For me, no morning
would be complete without a visit to the world’s rudest newsagent.
I’ve been going
there on and off since I was a student, but judging from the reception I
receive you wouldn’t think that was the case. If anything, the atmosphere
suggests I’d once willfully, maliciously, taken a dump on the floor – and then
eyeballed the owner whilst stamping it into the carpet.
I don’t know what I’ve
done to deserve this. Perhaps I’ve misunderstood the concept of
customer loyalty and regular patronage is actually the height of rudeness.
Maybe it’s not a newsagent at all; whenever I’ve asked for a
paper they’ve sold me their own copy out of ‘politeness’.
In this shop
customers are an inconvenience; an unwelcome spoke in the wheel of an otherwise
smooth-running business. I think I'd only ever be welcomed if I aged thirty years, took up
pipe-smoking - and walked in asking for a lifetime subscription to the Daily
Mail.
This wasn’t
always the case. When I was a student the shop had an additional staff member;
a lovely, old man who would always strike up a conversation and made you feel
pleased to be there. You’d still occasionally be served by the miserable
staff contingent – but in those days it was at least a case of ‘good cop, bad
cop’.
Sadly, Good Cop
has long since retired. I see him occasionally around town and am often tempted
to fall to my knees, begging him to come back.
At least then I
didn’t feel like a newsreading Antichrist.