"Did you want a bag?" the girl at the check-out counter enquires brightly.
"Yes, I did," I respond, hopefully equally brightly, but meanwhile wondering whether to add: "Well, it's nice of you to ask. I did want one last week, but I don't need one today," but rejecting this particular sally knowing the implied sarcasm of her choice of tense would no doubt fall on deaf ears. I'm also a bit afraid that she would only conclude that I was simply another North Oxford toff, or possibly a rather pedantic English teacher.
"Have you got a card at all?" is her next question. Now even I know that she's probably referring to some wretched so-called 'loyalty' card which is supposed to persuade the discerning, money-conscious punter to purchase his or her Mother's Pride or original Flora at this particular shop, or one of its identical sisters, for the rest of his or her natural life. But of course, being one of the aforesaid toffs, I take her literally and hunt desperately in my wallet.
"Ah, how about this?" I exclaim, fishing out my Royal Hong Kong Yacht Club card. This is quite a useful response, I feel, as it seems to be strictly to the point but distinctly unhelpful; it works even if she has asked whether I have a 'club' card, rather than just a card. The assistant looks at me in a withering fashion, and explains patiently what it is that she wants. One look at her distinctly unamused face convinces me that a mention of my Priority Club card, the only other remotely relevant one in the said wallet, would go down rather poorly. (Being in the Priority Club gets me about 10p off my dry-cleaning - not perhaps quite the cachet of the Hong Kong card). Finally I'm forced to admit I have no card - at least not the one she seems to be looking for.
I'm also tempted to take her up on the 'at all'. But from past experience I decide not to go too heavy on this one. On an earlier occasion I tried: "Well, I think I might be able to lay my hands on part of a card, but I seem to have left it at home." This was also received with a blank look, and now as an alternative I just say "Sorry, not at all" - and receive an equally blank look for what I consider has been a genuine attempt to help her get the question right next time.
But of course she wins in the end. When she's finished whacking the till, she asks: "And did you need help packing, love?" I am naturally really hurt at the implication that I've become an old dodderer. The impression I have been trying to get across is of an admittedly slightly mature shopper, but one still capable of stepping pretty smartly up and down the aisles when the occasion demands. I try not to show my dismay.
"Well, perhaps I could manage to load these sugar-free Polos on my own, but if you could help me with the Vim, etc., it would be much appreciated." Once more, she's not amused. Where do they get their staff from these days?
Kit Villiers
