I haven’t checked if Argos is just a UK company or it’s part of a global concern but for the benefit of anyone who doesn’t know, we have a chain of stores here in the UK called Argos. You find them in town centres and retail parks. They generally all look the same and even when it’s not Christmas I perish the thought of walking through their doors. The idea is you go in, flip through one of many catalogues on display, select the things you want, record them on a little slip and then hand that to the checkout person. I think you can automate that process a bit these days with a self-serve system. Anyway, once you’ve made payment you then proceed to the collection points to wait your turn for your purchases to appear. It all sounds like a perfectly sanitised version of shopping, simple and hassle free. Except, at Christmas, it’s a nightmare.
You walk through the door and you see hordes of people all hunched over the little counters madly flipping though the pages. It’s like a mad game of musical chairs to get to an empty counter. When you do it’s all elbows and arms in the way as you try and select the things you want to buy. Once you’ve done that you have to wait at Collection Point D for what seems like ages and you have to constantly watch the guy on minimum wage appearing with that thing you bought for whoever. You sort of look at the box and try and think “Is that it? Could they get a junior size snooker table in a box that size?”.
I see Argos as nothing more than sausage factory shopping. You shove a consumer in one end, you get consumer + product out of the other. Minus cash (or more likely plus bigger credit card bill). It’s about as Christmassy as a bag of pebbles and is about as far away from little kids staring though the toy shop window as you can get. What’s more terrifying for me in particular is that I just may have to do it, again, this year. Shit.
I’ll tell you a little story about Argos that does make me smile. I knew a girl called Gail when I was a teenager and she was, to a teenage lad, quite fit. All boobs and legs and stuff. I lost touch with her but then she ended up marrying a bloke I worked with and we sort of became friends again. She was now a woman but the boobs and legs and stuff where all still there and were in fine working order. She was a fine looking woman. The marriage went a bit wobbly and she and the bloke I worked with split up. Shit happens I suppose.
So anyway, there I am one year in Argos in Oldham doing all of the above. I’m feeling pretty pissed of with life and Argos isn’t helping. Suddenly, across the queues of people, I hear “Daaaaaave!“. Yep, it was Gail. She was looking as fine as ever and she appeared to have been on some form of Christmas function, perhaps an Office party or something. She was a bit glammed up. She was also a bit tiddly! Like a knife through butter Gail cut through all the queues and made a beeline for me. I felt like a tiny insect being gathered in by a praying mantis. Before I know it Gail plonks her lips on mine for the traditional Christmas kiss and she’s not messing about. I am powerless to resist and it’s tongues and everything. Blimey Charlie! If you happen to read this Gail, be happy that it’s one of the few things about Christmas that I’m happy to recount. The looks on every other Argos shopper was a sight to behold.
Nevertheless, I really hate Christmas
Dave
