The shit-streak challenge

I have grown to hate one particular shop that cannot stop bombarding me with tat, in some misplaced mission to get my money off me.

For months now my doorstep has been cluttered by its unappealing shiny paper mailers to entice me into buying one wonderful “special offer” or another. They are only second to Dell Computers for their sheer ability to carpet bomb my house with cack in the hope that I am mentally defective enough to be parted with my cash.

Anyway.

Its been hotter his week and fueled by a few pints of lager on Wednesday, I bought a bumper sized Mars bar and having left it in my pocket for a good half hour I decided to visit said shop and try on the wonderful array of goods that filled the flyers that are now blowing around my garden.

And so began my new protest – the shit-streak challenge.

I like shirts - particularly long ones that don’t tuck into your trousers - and spent a good half hour in the store trying on all sorts of high quality shirts, furtively going into the changing room with numerous different colours and styles before leaving on each shirt-tail a lovely chocolaty “skid-mark” for the next potential buyer to see courtessy of my now melting Mars bar. You should try it. Its quite satisfying leaving a subtle brown pseudo-crap strip down the back of a garment just to show your contempt for the disrespect the retailer shows for your mailbox.

I must have tried a good twenty shirts on during my time. I got bored after about half an hour went back to the pub. However, after a few more pints my curiosity got the better of me and I returned to the scene of my dirty protest to watch the look on the faces of people who were now trying on the pre-soiled garments. The look of horror on someones face when they observe an apparent crap stain on the back of something they have just tried on is quite something. “Was that me?” they fear. “Did I do THAT?” Or for the more curious “Is it really shit?” or maybe horror of horrors “Is that really MY shit”. The reaction is priceless. One chap even tried to have a furtive sniff just to check in answer to the “Is it really shit?” question. Then the detective instincts kick in as you can see their frightened minds start to think “That can’t be mine. Perhaps it was that other guy who just put it back on the rack in front of me? The dirty bastard. Where is he now?”

They quietly look around and they can’t see him.

(He's pissed off mate, just like you'd like to)

That’s when the confusion and panic sets in, as they realise the need to blame others is a natural human reaction.

They then extend this logic:

“I’m standing here holding shitty shirt. What if the shop assistant thinks that I’M the dirty bastard?”

Then.

“How do I put it back on the rack before anyone sees it?”

And

“Where is the exit and how quick can get to it?”

Anyway

Lesson of the week: Don’t send me junk mail for things I don’t want. I know you sell shit, and I have a really effective way of letting other people know you sell shit too.