So today I had my first experience of the early morning “Next Sale”, and by early morning I mean I was up at 4am and in the queue at the local retail park at 5am. Obviously this was the lovely wifes choice of how to spend a boxing day morning not mine, had I had my own way I’d be still fast asleep enjoying a nice dream, probably involving me saving the planet Endor from the evil clutches of the darkside whilst munching on a kebab and a bag of chips served by Megan Fox at the same time.
Upon arriving I was astonished at not just the length of the queue but also the states at which some people had clearly rolled out of bed and staggered to the store. Bargain hunting skiprats littered the walkways and it resembled an audition queue for a remake of the video for Thriller.
The doors opened and the queue of Zombie’s lurched forward, like a flock of hotching wolves after a lone lamb they scrammbled inside.
Large clear shopping sacks we’re handed out as you walked in, in a scene resmebling a day in the life of an elephants family planning clinic the shoppers grabbed their giant contraseptives and began their attack on the sale rails.
Inside the air was rife with the smell of morning breath and the unwashed. I headed to the mens section whilst the wife attempted to wrestle with the bulk of the sale locusts as they flocked over the crop of end of line bargains.
At first I was more interested in who else was actually mad enough to turn out at this horrid hour, which on a weekend, really shouldnt exist on any form of timekeeping device.
Bed head was definately the choice of hairstyle, and many faces still bore the crease lines of a pillow or the glimmer of morning drool that hadnt quite had time enough to dry up yet. Eyes were filled with huge rocks of sleep, so large that it looked like some of the shoppers had just gone down on a bag of cinder toffee and misjudged the location of it’s honeycomb genitals.
I decided I’d best take a look at what was on offer and began my perusal of the men’s area (By that I mean the clothes department, not rifling through a strangers under crackers).
For all of my pissing and moaning and complaining at having to get up so early, it wasn’t long before I was taken over by the same lust for cheap clothes as everyone else.
I began filling my bargain sack (And by that I mean shopping bag, not cheap replacement scrotum) with anything I was even remotely considering that I could wear. I was, like everyone else out of control, hurling shirts, jeans, shorts, anything into the bag. People didn’t care what they picked up, “it says reduced so must be worth having” racing through everyone’s head, including mine. You could hear people saying “Even if you only wear it once it’s worth it”. Yes of course, disposable clothes, now there’s a good idea.
It wasn’t long until I couldn’t fit anything else into my T-Rex condom and clothes were spilling out of the top of it. “What’s happening to me” I thought, I didn’t like it, I was normally so controlled, so uninterested in such things, but here I was hurling clothes into my shopping bag like they were going out of fashion, which they were. Even if they weren’t my size I still grabbed at garments left right and centre, “I’ll get into them once I’ve lost all this weight, in the year 2056”. Indeed, the last time my wardrobe had seen anything with medium written on it was when a flyer for a fortune teller fell out of my coat pocket.
To my surprise the wife came upstairs, her bag only half as full as mine. She looked drained, and informed me she’d had enough of the chaos downstairs and we soon joined the enormous queue for the checkouts.
The queue was like something for a Disneyland ride, it snaked around the room like a whales willy after a night on the pop. We stood inching along for what seemed like day’s, the smell of morning breath was now so strong in the shop the staff were forced to walk around with bowls of mints to try and combat odour of the many rancid customers. I wondered if when we got nearer the checkout people would be hosed down or offered soap.
We finally made it to the front of the queue and were next to be served, an assistant came and took all of our shopping out of the bags and hung it on a rail for the rest of the shop too see, like Gok wan proving his latest guest had shit fashion sense. He picked up and moved a ladies vest top along that the wife had chosen and asked “Is this one one of yours as well?” “No that ones the wife’s” I quickly replied, pleased with myself, maybe I could entertain the queue and be paid for it, I looked around for my applause but was greeted only by a hundred unimpressed glances that all spelled out COCK.
The assistant picked up the bulk of shirts to carry over to the checkout, “And these are your shirts?” It was a loaded question and he said it in a way that suggested “Really? Good luck getting into those lardy, let me know so I can leave the region and flee the inevitable projectile buttons that you will be firing in all directions when you try them on”. “Yes they are” I replied, the well groomed fuck. Now take them to the checkout quickly before you snap your manicured stick like arms. His hair was of the precise shaven at the sides and high and swept over on the top look, I’m not sure of the correct name for the style so I’ll call it cunt.
We were served efficiently, and I was hypnotised by the speed at which our shopping was scanned through and bagged up. The price came up on the screen and after momentarily dropping my guts at the sight of it, we quickly paid and left. “Keep the change” I said, even though we’d paid by card, they’d soon catch whiff of what I meant.
At the entrance the security alarms we’re going off constantly and customers came back in to have their bags searched. As I approached the door I ,like everyone else, did my best impression of an innocent person who hadn’t stolen anything, even though I had nothing to hide I felt the need to “not look guilty” it was like an episode of the cube and I was relieved to get through the gates without triggering the siren.
We packed our purchases into the car and climbed in. As I turned the key to the ignition I passed comment on how it was only 6.30 and we’d already been shopping. The wife tentatively asked, as if expecting a no, if there was any chance we could call into the next Next store down the road. To my amazement I said “Yes, yes we can”. I was speaking involuntarily, my voice an emotionless drone “For there may be more cheap clothes that I cant get into and will never wear”. And off we set.
And so, as I type this, from the queue of the Next Sale, I warn you all to take cover, as soon I will be trying on some slimfit shirts and medium sized shorts, and at some point those buttons are indeed going to pop and fly, you don’t need to be a medium to know that and you seriously do not want to be standing next to me when they do.