Argos Woes

I noticed a tear on my lampshade so decided to get a new one which seemed a simple enough thing to accomplish. Or so I thought. Seeing the Argos catalogue lying around I picked it up and started to look for the lampshade section. After turning over 4,590 (slight exaggeration) pages I finally found the page with them on and decided on a brown mesh one. So I set off on my way to Argos.

When I arrived the place was packed, particularly with mothers pushing buggies around at an extreme pace in an attempt to over take each other. I managed to swerve and spin my self to one of those little blue calculator looking things. Everything went accordingly, I patched in the correct code number to check stock availability and luckily they had one in stock. As I began writing out the code again on the little paper you take to the pay area a thudding crash followed by a sharp pain on my heel left my yelling out loud. It wasn’t an authoritative yell that sounds like a giant has just been stirred from slumber. No, it was a bit of a high pitched yelp to begin with because of the sudden shock but as I realised my life wasn’t in danger my brain obviously wished to mask this potential for embarrassment and lowered my yelling a few octaves. However, I was pissed off and so I turned round to face the culprit only to see an exasperated mother who had lost control of her buggy which unfortunately smacked on to my heel. She apologised profusely but her child looked more than amused. In fact he looked far too big to be in that push chair. I told her that I wouldn’t die so there would be no need to worry and so she left. I couldn’t help but wanting to kick the buggy though. It was the same sort of feeling you get when you’re playing sports at school and the ball accidentally hits you on the face. Every one around laughs and as it wasn’t done purposefully you haven’t got anyone to blame so you either smile it off, even though you can feel your face turning beetroot, or you just cry. However, secretly inside you want to smack the ball right in the person’s face regardless of it wasn’t an accident or not.

Anyway, I hobbled over to the pay area and bought the lampshade and found myself sitting on a chair waiting for my number to appear on the screen so I can collect my goods. After about 10 minutes my number finally came up and I went over to collect it but I noticed that the lamp shade colour was sandstone. I questioned this to the tattooed muscle man standing behind the collection point area.

“Nah mate, that’s what you’ve ordered.” He told me.

“No it wasn’t, look at the code.” I presented my small piece of paper with it on, believing this would convince him.

Muscle man grabbed it, glanced at it then almost snarled at me.

“Yeah, this is for sandstone.”

I knew he was lying as only a geek would know what the code numbers signify without patching it in the computer. And he wasn’t one of those. It was obvious he didn’t like me and to be honest I didn’t like him now.

“You don’t know what the code signifies. Look just get me a brown one please.”

Muscleman glared at me but I felt that I should meet this glare with a cold stare. Had we been in the streets or out in a bar I would not have done this because quite frankly he looked like he had the power to break me in pieces. But in here, he hasn’t got much of a choice and besides he was the one wearing the stupid turquoise uniform.

“I can’t fucking deal with this. You deal with him.” Said the muscleman to his colleague.

And with that he turned round and started to bowl it down the isle, not before smacking one of the metal shelves. It must have hurt and looked painful but some how he managed to keep bowling it until out of sight.

I explained to the other person that I wanted a brown one and within a couple of minutes he retuned with one. Everybody is happy. I just hope I don’t see this muscle man out in town otherwise I could be in for a bit of a beating.

Lampshade looks good though.


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“You fucking are if you want to get a cut of some up and coming jobs. You’re supposed the hard nut of our set up.”

Charles looks at the gun. He stares at the scratched tally chart and thought if he’d ever add to it. He didn’t want to use the gun, he tried to justify it to himself that he wouldn’t have to use it just scare people by bringing it into sight. If he had to use it he could just hit them with the butt of the pistol.
“I’ll have to think about it.”

“What’s there to think about you fucking pussy?”

The lounge door opens causing Gregor to spin round pointing the gun as Marla enters. She at first looks at Gregor’s serious expression. His eyes fiery with passion and his mouth open to bear his clenched teeth. Then she notices what he’s pointing towards her. Charles waits for the horrific scream that she is capable of but instead she looks at the object. She cranes her neck to examine it as Gregor gets up and embraces her, kissing her on the cheek. He places the gun in her hand and she stares in wonderment.

“This is amazing you’ve got a gun. A fully functional gun?” She asks still looking at the pistol in her hands.

“Of course, my dear, of course. It doesn’t seem you’re scared of these things, unlike your husband.”

“You’re scared of them Charlie? Why in earth?” She says as she starts pointing it around the room. She takes aim at the miniature statue of David that it standing on the fire place. Her eyes squinting slightly as she looks at the target.

“I’m not scared of it. I’m just, I don’t know. It sort of worries me that we might have to use them.”

“Ahhhh, so what if we have to shoot someone might do them some fucking good. I came here tonight to show you what I’ve spent months trying to get. Do you know how fucking hard it is to speak to a Ukrainian that understands only broken English? And it’s your wife that’s taken any genuine interest in them. Marla, talk some sense into him we need him for a job in a couple of weeks and he’ll need practice. I’m going to the pub.”

Gregor stands up, takes one last hard stare at Charles making sure he makes direct eye contact with his eyes. Then he leans over kisses Marla on the cheek again and takes the gun away from her grasp and slips it into his pocket nonchalantly like as if it was a wallet or his mobile phone. The door slams as he leaves them both.

Marla turns to Charles.

“Why are you scared of using a gun?”

“Why do you think I’m scared, I don’t want to kill anyone. I mean if in a fight someone was fatally wounded then so be it. But using a gun is so, so abrupt. There’s no control of pressure. Once I’ve pulled the trigger it’s more than likely the person will die. I don’t like that. I want to terrify them with my fists, my crow bar in my hand and play with them a little not terminate their lives if they don’t agree to what I ask. Fuck, I don’t even know how to use one.”