This is where half term comes in. It doesn't have to be half term either, it can be any prolonged holiday. Ten years ago, these holidays were the best days ever. Now, that I'm no longer in school, nor living in England, it's the complete opposite.
There I am, back tills at half past nine on a Monday morning. I'm fed up. It's Monday. I was working the Sunday - extra money to go to the tax man and I haven't had a day off since Wednesday - I'm not in the mood. That's when mummy brings her four snotty little bastards into Easons. All four demand her attention with the same warcry: "MUMMY LOOK AT THIS MUMMY! MUMMY! MUMMY!" only to be interrupted by an uncaring mother who just says "ssh" or "be quiet, Jack" (they're always called Jack. Jack or Roderick.). They play not only the Winnie the Pooh musical books, but Dora the Explorer and Noddy to boot. One's got a bag of Quavers, which gets walked into the carpet. One is thumbing through the books with his/her Quavery hands making the entire shop smell like cheesy corn snacks. Then mummy decides she wants to leave, but Chloe doesn't want to leave. Mummy says "well, we're going without you. Bye bye!". Chloe chases mummy crying her lamps out - she's developing an insecurity complex. I'm going to look Chloe up in 12 years or so, see if she's got any kids.
Anyway, that's the infants taken care of. Most of them are adorable. But Jack is a hateful little bugger. Now onto the cretinous teenagers who would normally be in Friends' School. Because they go to Friends (like I did) and haven't received adequate sex education (like I didn't), they sneak a peek at the books on the Kama Sutra or sexual manuals (like I did) and guffaw like idiots. That's the boys - their female counterparts just giggle and pass remarks about people that either (a) walk past or (b) work in Eason's. Have you ever listened to 14-year-old girls? Don't they talk shite? Don't they make you wish you worked in a graveyard? Or a library?
All this, and the Daily Mail then decide to do a DVD promotion that week.
Welcome to my hell - the one I experience as I write this.
