Whenever I go into the office I have to walk past a City AM vendor and every day he thrusts a City AM at me. Every time, I say no (have you read City AM? It's excruciatingly dull and I've barely any time for interesting work reading as it is) and every time he replies, "No worries."
No worries. As if I require absolution for not taking his tedious instrument of capitalist propaganda. As if I have dealt him a grievious ill.
This makes me want to shriek at him and punch him in the face, a feeling that grows every time it happens.
It worsened round about the time of Glastonbury when his normal middle class Surrey twat hairdo got cut into something part shaved, funky and urban and just as rapidly grew back out after Glastonbury finished.
Today I was in Tesco and the checkout chappy asked if I wanted a plastic bag. I said no (as an old bag obviously I carry an old bag). "No worries," he said. I had to be restrained from leaping across the belt and giving him something to worry about.
Where did this hideous abomination come from? And more to the point, how can we eliminate it?