Shopping

I love buying things. Doesn't everyone?

Actually. I like having things and taking them home for my personal usage. I dislike having to go and buy them. The irony is that the things I enjoy the most are the most traumatic to buy.

The local Oddbins has much I want. I'm probably incapable of not finding something to buy there. It's a small shop, and not many people are usually in. I'm a discerning buyer. I like to look thoroughly. For some reason, the person behind the counter seems to think I'm confused. I'm not. I'm looking. I don't need any help. But I'm always being watched, or thinking I'm being watched.

The second-hand bookshop I frequent is worse. I don't mean it's a bad place. It's a place with books piled up everywhere in an order that may make sense to someone. The sign says it opened in 1867 and it seems to have retained most of its start-up stock. There's something for everyone in there. You just have to find it. The owner is a garrulous sort. He tries to start conversations with customers. I don't know what to say. Usually something stupid. I'm not good at general conversation. Specific things, yes. If he wanted to know about the subject of the book I was buying (for example Princess Andrew of Greece) I could talk about that. But no, he asks about me.

I used to work in retail. I know strategies like these are used to put customers at their ease, and project a helpful image of the business. All it does with me is make me anxious. I wander around the town centre in less demanding shops for ages before going in. When I finnally do go in, I spend ages in there, worrying.

I know it's silly. But I can't stop it.