The manager invited me behind the counter. It was a strange feeling, like holding a steering wheel for the first time. There were shelves overflowing with homeless wires and third-party peripherals, stacks of games and DVDs waiting to be filed, an ancient cash register, a giant calculator, a small TV for testing consoles, handwritten notes taped to everything.
There was also a hammer.
“I’ve never had cause to use it,” said the manager, “but you might see fit to wave it about a bit from time to time.”
It was described yesterday by Mr Biffo of Digitiser as, I quote, "a good read".
It's free, obviously. But you don't have to read it. Just if you fancy it.
Instead I wrote out of a strange loyalty to the horrible shop that had employed me for two years — it was a mess, but it was my mess — and an unfailing urge to correct the trivial mistakes of others, a habit I cultivate as it makes me attractive to women.