I’ve come to the
conclusion that the loneliest person in my home town of Hitchin is the
man who runs Carpetright.
The store has
been there for as long as I can remember. I used to walk past it every day when
I was a student, as my drama school was on the opposite side of the road - and even though it’s been on my radar for all of this time, I can count the
amount of customers I've seen in there on the fingers of one finger.
What makes it
worse is the store is massive; encased in a wall of windows on two of its four
sides. It screams the fact it’s empty; they only need a couple of lizards and a
tumbleweed to make the illusion complete.
Maybe it's a Mafia front; they'd certainly have plenty of material to dispose the bodies in.
They’ve only ever
had one member of staff, whose desk is
situated at the rear of the store; brightly lit and in full view of the outside world. It’s no wonder people seldom go in there; covering the
distance from the street to his desk is akin to walking the Emerald City's fiery corridor to see the Wizard of Oz.
It’s also not the
sort of business that’s likely to pull much passing trade. I can’t recall a
single instance when I’ve been hit with the sudden impulse to buy
some spontaneous carpet.
I’ve never seen
the man who runs it outside the store. Perhaps he’s in there 24/7? I hope he’s got enough oxygen.
One of these days
I’ll venture through its imposing doors. I might even pop in to drop off a
Christmas card - though that might just weird Mr Carpetright out.