I wrote this yesterday, so it's not a labour of love or anything. Instead of posting publicly, I sent it to a respected member of the forum who told me it was juvenile, contrived nonsense.
I've reduced it by 25% and wonder if it still sucks. Please note, I am British, so my writing reflects that.
Orange Paisley Socks
A sleek, olive-skinned woman entered the store, oblivious to the rows of fresh bouquets competing for attention. She marched across the hard flooring, her stilettos punctuating each step.
A disposable plastic shopping bag swung by her side.
James, who was covering for Sue at Customer Services, ogled the woman. She passed the cigarette booth and strutted directly towards him. He shifted on the spot, straightening up a little, and allowed his eyes to navigate her vital statistics. Where had such a fine, Italianesque beauty been hiding in downtown Clacton-on-Sea?
The white lettering on his green badge read, “Hi, I’m James - how may I help?” Unseen below the counter, his hands fiddled with the gold band shackling his ring finger.
“Good morning!” he trilled.
“Morning,” she said, without intonation.
She placed her white bag upon the counter and pulled from it a rectangular box.
“I’d like to get a refund for this DVD player. It’s not suitable.”
“Yes, of course, no problem. May I have your receipt, please?”
“I don’t have one. But you can see it’s from your shop.”
“Yes, my dear...er...lady...madam,” said James, correcting himself while his face drifted through three shades of pink, “I can see it’s one of ours, but I’m not actually authorised to issue a refund without a valid receipt.”
He attempted a smile. “How about a money-off voucher instead?”
“I don’t want a voucher...I don’t shop here. It was a present from a friend, and it’s not suitable.”
James was wondering how best to relieve the tension when the woman shoved the package across the counter towards him.
“Here, you may as well have it, I know you need one.”
“Excuse me?” said James.
“You’re still watching videos. It’s about time you joined the twenty-first century.”
“I beg your pardon,” said James, his eyes widening.
The woman tilted her head to one side and smiled, but James was too confounded to reciprocate.
“It’s common knowledge, darling, you need a DVD player. You also need to fix that dripping tap in your bathroom. And, for the record...” She leaned towards him, speaking almost in a whisper as she rolled her eyes, “those orange paisley socks...sheesh! Since when did a man of your age wear anything so ghastly...darling?”
The woman turned away, abandoning her bag, her DVD player, and a pallid, open-mouthed James. Marching from the store, she passed Penny, James’s wife, who was the very last person James expected to see.
Penny approached.
“You won’t believe...” James started.
“I’m sure I will.” Penny looked mischievous. “Tell me...what’s the date?”
“The date? First of April.”
“April Fool, my darling,” Penny grinned. “I see you’ve met Olivia.”
“Duh! I can’t believe it! I was really freaking out. She was so deadpan.”
“In case you’re wondering, that’s our DVD player. I bought it yesterday. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”
“You monkey. How come I’ve never met this Olivia?”
“She’s temping at my place. We got talking by the photocopier. I couldn’t resist her offer to play a little trick on you.”
James stifled a smirk.
“I’ll get you back, you know, and I can’t believe you told her about my socks. That was too creepy.”
Penny giggled. “I assume she started with the DVD player, and then the bit about our leaky tap, or maybe the iron-mark on the kitchen floor. Did she mention the crack in the lounge window?”
James shook his head.
Penny seemed satisfied. “Well, ad-libbing about your socks was a nice enough touch.”
A sudden buzzing vied for attention.
“Give me a second,” said James as he pulled his jiggling phone from a back pocket. “Hello? Yes, this is Mr Wilkins.”
James pressed the phone tightly to his ear, staring at Penny while his expression clouded over.
“What? No, you’re joking! I’ll be there in a few minutes.”
He looked vacant for a moment.
“That was the fire brigade. Mrs Beckett called them...as in...next door’s Mrs Beckett. We’ve been burgled and the house is on fire. My orange paisley socks were found dangling from the letterbox.”
“What?”
“My thoughts exactly, Penny.”
“But surely you don’t think...?”
Penny snatched the phone and dialled her office.
“Christine, this is Penny. Can you put me through to Olivia?”
Penny squirmed. “Olivia, the temp...she looks like a model. We were talking by the photocopier yesterday.”
James pulled the phone from Penny’s ear and pressed the loudspeaker button.
“Sorry Penny, we’ve got no temps in at the moment. There was someone here yesterday, but she said she was fixing the photocopier. I didn’t even know it was broken.”
![Orange Paisley Socks [760 words]](http://www.writingforums.com/iconimages/short-stories/orange-paisley-socks-760-words_ltr.gif)
