At 3 p.m. this afternoon, having spent a full three hours basking in the sun (hot on the heels of spending eight hours yesterday basking in the sun), I decided I'd probably basked enough. It was at this point - perhaps sunstroke induced - that I made one of the poorer decisions of my life thus far. I decided to hop on the tube and go to Primark.
Yes, I'm not sure why either. A little voice in the back of my head said, "I wonder if they sell those little floral culotte dresses." Another little voice said, "Let's go see." I hate those little voices.
The tube wasn't too unbearable, at a moderate 37 degrees centigrade - not bad at all, and I even got a seat. Off I hopped at Marble Arch into the fiery pits of hell.
People were rude. Beyond rude. I got pushed around so much that I picked up an item I had no intention of buying, just so I could wield a coat-hanger for all the morons that were backing into me.
Amazingly, I found a couple of things that looked OK, so I thought I'd try them on. No. No, no, no. What a stupid idea, Laura. The changing room queue stretched most of the length of the store - at least a half-hour wait. I thought I'd just buy the items (10 minutes or so wait) and return them if I didn't like them or they didn't fit.
I bought the items. Then I had what - at the time - I termed my Genius Idea. You see, there isn't a Primark near where I work, so I'd only be able to get to this one on weekends... and it's always going to be hell. So, whilst I was in the area, it made sense to see if I wanted to keep the items... And Monsoon opposite had such nice spangly changing rooms.
I grabbed a sundress from Monsoon which I had absolutely no intention of trying on, went to the changing room and tried all my Primark goodies on. One of them was missing a button. And my tummy popped out. This - fashionistas - is apparently "not a good look". Back it had to go.
Back to Primark I trotted. Trit trot, trit trot.
I joined the customer services queue. This queue was actually longer than the changing room queue. And appeared not to be moving. I pondered whether or not it was worth it to get £4.84 back. I decided it was, and opened my book and started to read.
A girl joined the queue behind me. Right behind me. Her swollen bag of Primark goodies smacked the back of my leg. I moved to the side. She swung it at me again. It didn't hurt, it was just irritating. I moved again. She hit me again. I gave her "the look". She said, "Sorry, man." I am a woman. That was insulting.
I carried on reading. She carried on hitting me. Once or twice I tutted almost audibly. Every ten minutes or so, after receiving a particularly good Paddington Bear Hard Stare she would apologise.
I queued 47 minutes and finally received my £4.84 refund.
And, if I've been as bad as I think I probably have been, when Judgement Day is upon us, I shall be forced to queue in Marble Arch's Primark Customer Services queue for eternity. With a stupid girl with too much make-up and a chav accent swinging her stupid fucking back against my legs for ever and ever and ever.
Prometheus had it easy.
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