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Sunday, 29 March 2015

Practically Floored

This isnt just any article about department stores, it is a steven harris article about department stores...


“Can I be of assistance?”

Yes, you can piss off and let me browse this shop on my own, you over-eager, corporately-brainwashed git.

I loathe shopping in large stores. What they deliver in terms of wide range and the potential for decent discounts they undermine with the apparent insistence that customers no longer know why they have entered the store in the first place and must therefore be accosted at the door by some spotty little twatbag who looks like an amoeba, sounds like a vocoder gone really wrong and won’t leave you alone until you either agree to be escorted around the shop floor by them as though you’re a toddler with jammy hands or until you tell them to stick their corporate meet n greet up their arse. Which often gets you a visit from the burly security team who chuck you out. Wankers. Wankers. Give me back my money. (Or is that Lock, Stock And Two Smoking Barrels?)

Whatever happened to being able to enter a store and browse, just casually browse wondering if something might catch your eye? Or perhaps mentally making note of some things you like the look of and might come back for on payday? The twatty door-greeter virtually kills off the possibility of aimless meandering and being surprised by what you find. The twatty door-greeter is a far from subliminal signifier that you MUST consume, MUST spend, MUST further the company profits. There no longer seems to be any recognition of the fact that if a customer requires assistance they will sodding well seek out a shop worker and ask for it.

Being a man of fairly diminutive stature (five foot six and a half and that half really matters okay?) I do have one useful means of diverting the door-greeting gimp from their aim of turning me into Public Consumer Number One.

“Can I be of assistance?”

“Oh hello. I can’t help noticing that you are being taller than me on purpose. It’s not very nice of you but I’m sure you don’t do it to everyone. I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and find my own way round the store, thanks you very much indeed for asking.”

Numpty door-greeters pull a face at this stage, a face that says “Oh shit, he’s a loony” and they leave me the fuck alone to browse. They probably still go and mention me to security but as I haven’t been abusive they can do nothing but check me out on their monitors. As long as I don’t put my nob in a microwave I’m fine to wander about all pointless and not spendy. Ha ha ha. Up yours capitalism.


steven harris is adverse to putting his name in capitals because names aren't that important. Also, lower case is sexy. steven writes all sorts of stuff including fiction, poetry, songs, opinion pieces and shopping lists. He does not write on lavatory doors any more. his blog has writing in it and can be located at www.theplanetharris.wordpress.com He lives in Devon with an imaginary cat called Kafka.

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