Starting off with a whinge. Funny how things change. Has anyone noticed that you can't go into a chemist's (sorry, Pharmacy) for a packet of paracetamol these days without being given the third degree about your intentions by the person dispensing? Are they for yourself? Are you on any other medication? Are you taking any other products containing paracetamol? (Some chance with this vetting procedure). If you didn't have a headache when you went in, you probably would by the time you left. The grilling for buying Plutonium is probably less strict. It always makes me feel like Gordon Jackson in 'The Great Escape' when the German officer says 'Good Luck' to him as he's boarding the bus to escape and Gordon replies automatically in English 'Thank You'. Game over.
It's only a matter of time before I give the wrong answer myself one of these days and those little white pain relief tablets are quietly withdrawn back behind the counter and the panic button pressed...
When I'm not sweating in pharmacies I like to do a bit of writing - especially short stories. Here's an extract from one called 'Automotive' from my anthology 'Offbeat - A Collection of 10 Quirky Short Stories'.
OFFBEAT - A Collection of 10 Quirky Short Stories
Edward stood on the garage forecourt and stared at the £1000 price tag displayed in the window of the old car. In his pocket he squeezed a rolled-up bunch of banknotes till they squealed.
He walked round the car, running a finger critically over the paintwork, examining the exhaust with pursed lips and kicking the tyres sharply with his down-at-heel shoes. The dull thud of rubber changed to a metallic clank as he missed the last tyre and kicked the wheel trim by mistake. He didn’t really know what he was doing but he’d seen other people do it when choosing a car and hoped it would fool the salesman who was fast approaching, weaving his way like a homing device through the maze of cars.
The salesman, with one of the most honest faces you could ever hope to see, smiled warmly at him. He knew Edward hadn’t a clue.
“Interested in this one, sir?” Even the voice was sympathetic and for a split second Edward wondered if the man did counselling part-time.
“Uh, just looking. Not really my sort of car.”
The salesman nodded and mentally spent his forthcoming commission.
“What are you driving at the moment, sir? If you don’t mind me asking.”
The nearest Edward had ever come to actually owning a car was to have once entered a Prize Draw with a Mini as the main prize. He hadn’t won.
“Oh, nothing special,” he said. The real problem was he couldn’t afford the £1000 price tag. With a slight feeling of worldly-wise sophistication he decided to haggle.
“I can see a few dents in it,” he remarked, staring at the car.
“Yes, I saw you kicking it as I came over,” said the salesman. Edward coughed. The man smiled and looked at his watch. Lunchtime winked a beery eye at him. With the weary air of a teenager’s parent he decided on the direct approach.
“How much have you got, son?”
Edward blinked at such forthrightness and the battle was lost.
“Seven hundred,” he blurted.
The salesman’s arm was round his shoulders in a flash, gently steering him towards the showroom. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he said.
(Excerpt from story 'Automotive' featured in 'Offbeat - A Collection of 10 Quirky Short Stories' by David Heaton, available on the Amazon Kindle Store @ just £0.71)
OFFBEAT - A Collection of 10 Quirky Short Stories by David Heaton
P.S. - your book of short stories rocks - a v good read. A handy tool to have when you have a few min's to kill.
Posted by: Dirk Spangler | 04/05/2011 at 04:12 PM