That Time I Got Conned By A Christmas Stall.

I love Christmas.

I love most things about it. The silly decorations, hearing Slade 6000 times a day, the general festive glow and aura that fills the air. Pretty much everything.

Christmas shopping however, is something I’m in two mindsets on, I suppose it depends on the general mood, or day but I can either be on a roll and be fantastic at it, or alternatively I can be like myself a few Christmases ago.

Our Story takes us to 2014.

It was a cold, rainy Thursday afternoon, I was in town making an attempt to get some Christmas shopping done, it was a bleak and disheartening experience I had a never ending internal conflict on just what to get people or even where to start searching for such a matter. I still had an everlasting list of things to get matched with a long list of people to buy for but the two dots just simply wouldn’t connect.

At this point, I knew what had to be done. I put the ‘Purchase Gates’ theory into practice.

I wouldn’t expect you to know about the ‘Purchase Gates’ theory because I have literally just this second invented it, but I’m pretty sure it’s relatable enough to catch on.

The Purchase Gate theory (c) goes like so…

You’re in town, you need to get some shopping achieved, maybe it’s for other people, or maybe you need to buy some fancy new clothes for a Christmas night out? Either way you’re in town and nothing’s quite catching your eye.

Then, against all odds you pick something up on a whim, in my case it was an Avengers belt, upon picking up the Avengers belt however I notice some whimsically themed ‘fast food socks’ that may as well be bought also. On the way to the checkout I figure that a plain tee shirt could come in handy somehow so pick that up too. “Oh, here we go….The gates have opened now!” I’ll think to myself.

You buy one thing, and suddenly much more will become appealing to you, The Purchase Gates open up, things take your fancy much easier and suddenly you become more practical in your purchasing pursuits.

Back to our cold, rainy December Thursday I decide to just find a small purchase to merely open up the gates, nothing too extravagant but enough to get the ball rolling, as a result I decide to check out the Christmas stalls that range from exotic foods, to handmade jewellery with everything in between. One of these stalls seemingly specialised in onesies..

Every variation of onesie you could imagine was there, Penguins, Dinosaurs, Pigs, British flags, even Minions before this ridiculous fucking Minion obsession began to plague the nation. That’s when I saw it….

Stitch, from Lilo and Stitch in onesie form.

“Holy shit”

I figure on this cold day, this cold, rainy Thursday that the perfect opening purchase would be this, I approach the stall, approach the Stitch onesie and look slightly to the left of said Stitch onesie, and that’s when I saw it…..

A fucking Pikachu onesie.


“Ohhhhh shit!” I thought once more. Sorry Stitch mate you’ve already been relegated, as within an instant let my heart choose the electric mouse.

“Hey there, buddy how much is this one here?” I inquire, hope and soul filling my eyes as I gaze upon this wonderful piece of bed wear.

“Ten quid for small, fifteen for large, mate” he replied possibly wondering why he even bothered to suggest small judging upon my child like gaze.

“Awesome, I’ll get large…do you take card?”

“Nah, cash only, mate”

“………”

“……..”

“Alright, be back in a bit”.

And with that, I gallivant to the nearest cashpoint, images of me chilling in my Pikachu onesie fill my mind, I almost feel the intense warmth from the soft satisfying material. I withdraw twenty pound, I rush back to the stall, the guy must have been having a slow day because during my absence he had already taken the liberty of retrieving a pre-packed onesie and already bagging it. We make the exchange.

“Here you are, mate” (I’m not over exaggerating his overuse of the word ‘mate’ by the way)

Cheers pal, have a lovely Christmas”

“You too mate”

I continue a successful shopping trip, the Purchase Gate theory proves a success once again, I return home, and I wait.

I wait til the darkest hour, of this cold, rainy Thursday. I wait til the fatigue of a long day kicks in, I wait til I finish preparing a perfect hot chocolate to accompany the debut of this onesie.

The hot chocolate is prepared, the rain as if knowing of this moment intensifies in volume, I retrieve my Pikachu onesie and prepare to get into it…The ultimate unveiling goes south very quickly….

It was a fucking Tiger.

No, not a real tiger although let’s face it, it would have been a much better story.

I look in pure horror at this monstrosity of an excuse of a onesie. It was the most stupid Tiger I have ever seen in my life.

Do you know what I’ve never seen? A yellow fucking tiger. Yet here was one, in my devastated hands. Every tiger I can think of, whether it be real or fictitious has actually been orange, you know…The actual colour of tigers. Maybe if the packet had actually said “Striped Lion” or “Not Pikachu” I could have probably let it slide but the fact that someone had the gall to call this a tiger really got my goat.

Look….

This is a tiger

This is an Orange

This is Frosties mascot Tony the Tiger

Three very different entities on this mortal coil, Animal, Fruit, and cartoon. Yet all three share the defining feature of being fucking orange.

This. Is the closest example to the onesie I got I could find….

Tigers don't even pose like that.

Tigers don’t even pose like that.

The only thing separating it is the fact that on my onesie, instead of being cute, the eyes were soullessly white with a shit attempt at smaller black pupils.

A tiger isn’t even striped like it’s depicted in the onesie, I’ve never seen something, that’s meant to be a tiger look so different from a tiger, fuck they’re actually close to making it look like Pikachu than they are an actual Tiger.

I go to bed, onesie-less and irritated. Not to worry however, I figured that I may as well just simply return the onesie the next day.

So our story now takes us to a cold, dreary Friday. I walk into town, same bag placed in my hand twenty-four hours later.

It was an ever so simple plan, go in, explain the situation, possibly get judged on what business a 24 year old man had getting a onesie of a character from a childs outdated tv series, have a good laugh and return home. There was however one very crucial setback.

The stall had vanished.

“…………………………Oh” I thought to myself. Maybe he’s just not set up yet? I concluded as I continue the rest of my day. A few hours later I return, and it’s still not there.

The stall never returned.

To this day, as far as I know the stall is yet to return, I’m absolutely positive that I am the victim of what is now, and will always be.

The perfect crime

The onesie heist.

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About danodanz

26 year old British guy who moans, goes on tangents, rants about inane things and gets himself into all sorts of bizarre situations. Despite this everyone loves him.
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