Heavy Times

Every Sunday morning, the elderly woman who works at the local newsagent's moans about the weight of my newspaper as she hauls it across the counter to zap with her barcode reader. I'm not exaggerating, she moans about it every single week. She doesn't moan in a friendly, aren't-these-big-newspapers-a-real-nuisance kind of way; she moans as if to admonish me for not choosing a lighter paper.

I think she's in the wrong job.

By Richard Carter

A fat, bearded chap with a Charles Darwin fixation.

7 comments

  1. What other job would you suggest for an elderly woman?
    Refuse collector, Barry Manilow fan club secretary, Bournemouth tourism rep, ammonia appreciation society scratch & sniff card seller? No, I think she is best left where she is. You will just have to continue being nice to her.

  2. I tried going to the rival newsagent's the other Sunday, but the teenage girl who served me called me 'Babe', so I've not been back since.

    Still, at least she didn't call me 'Hun'.

  3. 'Rival' newsagent? Cunjours up images of bespectacled, middle aged men, wearing tank tops & bow ties, competing for the custom of old granny Blenkinsop at number 27, by offering her a free copy of the People's Friend, while drooling uncontrollably over a heavily bound ledger containing those annoying, pink perforated receipts that they give you when you pay your paper bill......
    No, actually it doesn't, it's just my mind wandering again!

  4. 'Rival' newsagent? Cunjours up images of bespectacled, middle aged men, wearing tank tops & bow ties, competing for the custom of old granny Blenkinsop at number 27, by offering her a free copy of the People's Friend, while drooling uncontrollably over a heavily bound ledger containing those annoying, pink perforated receipts that they give you when you pay your paper bill......
    No, actually it doesn't, it's just my mind wandering again!

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