How to purchase with no purchase.

 I've written a novel called How Ghosts Affect Relationships. It's about a man who is so often ignored he feels like a ghost. It is is not autobiographical. However...

Today I was in a shop that sold high end tat. It's the sort of shop I would never go in as a younger man, as these shops never have anyone in them other than an inexplicably posh assistant, who would attempt to talk to me and I'd be obliged to purchase something to avoid hurting their feelings. I still feel like this sometimes, though it's mostly under control. 

I didn't feel like that today. I was on a mission. It's Susan's and my anniversary, and we said we wouldn't get each other gifts. But, equally, she had been in to this shop and mentioned there was some nice jewellery in it. It wasn't a hint. Susan doesn't drop those sorts of hints. Which is why I thought it would be a good idea to go in and buy something. It would be a genuine surprise: she doesn't drop those sorts of hints, and I'm lazy and cheap. So she'll suspect nothing. 

The shop, functionally about the size of my kitchen, has the requisite posh woman in it, and she's chatting to another posh woman and a child. Though the child isn't doing much chatting. They're standing in the doorway, and I have to squeeze past them as I enter. "Hello," I say. No reply. I look around the shop. Posh nonsense. Smellies. Candles. Wooden toys that modern children wouldn't recognise as toys. Where's the jewellery? Ah, of course, the women are standing in front of it. I go over and the woman with the child frowns and pulls her out of the way, in case I stick her under my jumper and run out of the shop with her. But I can't run of the shop even if I want to - they're standing in front of the jewellery cabinet and the door. It's fabulous grouping - I can't buy anything and I can't leave. I scan the baubles. They're alright. Some bracelets. A few rings. Some have prices. Some you have to guess. There's a pair of earrings that are screaming "buy me for Susan". I know she'll love the way they look, but she rarely wears earrings. Only on special occasions. But hopefully our life will be full of special occasions from now on. Fuck it. I'll get them. She'll love them. 

I can get a receipt. 

There's no price, but the cabinet seems to be open and, yes, I ease it open, and pick up the earrings. An unlocked jewellery cabinet right next to the entrance. Nice planning posh shop lady. There's a price on the back of the card and it's not too bad. Sod it, I think. I'll get them. 

"I'd like to buy these." I say to the owner. She starts, suddenly, as though I'd just appeared from thin air like Timothy fucking Claypole. 

"Right," she says. The other woman gives her an apologetic look - I'm so sorry this had to happen - and leaves the shop with her little girl, and me and the, I assume, owner - who is in her forties and has pigtails and a bobble hat on, in doors - head towards the till. I hand her the earrings. She immediately disappears from view and I hear rustling from the beneath the counter. "There's a special bag for this but I can't find them." She appears with tissue paper to wrap the earrings, but fucks it up and then scrunches it and throws it away. While she's looking for more tissue she finds a "special bag" - it looks a bit like a pencil case made out of old fishnets, but okay. She sticks the the earrings in the denier wallet without laddering it, then wraps it in tissue, then starts looking for yet another bag. Triple ply protection. She's taking no chances. My bought earrings have better security than the unsold ones by the shop door. 

Satisfied with her wrapping, she scouts around for her glasses. They're the wrong glasses. So she squints at the price and tries to charge me three quid more than the price tag suggest they're worth. Not on my watch, lady. I pay. The card reader gives me an option of an e mail receipt or a text receipt. As I don't know my phone number - I know - I opt for the email option. It asks for my phone number. 

"Is there no way of getting a paper receipt?" I say. 

"I don't think so," she says, baffled. I wonder if I'm the first person who has bought anything from here, from her. 

"Why is the email receipt option asking for my phone number?" I say. 

"Oh, try the other one."

I press the text option and it asks for my email address and I put it in. There is is an option to receive updates about the shop and I press "no thank you" and nothing happens so I guess I'm getting updates about the shop. 

We're done. 

"Okay, thanks very much," I say. 

"Yeah, okay." she says. 

I leave her empty shop. We're both confused by what has just happened. And I am poorer for the experience.