The past few days have flown past in fervid flashes of frantic Christmas shopping and I am dead-sure that I am suffering from the grave malaise known as "Taka Fatigue"...I have been trawling the boutiques for great buys with the alacrity and keenness of a bloodhound in heat...struggling through the hordes of fellow bargain- seekers and dealing with battalions of clueless and rude sales people (there were a few who were absolute gems though, especially those at Marks and Spencer, John Little and Borders.)

Sometimes I wonder why it is so difficult to communicate with these sales people...Do I speak with an odious lisp? No. Am I a compulsive stutterer? No. Is my tongue horrendously short? I don't think so. So why is it the people in the service industry tend to look at me as if I have a chain of Bradwurst sausages stuck down my oesophagus whenever I try to convey my retail needs? Take the following conversation for instance,

Me: Excuse me, do you have ties?

Young Sales girl (tag says "MIMI"): huh? (clueless face, looks at me as if I was from Pluto)

Me: Sorry, I am looking for ties.

MiMi: What?

Me: Ties...you know...this one? ( I gesticulate like a chimp and start putting my clasped hands around my neck- which is starting to pop veins)

MiMi: orh...sorry..out of stock. Here no-have.

Me: What? But I just saw this guy walk out of your store with two ties. Evidently, he was quite happy with his purchase because he was clutching the ties to his chest and smiling to himself.

MiMi (five second pause as this long thread of info travels across her synapses) : orh...i....see. Wait, I call the manager. ( shuffles down the aisle as she seeks someone else to help her with the tremendous burden I have placed on her frail shoulders with my unreasonable requests)

Me: No! No! No! I just need to know where you display your ties!

Too late. Five minutes later, a lugubrious and hirsute ape of heavy proportions ambled right in front of me.

"Sir, is there a problem?"

I realised that his tag just said "Manager"...No name. In my opinion, this unfortunate individual has been dehumanised and reduced to a fawning and servile automaton...What an irony...the tag was more a symbol of slavery instead of the badge of power and authority it was meant to be. I attempted to clarify the situation, but it was hard to communicate with a primate. Eventually, I managed to tell him what I wanted. Incidentally, ties were abundant in the boutique...I swear that the little store room at the back was bursting at its seams with ties...from every land and of every creed.

As I left, MiMi hit me with a snide "say-lah-I-thought-you-looking-for-dog-collar!"...I was flabbergasted and flustered and extremely provoked by the low-class and lousy parting shot...however, I felt that discretion was the better part of valour when dealing with apes and buffoons...so I tried to saunter away with whatever dignity I had left.

Apart from this debacle, there were other unsavoury misadventures involving a motley crew of bestial children (now they were the ones in need of a dog-collar) and some queue-cutting pirates...

On the whole however, I returned with a rich harvest this year, and I thoroughly the hours of retail therapy. Thanks to Stephanie for being my shopping Kaki this holiday season...I still think Coffee Club's Muddy Mud Pie beats NYDC's Irish Cream Mud...Hands down...Oh, and congrats to Michelle for getting married...It was a lovely wedding, if not for a waitress with the manners of a cave-troll...more about this miscreant later.

That's all folks! Happy Holidays to one and all! Except the Manager and MiMi...Muahaha