
So I have no sympathy for any of them. They're fucking weirdos and deserve no pity.
And the thing that irks me most about these vermin is the way they descend upon you the second your badly dressed carcass has hobbled over their threshold, like grinning leeches or retarded trolls, hovering over your shoulder with dubious offers of help.
The only help I need, you strange bastard, is directions to the nearest Taser store so I can zap you in the face with 20,000 watts then step over your quivering blubber to find whatever the fuck it was I came in here for in the first place.

But given that this would see me probably achieve a custodial sentence of some sort, I have now developed a far less stressful but equally lethal repellent, which is this: when they ask if you need help, say nothing.
Say nothing but stare straight into their porcine eyes and allow the vaguest of smiles to spread across your lips.
I have been testing this recently and found that this freaks the bastards right out.
Under no circumstances engage in conversation. Not even mono-syllabic answers. Nothing. Just smile and stare.
This is translatable to every sinew of the retail spectrum including the cesspit that is the independent record shop.

I road tested this today in Select-A-Disc (or Sister Ray or whatever it's called nowadays) on Berwick Street.
I could tell straightaway that the geek behind the counter was of the real asshole variety: specs, Gomez t-shirt, whiteboy Afro, said nothing to me as he thrust out his wank-hand for the CD, no smile, nothing, just rudimentary independent record shop contempt.
So I deployed my silent stare'n'smile technique.
Instantly he was paralysed by fear. He was totally unprepared. He couldn't comprehend what was happening. He looked completely disorientated. Sickeningly so. I could see terror etched into all four of his little weasley eyes. His legs appeared about to buckle underneath him. He handed me the CD. His face was white. I cranked up the Mona Lisaesque smile a notch. He retched. I left.
Remember my face, for I will return. Pray you are not working that day!

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