I bought a radio today, for the bathroom, so nobody has to hear me dropping hefty shites.

It's a bit pricey , 50 euro , but I've been holding on to a 50 that somebody gave me for my birthday and it's burning a hole in my wallet , so I say fuck it , I'll get it .

I've had bother before about buying things before in electronic shops , and if you have to return something , they never give you cash , they give you a "credit note", and I hate that because most of the time you don't want something else in the shop , you want the money back , or a replacement , and this particular radio was the last radio of it's kind in the shop , so I didn't want to be left stuck like that , so I decided to ask this fella what the returns policy was .

Fist of all , the closer I get to this fella , I realise that he looks a bit of a dopey prick , I can't put my finger on it . He looks like he cut his own fringe , and did a really shite job , he is ever so slightly cross eyed , that sort of a thing.

He looks genuinely frightened as I'm striding towards him (I was in the shop earlier that day and I've already decided that I want the radio , so there is no messing when I get in there , I make a beeline for the counter) .

I grab the radio and slap it down on the counter.

"What your returns policy?" I says to him.

His facial expression is as if I just asked him to pat his head and rub his tummy at the same time , genuinely confused he was , he just starts stuttering and his two big cross-eyes are like headlamps.

"WHAT DO YOU MEAN LIKE ? "

Shit , now I'm puzzled , I thought that this is a fairly standard question.

"Like for example..." I begin, "...if this radio is damaged or doesn't work as intended, will there be any issue with a refund in cash , or do you give credit notes?"

"WHY , WHAT'S DAMAGED ABOUT IT!?" he quivers , his lower lip glistening, and under his little rascals hairdo , beads of sweat have formed.

"What ? No , I haven't bought it yet , it might be alright , I just like to know what the policy is beforehand . " I explain.

"I'LL OPEN IT HERE IN FRONT OF YOU" he barks , and it sounds like a threat, the way someone with a bomb might talk .

"Right... ( I want to explain to him that that isn't really the point of my question, I assumed that the radio was fine , but I kind of stop myself from going any further , because at this stage the picture is complete, this guy is hard-of-thinking in some way shape or form . ) ... okay then."

The guy has these big sausage fingers right , and he starts manhandling the box (which isn't very big , about the size of a loaf of bread , and not much heavier either), starts ripping at the styrofoam , chunks of it are coming off onto the table , he eventually gets the thing open and he sets it on the table.

"SEE!" (I had to hold back a laugh at this stage , the guy said it as if this was some kind of " gotcha" , but I hadn't accused him of anything to begin with.) .

"Yeah , it looks fine." (it occurred to me that you would have to plug it in to know if anything is wrong with it, and that the damage might not be cosmetic, and that even if everything worked out of the box, it might take 24 hours or more for potentially problems to become apparent, maybe a fuse goes or the ariel nut cracks, who knows, but I honestly couldn't be arsed opening the door to whatever this guy would have to say about that, so I just leave it).

I've had enough of talking to this goonies fucker at this stage; "I'll take it.".

He starts shovelling the radio back into the box, and when he slides it over to my side of the counter the top of the box won't close .

He must have felt some sort of regret and responsibility for the awkward exchange because although the radio was 50 quid, he offers it to me for 45.

"Thanks very much. I says , "that's mighty.".

The guy smiles a dopey little smile to himself , as if he has put the world to rights, and then hands me back 50 cents change from the 50 euro that I gave him.

I'm waiting for the rest, assuming that he was searching for it in the till, so I'm just staring at him , and he is starting at me, and he starts to look frightened again.

I look at the receipt , then back up at Lenny from Mice and men.

"The radio was 45 , I gave you 50 , and you gave me back 50 cent" I say dryly, well past the point of being done with this conversation .

He slaps his drippy forehead with a wet thud sending a flurry of sweat flying onto the counter next to the loose bits of styrofoam that he didn't bother to pack back into the box.

He does this little dance, the "sorry" dance, we all do it , but trust me when I say that it's not the least bit endearing when he does it.

He hands me my fiver and I gave him back his 50 cents.

One of the most awkward exchanges I think that I have ever had in a shop to date .

Radio works great, no issues.