Doginawaistcoat.com

“How about emergency workers? Soldiers?” I hear you say. Of course I see your point, but, have you ever had to face the horror of a customer spurned with a return? “MY TOAST KEEPING BURNING” You know that she’s both stupid, and has it set to ‘full’. Yet you smile sweetly into the face of anger. You’d think she would have noticed the smell, as she has a nose big enough to smell a Sunday dinner on a Thursday.

On the upside, I booked the week between Christmas Day and New Year off this year. I’ve done a few tours of duty, and have the scars to prove it.

Sadly my safety was short-lived. My Son, bless his innocent soul decided he really needed to go shopping and needed me to go with him. On Boxing Day. Turns out that 16 is too late for an abortion, so I had to go.

(For American readers, Boxing day was a very English tradition of old wherein posh knobs with teeth like broken zips would give their servants a box of gifts and the day off work. It’s transpired into a day where shoppers will risk losing fingers to get 10% off a Breville sandwich toaster.)

We armoured up, wrote our wills and prayed to the old Gods. Then left the house.

A heaviness hung in the air as we approached the doors of the mall. We checked our rations and reasoned we could probably hold out for two hours tops. I told my Son I loved him, but not as much as the dog. He understood. It’s a cracking dog who never asks for Xbox Game Pass.

As we stepped through the automatic doors (which I swear still somehow made a creaking sound) I caught eyes with a poor soul who was leaving. His keeper had a Primark bag, thus I knew she’d dragged him through the burning napalm of badly stitched jumpers. He mouthed at me to run, but it was too late. We were inside.

I told the boy to stay quiet. The masses may have seen us like fresh meat. New fish. Not yet hardened. Weak and easy pickings in the electrical aisle. The boy got his house key between his knuckles ready, and we penetrated the crowd. “Stay calm” I told him, then I dropped a 2 for 1 washing up liquid coupon just outside the swirling mass. It was noticed immediately and the swarm thinned out in their frantic desire for lemony freshness. We took our chance and headed into HMV.

Funko Pop warfare was well underway. We slalomed through the collectibles section, ducking and diving like a sniper’s nightmare. Unfortunately found ourselves in the vinyl section. I grabbed the Boy’s hand so we wouldn’t get separated in the abundance of beards, backpacks and self-righteousness. I managed to snag a Cigarettes After Sex album for cover and headed for the till.

The pungent odour of sweat and unhappiness made us retch, but we soldiered on to the service till. Where we were greeted by a husk of a person. She watched blankly over my shoulder as a grown adult in socks and sliders, tried to explain Bluetooth to an uninterested woman that could only obviously take selfies in landscape. She had stains on her tent-top. Hopefully food, maybe another shopper.

The cashier mumbled “next please”. Yet I heard “Help me” as she looked horrified at the bunch of gremlins behind me. I whispered “Thank you for your service” and pushed the penny back towards her with a wink. I can be a right prick sometimes.

We passed the indoor water fountains and briefly watched the entire workforce of Sushi Surprise drown themselves to death in what I can only assume was an over dramatic group letter of resignation.

As someone hurled through the viewing window of the Wetherspoons, we deemed it to be around 12, which meant we were over an hour into our run through no man’s land. No matter though, we were nearing the pinnacle of the onslaught. I knew we were close as rats and roaches had been passing us in the opposite direction.

Then we saw it.