Day 4 - Prequel - the "fcuk" conversation

Some weeks ago I was buying a birthday card in Whitcoulls. Six month old baby was present.


As I was paying for the card, the cashier remarked upon my tee shirt. The cashier was a women in her fifties with hair the colour of a dirty mop, a beak for a nose and a condescending manner worthy of a senior analyst at the Treasury. In small print on my black tee shirt was the name of the brand, "fcuk".    


It was a very odd conversation. I only recalled it today. Here it is.


Cashier: "I hope you are not going to wear that tee shirt when your baby girl grows up!"
Me (alarmed): "Excuse me"
Cashier: "Your tee-shirt"
Me: "Can you read?"
Cashier: "Of course I can, they would hardly hire illiterates in Whitcoulls"
Me: "I dunno, you don't need to know how to read to work a cash register"
Cashier: "Don't be silly. Its your tee-shirt I don't like"
Me: "Do you need new glasses?"
Cashier: "What on earth for?"
Me: "Well you seem to be mistaken about the word on my tee shirt"
Cashier: "I am not"
Me: "Its a global brand"
Cashier: "I bet your mother wouldn't approve"
Me: "She bought it for me (she really did)"
Cashier: "tut tut"
Me: "Well I suppose she lives in Otaki, what do you expect"
Cashier: "Well, yes"


I decamped to the bustle of Lambton Quay. I must have been sufficiently distracted to completely forget that the conversation ever happened. Until today. Thanks for the tee shirt Mum.