I've just gone totally off the point.
This is not the bit about the DIY, this is the bit about the post-DIY haze, when I went out to get food and fresh air - my nose full of dust. I went to Subway and ordered an expensive sandwich. The people in there have worked out that I go there virtually daily, and they were nice to me. They didn't have any parmesan cheese for my sandwich, so offered me a discount. I pointed out that I already had a discount - better than the one they were offering. They tried to offer me some other sort of recompense for a lack of this condiment. I pointed out that they didn't need to, especially since I was prepared to buy more stuff both as part of that order, and in future. They know that I need them more than they need me. Still, I tried to make it understood that I was thankful that they were being nice, but that they simply didn't have to give me anything. I like going to the shop and I like the people there.
I sort of lied, though. I do like going there, but I'm actually getting a bit sick of it. It might be good for an occasional, or even frequent treat, but I feel like I've done Subway now. A bit of variety might be better. Plus, although it can be healthy eating, I'm frequently tempted not to eat healthily there.
Still, I'll have a weekend away from Subway, and maybe next week I'll get some chicken from somewhere. For a change, like.
So, relating this to the title of this post, which was my original plan for what I was going to write about, I would say that Subway is a convenient shop and I like going there. So, not worthy of the title.
After I'd dropped into my old house for a shower and to bestow my washing upon the place (I think "bestow" is a good word to use in conjunction with washing), I decided to get some fruit juice to drink. I was still thirsty after my sandwich, and I don't like to drink cola or coffee after 10pm, since I think it does keep me awake. Aware that I'd like to have a lot of Zinc in my diet (I have no idea why I'd like that) I decided to get the nice Minute Maid raspberry juice that comes with Zinc supplement. I buy it often from the garage down the road. I like garages that are open all night, they're convenient. They have a reasonable range of stuff you can buy and they're like little islands of open in a sea of closed businesses in the night.
Sometimes, the garage is on night pay. I hate night pay. I won't buy stuff there when it's on night pay. I don't like being denied the right to browse. I want to be allowed into a shop. I'm not a criminal. I've been buying stuff at that garage for the last 14 months. I should be allowed to go in whenever I want. I'm always polite.
Still, the garage was on night pay and, for the first time ever, I decided to stop there and use the night pay. I queued patiently. A conversation in the queue ahead of me, alerted me to a new wrinkle in their night pay policy - the ultimate insult to the late night shopper. I'll give you a script to illustrate how sodding ludicrous this policy is. This isn't quite the conversation that happened, as I was already wise to things when I got to the front. This is what would have happened.
Me: Hi there. Can you go and get me some of that Minute Maid raspberry drink I buy.
Him: Sorry sir, I can't go into the shop.
Me: Surely, it's me that's not allowed in the shop, owing to the fact that you've closed the doors, and pulled the shutters, and forced me to talk to you through a hatch. Surely you are actually the only person allowed in the shop.
Him: No sir, I'm not able to go into the shop.
Me: But you ARE in the shop.
Him: No, I'm behind the counter.
Me: But the rest of the shop is right there. The other side of the counter.
Him: But I can't go into it. I'm here alone.
Him: Well, if desert the counter, then what might happen?
Me: I don't know. Surely, what would happen is that you'd go and get something I want to buy and then give it to me after I've paid you for it. Through the hatch.
Him: I can't desert my post.
Me: Ah. I get it. There might be a chance that, while your back is turned, one of the customers turns into a gas, slips through the hatch, turns back into human form and then steals some Snack A Jacks from the display, or perhaps a copy of the magazine "Reveal".
Him: I just work here.
Me: Unless I want cigarettes or petrol, your working here isn't going to provide me with any value.
Him: I'm sorry about that.
Me: This truly sucks.
So, I went to the convenience store down the road and bought some Tropicana grapefruit juice. I am still gobsmacked that the night pay system even precludes getting stuff that's the other side of the counter. Ridiculous. I understand why they have night pay. When there's only one person on duty, they have to protect the staff and the stock, a single-handed worker isn't enough for that. However, it's totally inconvenient and insulting to trade with people on this basis. I'm not a criminal. I'm not even slightly evil. Maybe we should have some sort of membership system. I'd get a card saying I'm allowed in any BP garage that's open.
Maybe I'll write to BP.
Or maybe I'll shop elsewhere.