1. INT. NEWSAGENT’S. DAY
A FRIENDLY MAN STANDS BEHIND A COUNTER. OUR HERO, ROBERT, ENTERS THE STORE.
ROBERT:
I would like a Daily Mirror and Daily Mail, please.
NEWSAGENT:
I’m sorry, we’ve sold out of the Daily Mail.
ROBERT:
Ah, I’ll just take the Mirror, then.
NEWSAGENT:
That’ll be 45p, please.
ROBERT (OUR HERO, REMEMBER?) HANDS OVER THE MONEY AND LEAVES, WHISTLING JAUNTILY AS HE GOES.
2. EXT. STREET. DAY.
ROBERT STROLLS ALONG THE STREET. HE NOTICES A SECOND NEWSAGENT’S SHOP NOT FIVE DOORS AWAY FROM THE FIRST.
ROBERT:
Hey, I forgot that shop was there. I’ll go in and see if they have any copies of the Daily Mail left, and my parents shall not be denied their daily dose of reactionary right-wing rantings.
3. INT. SECOND NEWSAGENT’S. DAY
ROBERT (STILL THE HERO) ENTERS, SPIES A DAILY MAIL AND PICKS IT UP.
NEWSAGENT 2:
(RE THE DAILY MIRROR TUCKED UNDER ROBERT‘S ARM) Is that not from here?
ROBERT:
Oh, er… no. The paper shop down the road was sold out of the Daily Mail, so I had to come here instead.
NEWSAGENT 2:
Oh, you had to come here? That’s a terrible shame, isn’t it? You had to come here instead of going to the shop down the road? Well, what a shame that you had to come here. Let’s hope that doesn’t happen again.
ROBERT REALISES WHAT HE’S JUST SAID, HANDS OVER THE MONEY, MUMBLES AN ATTEMPT AT AN APOLOGY/EXPLANATION, AND BEATS A HASTY RETREAT
4. EXT. STREET. DAY
ROBERT EXITS INTO THE WARM MORNING SUNSHINE.
ROBERT:
I can never go into that shop ever again.
HE STARTS TO WALK BACK TO HIS HOUSE. HE STOPS TO PONDER.
ROBERT: (CONT’D)
Hmmm… I could write about this in my blog.
27th April 2004 at 2:19 pm
I hate having to go into a shop while already carrying something that said shop already sells. I normally have to hide the Mirror that I buy in the Co-Op at the bottom of my shopping bag, so that the people in the newsagent next door don’t think I’ve swiped it.