Monday, 19 April 2010
Shop Girl and The Cloud of Unknowing
The ashy plume of the naughty Icelandic volcano has affected half the shop's staff.
Mum is grounded in Spain.
Being a good daughter I would gladly make the awful sacrifice and swap places with her.
But since that’s not possible I’m stuck in the shop.
On Saturday this is particularly painful because the sun is shining.
I worry that this is the one day of British summer and I’m going to miss it.
As I look longingly towards the door, a man approaches carrying his daughter on his shoulders.
I expect him to get her down but either he has no sense of measure like me or he’s forgotten she’s up there because he walks right in.
Bang goes her head against the door frame.
“SH*T!” I say.
Part of me wants to laugh out loud.
The man gives me a dirty look as he gets her down and she rubs her head looking dazed.
“I’m fine daddy,” she says, walking in circles.
I think he’s more concerned by my swearing than the fact he’s concussed his daughter.
He doesn’t stay long.
A woman charges in after that. She wants a disposable camera.
I make a point of looking around at the chandeliers before telling her we don’t sell them.
“Damn!” she says, and I’m surprised she held so much hope.
Perhaps we should sell them. Good weather is bad for lighting sales.
Who switches on their lights when it’s sunny?
As usual, people pop in to ask about our epic Closing sale.
“Closing?” a man observes. “Can I have something for charity?”
He’s well-dressed and has neither a badge nor a clip board.
He just wants free stuff.
“Not really,” I say.
“I thought this was a nice shop,” he says.
“I can’t just give you stuff. It doesn’t work like that.”
“But you’re closing down.”
“I still need to eat.”
He looks disappointed but manages to muster a blessing before he leaves.
I’d have preferred a tea.
To tell you the truth, a part of me is curious to see how far this volcano can change our lives.
On the other hand, much longer of being alone and I’ll start talking to the chandeliers.