Happy Birthday

So, I’m in one of those shops that sell cards and mugs and things. You know what I mean, card shops that only employ people with a low IQ count. Anyhow, I asked if they had a banner that said ‘Happy Birthday Boss’, and the assistant who clearly adds credibility to the fact we humans evolved from apes, drops her eyebrow (singular).

‘Have I got this correct?’ she says with said eyebrow still drooped, ‘you are looking for a banner that says ‘Happy Birthday Boss?’

‘Ahuh,’ I say opening my wallet surprised at her surprise.

The Neanderthal one goes to speak to a colleague and the two of them whisper and giggle. Then she comes back over and says ‘I’m sorry sir, but we don’t stock such items.’

People are queueing behind me, people who clearly use Eau De Urine, and who buy sevent-five pence condolence cards as a habit, are beggining to tutt loudly: adding to the masive discomfert I'm already feeling.

Smiling through gritted teeth, I say, ‘Cherie (the name on her company badge. So she doesn't forget) do you have one that says ‘Happy Birthday Wife or Darling, or Bitch, or Nemesis. Anything like that?’

To which, she puckers her lips, and I swear to God, I heard voices talking inside her head.

‘We have them for Daughter or Granny!’ she says proudly after she, or the wind up computer inside her head, worked out some kind of logic in her head.

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Personaly, I think the Police were rather heavy handed. After all I only threatened to rip her head off, I didn't. Is it my fault she can’t deal with irate customers?