@"TEN PERCENT DISCOUNT"

# The resulting fantasy of a bad day at work, by Andrew Campbell 
# 1994. If you work in retail, you'll understand it.



 "I've got a discount card young fella, just hang on...." babbled the 
old man, not at all bothered about the ever-growing queue snaking out
behind him.
 Peter, the Checkout Operator, produced the biggest false-smile he'd 
ever managed in his life and ran his eyes slowly across the AMOUNT DUE
figure.
# £0.29p.
 No hundreds, no tens, no pounds, just twenty nine measly pence. The 
patheticness of the situation hit him immediately: this wrinkled old
cocksucker wanted ten percent off a packet of half-inch woodscrews.
 A ten percent reduction from twenty nine hamster-shagging pence.
# Was this fuckwit for real or what?
 "It's in my pocket somewhere..." the man went on, flickering Peter a 
tiny grin. Peter said nothing. Three more customers joined the back of
his queue.
# He was having such a lovely day.
 "Well I could have sworn..." muttered the dickhead, running his hands
in and out of his pockets as though trying to give himself a hard-on.
Money and keys jangled, handkerchiefs waved, small scraps of note-
paper and sweet-wrappers showered through the air... but the sacred
Discount Card seemed to have vanished.
 "Would you like to just pay for the screws, sir?" Peter suggested. 
"They're only twenty nine pence, part of our clearance sale-"
 "No, no, no..." mumbled the stupid bastard, now diving into the 
pockets of his shirt. "I've got my card here somewhere, I swear it."
 Peter clenched his teeth.
# £0.29p
 Did this fuckwit think he was over-spending? Maybe he'd seen a ten in
front of the twenty nine, instead of just a zero.
 "It's just twenty nine pence, sir." Peter said, carefully avoiding 
his almost instinctive urge to place the word "fucking" between the
words "nine" and "pence".
 "Uh?" the old man looked up at Peter briefly. His skin contained more
folds than a Cadbury's Twirl. "What did you say, young fella?"
 "It's just twenty nine pence." Peter repeated softly, raising a smile
that was most definitely sarcastic.
 The old man nodded. "Yes. I know. I want ten percent off."
 "Ten percent off twenty nine pence?" Peter's eyebrows lifted.
 "Yes. Oh yes." insisted the old man.
 "I see." Peter sighed and folded his arms. He observed the lengthy
queue of impatient customers, took a deep breath, then faced the man 
once again and said:
 "Perhaps you'd like the fuckers delivered? Hell, maybe you'd like
each screw delivered on a different DAY, how does than sound? No good?
What about an Installation Service? Would you like the screws FITTED 
for you as well? We do a special deal you know - buy any product over 
twenty nine pence and get a free blowjob!"
 The old man, now very angry indeed, crashed his right hand down on 
the counter. When he slid away, there it was: the sacred card.
# THE TEN PERCENT DISCOUNT CARD.
 Peter snatched it, held it up infront of the old man's face and 
hissed:
 "Very useful these cards, sir. Very useful indeed. Have you seen what
it says on the back?" Peter flipped the card over. "Listen. It says: 
'This Discount Card can be used to jam up your wife's cunt. On the 
other hand if you're a wrinkly old pissflap that no woman would even 
barf on, you can endulge in the pleasures of anal insertion - simply 
ram the card up your arse for immediate excitement.' Now why don't you
go home and try doing just that, my old goat-fucking friend?"
 "You're fired." said the old man, grinning broadly.
 "Oh yeah?"
 "Yeah."
 "And why's that, fuckface?"
 "I'm a Mystery Shopper. Have a nice day."
 The old man picked up his screws and marched away towards the 
manager's office.