Number Crunching

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not great with numbers. If you’re up to date with these blogs, you’ll know I didn’t really get much out of my maths lessons at school.

But I do give myself credit where it’s due, so what I’ll say is this: I am resourceful.

One time, I managed to get my car locked into a car park on the side of the road. The barriers had come down until the next morning, and it was a sports car, so it was too low to actually drive up onto the curb and escape. How did I get out? I took the CCTV Warning signs down from the car park lamp-posts and created a ramp out of them, so I could hoist the car out of the car park to freedom and not get fined.

Resourceful.

I’m also pretty good with my money. I’ll only spend when I need to. And let’s face it – I need a coffee first thing in the morning. I am a horrendous force of sheer misery otherwise. I also need lunch. I need transport. These are life’s unavoidables.

I probably don’t need to buy so many magazines, or the giant novelty Snickers Bars they sell at Selfridges, but Christ – if you can’t enjoy your wages, what’s the point in earning them.

My sister usually rolls her eyes when I give this speech, but there is some truth in it.

Usually, I am a pillar of ultimate financial solidarity. So disciplined, that sometimes I like to go online to window shop. I spend hundreds and thousands of pounds popping things into my basket, dreaming away my pay-packet. Then, at the end of a hard evenings slog – I put it all back. Every last thing. Unless they are a bargain, in which case, I obviously get them.

And sometimes they even do offers, where say, if you spend £75 it’s free delivery! So sometimes I just add things in to make up the basket, because you can’t argue with free delivery. Then I just send back all that extra stuff that I ordered, that I didn’t really need.

(And sometimes I don’t…)

But the point I’m trying to make is: I am well intentioned. I don’t set out to spend all my money on shopping. Sometimes, it just happens. And that “sometimes” is always in a Sale.

So why does that Sale always seem to fall on my bloody lunch hour?

Last night, I’d been having one of those evenings where I’d had an imaginary shopping splurge. There was a pair of brown wedges I liked at New Look, but being low quality, these shoes were overpriced. I knew they’d fall apart, and probably pinch my feet, but I liked them. I logged on to find New Look are having a sale. Over joyed, I quickly tried to find my shoes – but the bloody things had gone.

Devastated.

Today, I’ve spent the entire morning mourning the loss of my shoes. I started to think of all the times I would have worn them, all the places we would see, all the cobbles we would topple over. I started to rationalise it – the full price really didn’t seem that much now that I thought about it. Now that they were gone. Hell I would pay twice the amount - with interest! -  if only I could be given another chance.

So I set off on my lunch break, fully intending to go get a salad at M&S (cookie and Frappuccino at Starbucks) when I suddenly realised there was a New Look close by. I could feel myself getting excited as I started running through the logistics in my head.

I work in the middle of nowhere…

Nobody ever comes here…

Apart from celebrities… And they probably don’t shop at New Look….

Oh my God…

There is a huge New Look around the corner…

I abandoned the salad (also imaginary) and sped towards the shops. Although I haven’t been to the gym this month (or ever) it did not matter, because I took the stairs instead of the escalator in my race towards the shoe section – and there they were.

My pretty, overpriced, flimsy but lovely little wedges.

I turned them over to see the sale sticker. Less than half price! I turned to the shoe next to it. Exactly the same, but in blue. I needed it. My mind started number crunching. I could buy both of them… and they would still come to less than the original price! It would be like just buying the one, but being able to wear it with black or blue jeans!

I clutched the shoes to my chest and began to explore the rest of the store. It was like a ghost town, filled with cheap-but-albeit-lovely shoes, and it was practically untouched! All still intact, instead of a massive pile of sizes three and eights, and a measly scattering size five clown shoes.

It’s ok, I said to myself. Don’t panic. Just buy what you need… Resourceful…

Reader, I bought them all.

Or rather, I bought too many.

Ok, the real point here is: I put some back.

I made my way over to the till, juggling my shoes, and wondered why the hell they don’t have shopping baskets in all clothing stores like Primark, as casual browsing is hands down the time when I most need a bag. A miserable looking shop assistant caught my eye, so I gave a nice little smile and rolled my eyes as I began piling my shoes around the cash desk.

When I worked in retail, I prided myself on empathy. I could be swimming under a sea of knickers, or leggings or whatever, but I’d always look up and give a “I’ve been there!” smile to lighten the blow when they had to type in their pin. Because I’ve been there. I know how they feel.

A few weeks ago in Next, when I’d spent one of those stomach-swimming amounts, I was debating whether I should put something back when the girl at the till just smiled at me, and said “Sometimes, you just have to close your eyes and type in the pin…”

Closing my eyes, I repeated her words over and over, and suddenly I felt a million times better.

“See?” she said, and we both gave a knowing little smile.

“Is that everything?” said the miserable New Look girl. My mind quickly flashed to the two pairs I’d left behind. Do I need them?

DO I NEED THEM?

“No!” I laughed, “That’s all of them.” Besides, if I did change my mind, maybe I could still catch them online. Or get my sister to buy them in Wales. Or…

Oh I’d bloody think of something.

The girl began hauling the shoes along the security beeper. I tried to catch her eye, so we could share the knowing little smile moment together.

But she wasn’t looking.

“Oh dear!” I said, trying to break her monotonous scanning routine. “My boyfriend will probably kill me!”

Her face was deadpan. But-- I only said that so she could smile at me! My boyfriend doesn’t give a shit about my shoes. Hell, if there’s a sale on he joins in and brings them back to me! (Boyfriend kudos) Why wasn’t she giving me the smile?

I cleared my throat, ready to try again. “Boy, lot of shoes there!” I said, rolling my eyes.  “Probably don’t need them all!” I sighed. That’s your cue, goddamit. Give me the smile…

 “Oh well!” I smiled, desperately. She started ripping the security stickers from the soles.

Why the hell wasn’t she smiling? Does she not know? Does she not realise that she needs to smile at me, and tell me to put my pin in, and it’ll all be ok, because this purchase is totally justified, and I totally deserve those goddamn shoes?

I mean, Jesus Christ. Didn’t they train her?

The girl’s face didn’t move an inch as she handed me the carrier bags over the counter.

But mine did.

“Oh,” I said, crestfallen at the sight of the giant carrier bags. “That really is, quite a lot of…”

“Is there a problem?” Misery Guts was suddenly not so corpse like.

“Well, I’m on my lunch hour, so, I uh, have to go back into the office with all those bags…” I blushed. “Are you able to keep them for me, until I finish?”

“What time do you finish?”

 “Around six…ish?”

“Closed.”

“Can you keep them until next Thursday? That’s my day off…” I started to push the bags back over the counter. With spider-like speed the girl webbed her fingers around my bags and pushed them back.

“No.”

Oh god damn. Just take my bloody shoes until I can come and collect them! I felt like clonking her on the head with one of them. Why can’t she just bloody understand!

“The thing is,” I said clearing my throat. “I’m allowed to shop on my lunch hour, but everyone’s going to look at me stupid if I walk in with that amount of carrier bags….”

Misery just looked at me, as if she didn’t understand English.

“And while I do appreciate that New Look exists,” I said, continuing with my plea. “I would prefer to pretend that it doesn’t. Or, rather that I don’t actually shop here.”

Misery raised an eyebrow. She understands… Finally! My smile began to creep back “So, if you could just, I don’t know, pop them into a more highbrow looking bag even…”

“A more… highbrow bag?”

“Yes!” I said excitedly. She was catching on! “Are there any posh shops around here? A Hobbs, or a Karen Millen or something?”

Misery slowly gripped my bags again and began to pull them over to her side of the counter. “If you don’t want the shoes,” she sighed. “I can refund them for you.”

That is totally not what I said.

In a last effort, I brought my head in closely to hers, and hushed my voice down to a whisper. “Alright. I get that you can’t keep the shoes on hold,” I said, nodding empathetically. “They might get mistaken and put back out as stock again or whatever…”

Misery flicked a speck of dust off her nail.

“How about, I give you these shoes,” I said, pointing. “On my feet.”

Her eyes widened.

Yes! The plan was working. “You keep them until Thursday, then I can come in and collect them…”

No confusion. No screw ups. No questions asked.

I reckoned I could fit the rest of my haul inside my work bag. I’d probably get four pairs in if I squished them, and I had a jacket, so I could hide a few in the crook of my arm with that cloaked over the top…

Misery didn’t go for the plan.

I left the shop with my ridiculous carrier bags. The only posh shop in sight was a bloody Marks and Spencer, and I wasn’t sure whether that would have quite the desired effect.

                I did manage to squish four pairs inside my bag, and covered the rest over with my jacket. I desperately tried to come up with some kind of cover story as to why I had so many shoes with me – I’m holding them for someone else. They’re my mothers. I’m homeless; this is all I have…

                As I hopped into the lift (and avoid any awkward corridor run-ins) I quickly legged it into the office and decided to bite the bullet.

                If anyone looks at me stupid, and questioned why I have so many shoes, I will simply offer them a pair as a token of good will. And ask them if I can hide the rest of the pile behind their desk until we finish.

                See!

Resourceful.