Harlem sunset.



Harlem blues.

PUTTING MY FOOT IN IT

'Could the next guest in line step down please'.

Uh?

I am in the chemists, where I have been queuing (as opposed to 'lining') for at least 10 minutes, whilst the one member of staff on a till does everything BUT take money from people (telephone calls, fetching carrier-bags, discussing the weather).

I have had a futile shopping afternoon where I have been humiliated in at least ten shoe shops for the size of my feet, which absolutely nowhere, (and I repeat nowhere) in this 'capital of all cities' caters for, and this sentence is frankly the final straw.

Hell, if she can discuss hurricanes for five minutes, she can discuss this. 'I am not a guest, I'm a customer'. She looks at me like I'm insane. I probably look insane with my American size 11 ww freaky feet. 'A patron, a customer, but not a guest'. I am quite calm in my madness. She has gone all quiet and takes my money very quickly. 'I would be a guest if I had stayed here for the night for instance'. I realise I have gone a little too far now, and the thought also strikes me that it's entirely possible that people spend the whole night in drugstores here on account of it being impossible to find anything. But I carry on nevertheless 'and it's not step down, because there's no step and we're not on any sort of gradient - it's an entirely flat surface'.
Sometimes I can be really mean and horrible.

She hands me my receipt and eyes the phone.
I, for once, do not get told to have a nice day, and to add insult to injury she then says 'Could the next guest in line step down'.

Today my Bridget Jones count is:
packets of hula hoops consumed - 3.

As these clearly go straight to my feet, I guess I come out the loser.