Space Invaders.

 I got beckoned the other day. I don’t like being beckoned. That curling finger waggled in front of a serious face just takes me right back to having done something naughty at school like not eating all of my (repulsive, vomit inducing) semolina pudding or trying to peek into the girls’ changing room. This happened once and I was threatened with having to shower with the girls that afternoon if I was that interested in what went on in there. This is the only time, in hindsight, that I really regret not getting punished. Damn.

 Anyway, why was I beckoned? A lady had just bought an audio book of Steig Larsson’s The Girl Who Kicked the Hornet’s Nest which is eight discs of angry buzzing with some screaming. Maybe. She wasn’t that happy because it had taken me a long time to find the discs thanks to our unusual filing system (Maeve Binchy under L, for instance). She paid and left but was back five minutes later. She then found me and wagged her finger in a manner that screams ‘You. I want a word with you. What you’ve done is so heinous that no-one else must witness the dressing down you are to get.’

 We arrive at the back counter and she proceeds.

 ’The audio book you sold me has a disc missing, it’s lucky I checked before I got home, and what’s more one of the discs is blank!’

I apologise and ask to take a lo0k. I discover that two discs are stuck together.

‘They’re all here madam.’

‘Yes, but what about the blank disc?’

‘It’s not blank. It’s upside down.’

I flip the CD over and the shiny underside illuminates her embarrassed face, whilst casting a beautific rainbow shimmer over my smug one. You can stick your waggly finger….eugh, maybe not.

 Beckoners aren’t quite as annoying as another method of getting attention: the silent hoverer. This type of customer seemingly only wishes to communicate via telepathy. They’ll walk up to you, catch your eye and just stop; freezing suddenly like a cat interrupted whilst washing its anus. I like to just stare back, emulating their anus face which is quite  nice of me as they say that by mirroring someone’s body language you are showing  understanding and empathy.

 The silent type are infuriating but at least they don’t up the ante like some. The space invaders are worse and I don’t mean customers shaped like a pixelated eighties arcade game beastie. Some get so close you can smell what they had for lunch two weeks ago and in a bid to maintain a proper proximity one has to step back. This, without fail, will cause the assailant to move closer, thus an awkward dance of escape and pursuit entails until several laps of the shop have been completed which I’m thinking of turning into a fitness DVD for the new year when everyone is encouraged to feel fat and useless. To get rid of the space invader it may be that the only workable methods of defence are 1) exhale hard into the face (preferably after consuming some highly aromatic German sausage) or 2) lick their nose, which is best avoided especially during the winter months when you’re likely to get a lip full of nose drip.

 Another method of a customer encroaching on our space is one which doesn’t even require them to be present any longer: Farters.

 The number of times a day I end up unexpectantly walking through the fetid wafting cloud of rectal emissions  is untrue. Is it mandatory to have someone with an overactive bowel in every shop?  However, this goes the other way. There are times when the gaseous pressing urge of methane affects me too. After a furtive glance around to make sure it’s safe it pays to let go. This is when, as soon as I release my bottom bomb, a member of the public will emerge from nowhere to ask a question, at once enveloped in my fug as we both pretend in that most British of fashions, that there is absolutely nothing wrong -  even if both of us have eyes a-streaming accompanied by retching.

I guess it’s another way of maintaining personal space though. Try it when you’re next encroached, but try it with care, believe me.

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