Tuesday, August 07, 2007


There is a woman in a local shop who appears to hate me.

Neither hate nor love are emotions I throw around too often; most things and people are far too mediocre to inspire such extremes. Perhaps it is just me – the depth of my Hate is a deep, dark place, with villainous thoughts of inflicting harm lurking in shadowy corners, so could never be applied to brussel sprouts or the colour red (I like both, incidentally).

Love, too, is rarely applied. Not because I possess a hard lump of stone for a heart (I probably do, but that’s irrelevant), but because I again dislike the idea of a powerful emotion being tagged to the mundane. Love becomes luuurve. Women who squeal with bulging eyes, "Oooh! I just luuurve those shoes!" make me think they must have a really rotten sex life. If one knows the feeling of really sweaty, dirty, animal-sex, then how could one possibly get so red-faced and excited about some straps of Italian leather? An exception would be for the sort applied with some vigour to a bare bottom.

Yes. I like shoes. But I am capable of selecting them with as much passion as if I were purchasing a box of tampons.

While on the subject, I despise (see! I avoided the 'H' word) the term 'making love.' It sounds far too tidy and sanitised to properly describe the act.

The woman in the shop. She really does seem to hate me – and quite irrationally so. I am not saying that it is unusual for me to inspire such a feeling, far from it (ha ha!), but really. Dishing out hate without giving me the opportunity of meriting it is just rude.

She glares at me, and whispers comments behind her hand to the other shop assistant, who, bless her, has the grace to look mortified, and becomes increasingly polite and deferential in precise proportion to the amount of bile leaking out of the other one.

I was trying on a jacket. I sighed.
"I do like it," I said, "but I did promise my husband only yesterday I was going to try to cut back on spending. I usually give it a week before I break a promise."
She smirked.
"It's not exactly expensive, is it?" she said, with a reasonable, yet unconvincing attempt at private school vowels. "Hardly more than buying one from Ezibuy."

Goodness! I was about to say, quite honestly, "I wouldn't know," but realised it would sound retaliatory - as if her opinion of me mattered. I bought the jacket anyway.

It's really very tedious. I would never bother hating someone who works in a shop. You have to be far more important to earn that honour.


Ms Klake said...

1) 'Making Love' is a creepy term for sex. I've always been opposed to it.

2) I had a similar hate experience with a woman who was going to a number of the same parties as me. I never spoke to her, except for to say a polite hello (once), and she'd constantly shoot daggers in my direction. It's like you could just feel the animosity oozing from her oversized pores.

I put it down to her being fat.

Anonymous said...

Perhaps it was just an effective sales tactic? Seems to have worked on you..

laughykate said...

I have a solution. Two words. Head butt.

Mrs Smith said...

Klake - That reminds of another person who hated me for no good reason (there are plenty of good ones). She thought I was after her husband. As if! He was the stupidest creature to be found outside of a farm.

Anonymous - that's the rub - she probably thinks I bought it for that reason. However, I would never work that hard to get a shop-worker's approval.

miss_seph said...

I HATE when shop workers look down on me, or anyone else in their store.

Please, do excuse me for wearing jeans and ballet flats to your store, where clearly designer stilettos and diamonds are required for entry alone, but may I remind you:

You Work Here. I'm Shopping. Big difference. You're here to make money. I'm spending it. Profusely.

Cactus Kate said...

Most shopkeepers can't afford to pay retail for the goods they are selling.

Remember that and remind them occasionally.

Robyn said...

"Making love" is only used by men when they're trying to seduce a woman by turning a sexual act into a romantic act.

There's something rather refreshing about a fellow who can convincingly say, "let's fuck." (The key is the 's)

unPC lesbian said...

Funny how she knows the prices of Ezibuy stock, wonder where she shops.

Condescending shopkeepeers usually get the "so you don't want my money, fine, you loss"

Mark said...

"An exception would be for the sort applied with some vigour to a bare bottom."

Have I mentioned lately that I just love those shoes you have on (and the mental image that is now seared into my brain...)


Oswald Bastable said...

Every superhuman needs a Nemesis!

Drewcifer said...

my favourite (overheard) retort to a rather (faux)snooty assistant at the Smith & Caughey fragrance counter was "Drop the attitude darling... you're just a minimum wage shop assistant who's jealous that she can't afford to shop here herself"

Needless to say, it brought a smile to my face to see the Mid 50's piece of mutton tarted up as lamb, brougth to her proverbial knees.