Saturday 12 September 2009

Glimmer (n.) A man who is employed to glim his female customers as a preparation for full-blown glamming, carried out by one or more glamours.

Went to work. Came home. Saw the X-Factor, and the last episodes of ‘The Wire’ which depressed me far more than I thought it would. I had come to rely on The Wire as my comfort in times of need, and now it is no more.
I need some form of closure.
This afternoon I had to go to Morrisons to pick up some food for dinner. In the normal course of events I try to avoid Saturdays as inevitably those who have nothing to do during the rest of the week decide that they will take their children with them for a weekly shop.
Luckily I got a free till almost immediately. Opposite me, a woman was complaining that a large packet of frozen meat she had picked up was showing up as four pounds ninety-nine
‘It was one nineteen last week.’
‘It’s four ninety-nine madam,’ said the very patient checkout man.
‘I know, but I’m sure it should be one nineteen’
The vpcm called for someone to go and check the price. In the meantime, the lady behind had chipped in.
‘Yes, I’m sure I had one for about that price.’
‘One nineteen?’
‘Yes! They were never four ninety-nine!’
‘No.. and I’ve got two of them. That’s nearly ten pounds. My heart was going all a flutter.’
‘You don’t want to pay four ninety-nine for them, do ya?’
‘I don’t. They’re one nineteen.’
‘Yes… one nineteen. I’m sure.’
After another three or four minutes of this mutual parrot-fashion price-checking, the man returned with the bag.
‘It’s four ninety-nine!’ he said.
‘Noooo!’ the ladies said in unison. ‘Four ninety-nine?’
‘Four ninety-nine.’
‘Oh, I’ll leave them then. I’m not paying four ninety-nine for them.’
‘No, you don’t want to do that.’
I could still hear them as I walked out into the precinct.