PaulThe Spruiker (Part 3)
May 3rd 2007 22:16
'Ladies and gentlemen, the thing about cats is that they do not watch television. Nor can they read. Hence they are unmoved by the advertising of multinational conglomerates. Cats are not interested in two grams of sun-dried tuna, served on crystal and costing more than cocaine. Rather, they are interested in having sex and forcing as much food down their throats as possible.
'The Bargain Bin recognises this truth. We have large tins of cat food for only fifty cents. Gram for gram, this represents a saving of over $320 in comparison to the sliver of tinfoil known as Sheba - available in the David Jones food court. Nor have we placed any limit on the number of tins you may buy. As far as we're concerned, you may arrive with a flat tray truck and purchase our entire stock in one hit. Yes! Unlike the supermarkets, you may exploit our bargains to your heart's content.'
To Ray's delight, several people slowed, then turned into the shop.
'At the Bargain Bin, we have more bargains that you can poke two sticks at. We have everything you could possibly need. We even have a wide range of things you don't need. And our prices are so low you can afford to hurl your unnecessary purchases straight into the bin, unused, the moment you get home.'
The trickle of customers swelled. Ray held up a six pack of toilet paper and raised the bar.
'I believe society can be divided into two categories. There are people who pay $3.50 for six rolls of toilet paper, and there are people who pay $1.50 for six rolls of toilet paper. Those in the first category lead miserable, stunted lives, devoid of pleasure and meaning. I, in the second category, choose to spend only $1.50 for a product whose use is temporal and whose fate is preordained. I elect to save $2.00 every time I buy toilet paper. I thus have more discretionary income for really exciting things, like, drugs, gambling and wild, salacious women.'
Inside the shop, a second register was opened to cope with the influx. Ray's second hour flew and the lunchtime rush began. Superglue, candles, confectionery, sticky-tape, Tupperware, hose fittings, greeting cards, baby clothes. All became subjects of a relentless socio-political discourse.
A middle-aged Asian man mistook Ray for a busker and tossed him forty-five cents. His bold approach thus validated, Ray turned up his amplifier. A screech of feedback startled the street. As Ray fought to bring the unit under control, a shadow fell across him. He looked up. It was the owner of the bottle shop next door.
To be continued...
'The Bargain Bin recognises this truth. We have large tins of cat food for only fifty cents. Gram for gram, this represents a saving of over $320 in comparison to the sliver of tinfoil known as Sheba - available in the David Jones food court. Nor have we placed any limit on the number of tins you may buy. As far as we're concerned, you may arrive with a flat tray truck and purchase our entire stock in one hit. Yes! Unlike the supermarkets, you may exploit our bargains to your heart's content.'
To Ray's delight, several people slowed, then turned into the shop.
'At the Bargain Bin, we have more bargains that you can poke two sticks at. We have everything you could possibly need. We even have a wide range of things you don't need. And our prices are so low you can afford to hurl your unnecessary purchases straight into the bin, unused, the moment you get home.'
The trickle of customers swelled. Ray held up a six pack of toilet paper and raised the bar.
'I believe society can be divided into two categories. There are people who pay $3.50 for six rolls of toilet paper, and there are people who pay $1.50 for six rolls of toilet paper. Those in the first category lead miserable, stunted lives, devoid of pleasure and meaning. I, in the second category, choose to spend only $1.50 for a product whose use is temporal and whose fate is preordained. I elect to save $2.00 every time I buy toilet paper. I thus have more discretionary income for really exciting things, like, drugs, gambling and wild, salacious women.'
Inside the shop, a second register was opened to cope with the influx. Ray's second hour flew and the lunchtime rush began. Superglue, candles, confectionery, sticky-tape, Tupperware, hose fittings, greeting cards, baby clothes. All became subjects of a relentless socio-political discourse.
A middle-aged Asian man mistook Ray for a busker and tossed him forty-five cents. His bold approach thus validated, Ray turned up his amplifier. A screech of feedback startled the street. As Ray fought to bring the unit under control, a shadow fell across him. He looked up. It was the owner of the bottle shop next door.
To be continued...
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