My trusty hairdryer died in my hand last week when it suddenly stopped working, gave up its last breath and died. It was no surprise really as I’d had it for over 12 years and never cleaned out the filter. But enough about my slovenly hair habits. Off I went to a high street chemist, which for argument’s sake let’s call Boots, to buy a replacement. So there I am in this Boots place, staring at a shelf full of boxes, all security tagged, with pictures of hairdryers on them. I wanted to know how the dryer would feel in my hand and whether it had a longer, salon-length cable, which for reasons too tedious to blog involving location of bedroom socket and mirror, was necessary for me. I lifted one likely looking dryer out of its box to have a good look, and that’s when he appeared. The officious security guard turned up out of nowhere and stood by my side, lurking.
We were both pretending not to notice each other, although he was clearly assuming I was going to nick something and run. I’ve never stolen anything from a shop in my life, not even a Rimmel mascara when dared on by my mates one school lunchtime moons ago. Not even a bag a crisps. So being assumed to be shoplifting when I was fondling hairdryers really got my goat. But I played it really cool and deliberately decided to give the security fella something to get worked up about. I took down just about every boxed dryer and opened them all one by one, all the while pretending not to notice the guard by my side although I knew full well he was giving me the eye and must have been wondering what I was playing at. Finally I decided on my perfect new dryer, the weight felt right in my hand and the cord length was good. I took it in its box to the checkout only to have him follow me there until I’d paid for it. He actually stood by my side and watch me massacre my Maestro card to the tune of £39.99. Did he still think I was shoplifting even while I was paying? Was I really that much of a threat to the nation’s best loved drugs store? Ironically, while the guard stood watching me with the hairdryer boxes, I’m sure I saw an old man take some corn plasters from the shelf and put them in his pocket. And do you know what, after the way I was treated in Boots this week, I really hope that old man got away with it too. [Flaming Nora]