Saturday, May 26, 2007

A moment of unintentional slapstick

Lord knows, I have no intention of turning this blog into one of those tedious tales of my everyday life thing. My everyday life bores me rigid and I have no intention with boring the rest of you with it. But I feel I must recount the following cautionary tale.

Passing one of the local offies with a bag of groceries this evening I decided to stop in to pick up a four pack. I had previously been well disposed to the place since the owner once asked me for proof of age, but tonight I saw another side to the place entirely. I found the fridge where the cans of beer were; it was one of those sliding door things. I pulled the door back and, because I was holding a shopping bag in my right hand used an elbow to wedge it open. Then I bent down to extract a four-pack of Becks with the left. As I did so, some slight movement of the elbow promoted the door to snap shut like a trap, bashing into my temple.

Braving this danger I managed to extract the Becks. To my horror I then found that it was was one can short. Despite the suspicion that this might be a trap I opened the door again and replaced the Becks. By now I was pretty determined: no infernal fridge was going to deny me my beer, so I opened the door again, wedged it open with my elbow and went for the Grolsch instead. Whereas I'd had to reach down for the Becks I had to reach up for this. But as my hand closed round the beer the same thing happened. The trap snapped shit and for a second time my head was nearly sliced open.

Still I had the beer and went to the till. Astonishingly the man behind the counter seemed unconcerned by the killer fridge he had in his shop, and instead began a cheery chat about the weather and such things. By now I was starting to see through him. I coldly took in his friendly chat, the charity tin for the Children of Iraq (like they ever have to worry about being decapitated by a beer fridge), his previous past 'oh you look so much younger than you are' shtick and I realised these were all a pose, designed to make people think he was a caring, friendly shop keeper rather than a black-hearted villain with Procrustean leanings.

As he handed over the change I smiled coldly. I had the measure of the scoundrel and my terrible revenge was now beginning. Pocketing all the dosh (ha! take that Children of Iraq and your fridges of terror) I walked home for the second part. Tomorrow I shall unleash the feared Health and Safety Executive on this man and free London for ever from this menace.



Blogger Quink said...

Too pissed to open the fridge again, Dornan? Poor show.

11:58 am  
Anonymous Dave Hill said...

I can certainly relate to the "proof of age" bit. There's a chip shop quite near me whose lady proprietor calls me "baby." I'm 49 yeras old. I got there at every opportunity.

7:48 am  
Anonymous Venichka said...

You should move to Hackney if you want to get away with this kind of stuff as blogging, Dorners

12:02 pm  

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