All Back to Mine/Yours: Going Down The Shop

Buckley

Well-Known Member
So, you're all battered, it's 8am Sunday morning, the beers have run out, who's got the minerals to brave the real world? My favourite tale of this (author not credited for privacy reasons):

It was day three of a weekend long session that had somehow gotten right out of hand. Supplies were running low, and we all knew what was coming, but of course nobody had the balls to say it until things started getting desperate.....people coming back from the kitchen with half a beer they found in the fridge rather than a fresh can, things like that. Folk were shifting in their seats. The time was upon us and we all knew, but didn't want to say.........somebody had to go down the shop.

Now I've been going down the shop for years, I know my way around the place, know how to deal with the people down there, how to react to unexpected interruptions, hell, once I even saw someone from work when I was wearing my mates coat that was much too small for me, a pair of shorts of his dad's that he'd lent me when I'd got melted chewits down my jeans, and a pair of shiny disco shoes, a proper getup that screams 'I am on drugs' - and you know what? I pulled it off. Despite the untimely rushes of ecstasy (the tablets, not the feeling) and the random surges of adrenaline, I kept my cool, nodded, mentioned something about work and walked out with my head held high. That sort of thing takes years of time in the field, but still, experience can only teach you so much, the worst thing is, it can happen on your first, second....or most likely, last trip down the shop - nothing can prepare you except your own will and fortitude to survive - and that sort of thing my friend, you've either got or you haven't.

Now the wife does this thing, when the debate starts about who's going down the shop, where she'll say 'oh I'll go down' and, knowing full well that being a gent, I'll then say 'well I'll come with you, don't want you going down on your own, anything can happen down there' and then she'll say 'well there's no point both of us going, that's just pointless! So while your down there can you get me two bottles of wine, a bottle of vodka, twenty Marlboro lights and a twix for yourself' or some f***ing shit, but this time I was having none of it....so I kept schtum. Unfortunately so did the wife.

Suddenly, out of the blue, my mate Brummie Chris pipes up. 'I'll go down' he chirps, like it's just a casual f***ing stroll in the park!! - he's obviously got no idea what he's letting himself in for, 'you ain't on your Xbox now lad' I tell him, 'this is serious business.....not only have you got to remember everyone's orders, you've got to sort the money, navigate the journey, not to mention actually go in the f***ing shop, face reality and deal with actual other people - normal people'. 'Yeah I'll give it a go' he responds, obviously too wrecked to even acknowledge the voice of experience, let alone deal with a f***ing shop trip on his own. The twat. So I have to bloody take him don't I...

All the way down there, I'm giving advice on what to do, how to avoid conversation, never look people in the eye, don't pat dogs, kick cats, grimace at babies or any of the normal things you might do when in the vicinity of a shop - just go in, get the mission done and then get the f*** outta there... he's a confident kid I give him that....but I didn't think he had the minerals for a second.

So, after a few deep breaths and a fag, we open the doors and step into the shop....I walk down the aisle with the magazines, past the coffee.....head held high.....and then as I get to the frozen goods section it kicks in....the fear. Now everything I taught Chris about the fear has made me realise, what I thought was the fear, wasn't the fear, THIS is the fear........I'm standing by the booze, staring at it, harsh, bright halogen lights booming down on me, reality hitting me harder than ever, I haven't got a f***ing clue what to get, I've forgot the lot, people are walking past, I can feel their questioning glances and suspicious eyes which only makes everything all the more real and horrible. Crisps are rustling behind me, there was something about a twix? Shit is that uncle Paul?! f*** I need to get out of here...my breathing is going wild, heart beating, brain beginning to vibrate, one of my ears farts, I've been standing staring at a fridge for a good 4 minutes.....I'm about to make a dart for the door and then suddenly, out of nowhere Brummie Chris reaches toward the shelf and grabs a case of beer and two bottles of wine. I look at him in amazement. 'I've got this' he says, eyelids narrowed, pure focus and determination in his steely expression. I humbly trot behind him as he canters to the till. Luckily there's only one other person buying a paper before us, who quickly leaves. At the till, I'm thinking, 'we're nearly through this, just hold on a little longer....' Then the worst thing happens... The shopkeep says to Chris, 'We haven't got any Marlboro lights.....will normal Marlboro do?'.....f***. I'm about to leg it through the door, tell Chris to just drop everything and run, it doesn't matter if we never go in there again, there are other shops.....when he just says 'just give us B&H lights then mate'. Cool as a f***ing cucumber. No problem at all. He completed the sale without further issue, and sauntered out of there, me trying to hold what little grasp on self control I had in fingers made out of pure sweat....we got home and I collapsed, slightly traumatised but forever in awe of my friend and newfound hero Brummie Chris.

Goes to show. You think you know someone......and then they surprise you, just like that. Truth is you don't really know anybody in this life......not even yourself.
 

Springal

Well-Known Member
This reminds me of a NYD a few years ago. Good idea to watch the football and then head straight up to London for a night out on a 'NYD in Vauxhall, pretty sure Steve Lawler was playing. Good night, however that feeling of stepping out into Vauxhall at 7am on a 2nd January, which was a normal working day for all intents and purposes. Having to try to navigate buying a ticket, getting the tube and a walk across Victoria station to get a Southern train for an hour back to Brighton, FULL of commuters that then got into Brighton at 9am to a packed concourse while still in last nights clothes, the paranoia of normal people around you and everything else that goes with it.... never again.
 

Tourist

Active Member
Coming out the club and telling an illegal cab to wait outside the Afghan 24h whilst they decided whether to sell booze (and how much to charge..) to a bunch of dirty & incomprehensible miscreants in parka coats. A necessary (if not exactly joyous) weekly Dalston ritual for X years..
 

craig72

No longer active
Or give someone a list going to the 24hr that he Chuck's away before even looking at what's on it. Lol
 

Tourist

Active Member
Journey to afters was often the most fun part of the night esp when noone knew anything or who lived there. The first 214 bus in the morning was often lively. The stories those drivers could tell.. crackheads, people on way to prayer. And us.
 

Buckley

Well-Known Member
I was hoping for more morning after stories in the replies.....

(Not particularly crazy, but one Sunday morning, I remember our crew having a 'rush of altruism' on the way back to the Cheshire Catz' (anyone remember them) place and running up 6 flights of stairs with their neighbours'shopping bags.:lol: )
 

craig72

No longer active
I know someone walking home from a party one Sunday morning was asked by cops would he mind coming to the local station to be in a line up as he resembled I guy they already had for assault but needed some more skinny tall guys in the line up for the person to pick out..?
 

N8!

Active Member
So one fine cold November's night we had this fine fellow at my friends night entertainment establishment to jockey some discs....



After all licenced hours of merryment had quickly passed by we asked Huey if he would like to come along with us to make more merry at one of our grandiose castles (we're English, of course we all live in castles)? Yes, Huey would like that.

A few hours later, much like in Sir Buckers OP above, the inevitable happened, someone needed to go to Mickeys News down the road to replenish our stocks of Sunday morning ruin.

We didn't even have to ask. Huey wanted to go. You want one of us to come with you, dude, we asked the great man? He did not. Huey Morgan did not need assistance to procure supplies of a Sunday morning in Middle England.

He left. We sat around the lounge, did whatevs, looked at one another....."Did we just send Huey on his own to Mickeys News to buy booze, fags, and Monster Munch at 6am on a Sunday morning?" At this point we all utterly pissed ourselves laughing.

We were still LOL-ing when Huey banged on the door, all items purchased, cool af. His only comment..... "Your corner store is really f***ing weird".
 

ibizasunset

Active Member
You more your able to not give 2 f@@@s that you look smashed, the more your able to not care what people think and man the shop run
 
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