At least once during the average working day I will heed the call of the chocolate. Usually around the mid afternoon point I will get the urge to consume a quantity of cocoa based confectionary. My hit usually takes the shape of either a Yorkie or a Dairy Milk bar. My supplier is just around the corner, barely 50 yards away, and exists in the shape of a little downtown newsagent. His proximity means I can sneak out, score some choc and be back at my office desk before anyone even knows I am gone.
I have the procedure down pat.
And by and large it works well. Except when the normal shop assistant has the afternoon off and is replaced by Jabba The Hut. I don’t know what Mr Hut’s problem is (apart from a low metabolic rate, an underactive thyroid gland and man-boobs that could envelope Katie Price) but he plainly doesn’t have the energy or the enthusiasm to “customer face” effectively.
He refuses to move out from behind the till.
And when I say “behind the till” I really mean behind the till. He wedges himself in there so tightly that the cash drawer must create an S-bend in his colon every time he rings up a sale and his back must bear the imprint of shelf after shelf of Benson & Hedges.
Worst of all is when it comes time to pay for a purchase. I select my bar of choice. I drop it onto the counter to indicate that, yes, this is the bar that I want to get orally intimate with and I hold out my loose change (being mathematically astute enough to work out in advance how much money I must hand over to him to avoid accusations of theft). At this point the normal shop assistant – if she were present – would stretch out her hand also. We would bridge the counter with our arms and meet half way above it whereupon I would place the money easily into her hand.
Not so, Mr Hut.
His hand stays more or less adhered to his gut but as a small concession forms a small palmy plateau into which I am expected to drop my hard earned wonga. I have to practically bend myself double over the counter to achieve this. Anybody passing by would think I was making a pass at the big moody brute. He then compounds this act of rudeness – for that is what it is – by scooping my change out of the till and again offering it to me in the same agoraphobic manner. I have to reach over, one leg out like a snooker player playing a bridge shot and try and retrieve my rightful change at full stretch. As I do so my hand grasps unwholesomely close to his cardiganned moobs.
I have been tempted to throw my money at him or even to drop it onto my side of the counter... but I suspect it and he will merely sit there glowering at me until I rescind and push it closer to him.
I could go elsewhere for my chocolate treat, I suppose, but nowhere else is as close or as convenient. My afternoon sneak-outs would be in danger of being rumbled (if I haven’t already rumbled them myself with this blog of course).
And I daresay some of you might suggest I just give up the afternoon chocolate scam altogether – much the easiest solution... and better for my health and my wallet.
But really! Give up chocolate?
Are you effing crazy?
Come on, people. Serious, workable suggestions only, please.
You could buy 10 bars at a time when your favourite shopkeeper is there, thus lessening the likelihood that you will have to go when this one is in charge. Then again, it heightens the risk of eating 10 instead of 1. So, perhaps not a good move.
Doesn't exact change dumped on the counter and you racing out the door shouting, "I forgot! I set fire to my desk and must go put it out!" work?
I have eaten my weight in chocolate over the last three days. You might have thought I'd never want to even sniff the stuff again - but not so. I'm already wondering where my next hit is coming from. Not even an anti-social shop assistant with moobs and no reach could deter me from my quest.
Fran: and I would eat them all too. And then go back the next day for more. Not a good idea. ;-)
Femminismo: I'll try it and let you know...
Gappy: which is why I brave it every work day. Forget the mail, it's the chocolate that has to get through!
Perhaps he's just reluctant to serve you the one thing he has been forbidden because of his bulbous physique.Every bar he provides to you is one less for himself.
Howsabout having the exact amount of dosh ready thereby halving the intimate interaction? If you start laying down the brass, even on his side of the counter, you may raise his suspicion that you're onto his petty game of energy extraction.
Ask She of Norm if you can have a pre-paid slate (as a breezy example you whip out a fancy Excel document with lots of columns and colours, watermarks, etc.(that you've spent a few days at work working on)) whereupon your counterfeit-proof signature for each transaction will allow you to utter merrily to Jabba, "Slide over me slate to us, mate - cheers"
Dear Mr Gloop: I buy but one bar a day whilst he sits on a stash of at least 100 that is replenished each week. I put it to you, sir, that he has all the chocolate he can eat at his immediate disposal and has no need to gainsay me my meagre portion.
Joe: a slate for chocolate...? I like your style, my man. I may put it to the good lady in question next time I frequent her establishment.
When I was a kid we used to ask our local shopkeeper (Mr Newcombe he was called) for some sweets from the jar on the highest shelf - he would get out the ladder, climb up slowly; at which point we'd run from the shop.
You could just buy your daily hit on the way into work instead ... then when you need a break from you desk just wander off with a pad and a pen looking purposeful.
What a hoot! Sounds to me like you could almost get away with a choc-n-dash, not ,like he's be able to chase you is it? :-)
Mark: I only use that trick on young mini-skirted shop assistants. And I never run from the shop.
Alienne: the most sensible suggestion so far...!
Amanda: good point. It would take him half an hour just to raise a hand to get to his mobile...
Ha, I love it!
I know exactly who you mean (next to Subway right?)
I too have been infuriated by him, perhaps we should all plot together as to how to get him to reach out a little more.
How weird this guy sounds. Fancy putting a really large person in charge of a sweet shop. It would be like putting the late George Best in charge of an offy.
Here the shop assistants don't hand people the change - they place it on the counter. It's a bit odd (but not as odd as your bloke)
Lucas: that's the one... I think our plot may have to involve the hire of an industrial crane or forklift truck...
FF: George Best in charge of an offy?! Ha! I like it!
Speaking frankly to you.I must say I await your frequent visits to my store with much trepidation.The mutual exchange of sweaty palms.That sticky chocolaty mixing of fluids between us upon each rendezvous.My Cadbury button like nipples erect in excitement.My cream eggs awaitng to burst.And I can't imagine what I'll do when you eventually munch down on my Choco Toffee log.Ohhhhhhh!!!!!!!
Jabba The Slut: what a pity the contents of your Mars Planets are always so disappointing...
No mind,it's just a pleasure seeing you guzzling down in them. :P
Jabba: your wife tells me you need a constant Boost to get into her Milky Way.
I am so loving the choccie double entendres!! Jabba is very naughty indeed (shame about the crap customer service skills). But do you realise your website is turning practically pornographic, Steve ...??
... I like it.
Like you, chocolate is one of my "difficult to avoid" pleasures. May I ask what your weight is, Steve?
OC: you may indeed but I'm afraid I have no idea as I hardly ever weigh myself. I had to ask my wife to guestimate and she reckons between 11 and 13 stone. Apparently although I am slim I'm also "quite muscley". You can see I have trained her well.
As for the decent into porn... it is always my aim to please. ;-)
if you use a cat litter shovel and extend it across the counter towards him with your money and he then deposits the change, you will never have to touch again.
wait. a cat litter shovel has slits in it.
money will fall thru the cracks!
try the bairn's spade from his bucket and spade.
make it the large one, 'bout a foot long.
let me know.
take pics if poss.
maybe wear a secret lapel cam or somesuch.
you do have some weird shopkeepers round your way.
Clippy Mat: I daresay they complain about having weird customers...
Love your idea re: the cat litter shovel. Alas we do not own a cat but I have noticed our neighbour walking a dog... I might ask if I can borrow their pooper-scooper.
I love The Sagittarian's idea and that was exactly what I was thinking. Just grab a handful of your faves and run for your life.
Gypsy: I am seriously considering it - I can carry more than twice my own weight in chocolate if I have to...
HI, my first visit here (I've seen you comment for a while on Notes From Lapland and been meaning to check your blog out).
I have nothing useful or workable for you, suffice to say I would NEVER give up the arvo cocoa fix.
Oh, and.... "cardiganned moobs" will stay with me for a long time to come. The term, I mean, not my own.
As you were :)
Being Me: thank you for visiting - do hope you haven't been put off by the "cardiganned moobs" and will visit again!
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