I tend to keep out of the shops (butchers and bakers aside) as their hyper-real, halucinatory air freaks me out, so the whole experience of ‘going into the city’ is quite novel. Tonight (late shopping in Norwich, fyi ; ) I finally found something to recommend about being a 47 year-old fart – young female shop assistants may take pity on you.
Me: Do you have any of item X? I can’t seem to see any.
Young Shop Assistant: Ah yes poor old blind man, there are some over here. What colour did you want.
Me (consults Santa’s list): I was told to ask for a nice shade of Y.
YSA: Ah, we only have them in these stripes or these spots.
Me: Oh dear, that’s not too really close to a shade of Y, is it?
YSA (laughing, humouring the poor old blind man): No, that’s true.
Me: Okay, thanks anyway.
YSA: I think they have them at Shop A over there and down that road by the church. Or if not there there, maybe at shop B. Do you know where it is? Can you find it?
Me: I think I might manage, with the aid of my stick and my dog and my frail old legs.
YSA: Good luck; Happy Christmas!
Me: Thank you.