The Doors Of Rejection


Went to the Lee shop last weekend to cop me some raw denim for the summer.

After trying on approximately 1.3 pairs and getting royally bummed by the changing rooms, i mooched out of the shop dejectedly. As if to add insult to injury at that exact moment someone starts mouthing off in my direction. I get called a twat and told to get the hell out the store before i get sparked clean out. Weirdly enough i also notice this barrage is coming unmistakably from the direction of the door. As i cross the threshold the tirade intensifies, and i clock to my amazement it's the door that's tearing me to shreds. It tells me i have a face like a smacked arse and look like some stunted faggot, calls my bird ugly, and starts describing at length how it spent the previous night boffing my mum. I'm in disbelief.

But then i see the sign on the front of the door, the one i clearly missed on the way in. And as i look back through the glass the staff behind the counter all nod knowingly in my direction. It's then that I realise i'd been naive, that all along i had it coming.






This door was bang out of order.






No comments:

Post a Comment