It shouldn't be this hard

The time was 8.47am. I mention this, not because of any particular significance about that time, but because it was before 9 o'clock in the morning. I am not a morning person nor will I ever be a morning person. I've tried being a morning person and though it sticks for a bit there will always be a part of me that just cannot deal with the world until around 10am. After 10 I'm fine. I can hold telephone conversations, crack on with boring admin, exercise, run*, jump*, kick*, climb trees* and most importantly - talk. Up until this point, no matter how early I went to bed or how late I arose, all these things are near-on impossible. 10am is when my brain decides it's awake time now thank you.

So, that is to say, pre-9am is not when I'm at my best. Just to make that clear. However, on this bright and breezy Friday I had promised my bro a lift to the train station so up I was at 7.30 giving the dogs their breakfast and putting on clothes that don't have flowers or Han Solo pictures on (my choice of jimbly-jamblys at this current juncture) and out the door all by 8.30. No sweat. I can cope with all that. On my way back from the aforementioned station I thought to myself 'ooh I could pop into Staples on the way home and pick up get some printer ink quick before work'.

That was my first mistake.

I walked into the store and was greeted by a dizzying array of inks none of which meant anything to me. I stood there open-mouthed and silent for a while, walking from one end of the ink selection to the other, and never quite being able to take it all in at once. There were a lot of inks. I rang my step-father:
'Papa Mikey, what is my printer called?'
'Derek?'
'Funny. What is it's number?'
'Epson Stylus 925'
'That wasn't so hard was it? Also, thank you'

I turned back to the inks. Having this knowledge was supposed to make things easier. It did not. I stood aimlessly for another minute or two before deciding this wasn't the best use of my time as I had no chance of getting the right cartridges. You may well as asked me to go to a fake-tan convention and try to blend in. The chances of either things happening are incalculable by the human brain. (Unless the way it works is the probability is zero in which case I think the human brain could probably handle that. What am I Professor Probability of Statistics University - Tenured? No. I am not) Whatever, I made to leave feeling a little dumb and also a little scared they'd think I'd been nicking stuff.

I was *this* [indicates tiny amount] close to making it out the exit doors and tasting sweet, sweet freedom... Then: 'Did you get what you were looking for today?' came a voice from Dante from Clerks's double
'No' I said.

Here I should point out that I was already predisposed to like this man - he looked like Dante from Clerks (I would have liked him even more if he looked like Dante from Desperate Romantics. Sometimes a human exists who is so beautiful it literally takes your breath away a bit, and not even in a 'creepy stalker Sting song' way but in a very real, tangible 'wah...' way. Dante from Desperate Romantics is in this category. I strongly believe he will only get more attractive as he ages in a George Clooney/Robert Downey Jr -esque journey where youthful arrogance turns into self-deprecating good humour and the beauty becomes slightly more manageable to the human eye - overwhelming beauty is almost as hard to process as overwhelming uglyness. Both things are extremely rare. That's why, for the most part, most of us are pretty passable. Some more passable than others but that's what it really boils down to - passability. Noone is completely perfect. Except Dante from Desperate Romantics).

Where was I? Oh yes, Dante from Clerks (Dear Santa, this year I would like a chunky guy in bovver boots, an oversized t-shirt and plaid. Yours, as ever, Sazzle) asked me if I needed help and after being taken aback by how Dante-from-Clerks-ish he was and assuming that noone just looks like that by accident so he must be good people, I went 'No. I'm looking for a printer cartridge. 925. Epson or something'

This is as coherent as I am able to be pre-9am. Particularly where printers are involved.

'How many cartridges does the printer take?'
'2'
'You should buy a new printer'

I laughed. I thought this was a joke. The world stopped spinning for a moment and he looked at me with such disdain that I could ever find such a serious, and helpful, suggestion funny that I almost was surprised he held back the obvious overwhelming urge to spit on my face.

The air, once clean, became laden down with awkwardness. I resisted the urge to run.

'Something something save £20' he said
'Ok' I said, trying to hurry this along as quickly as possible. I think he sensed my impatience here as I got another scornful look. We walked to the cash register (not fast enough! Not nearly fast enough!) and he rung up my purchases.

'Have you got a Staples card?'
I had already thrown it down , my phobia of social awkwardness suddenly giving me cat-like speed.
'There' I said, trying to hide the note of desperation in my voice.
'That'll be £100 then please.'

I could feel him looking at me slyly from under his downturned eyelids. I wondered if my gulp was visible.

I put my card in the machine thinking 'buying ink should not be this hard nor this expensive but I would pay any amount of money to leave this store right now so £100 is actually kind of a fair deal'.

Tomorrow I think I'm going to take them back. Wish me luck.

*Patently untrue.