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“Looks like you’re building a bathroom?” asked Banjo Clemente.
Miles Hanlon, a grown adult, looked up to see the fresh-faced Bunnings storeperson looking back at him.
“Yeah, mate,” he said.
Banjo smiled and began the first assault on Mr Hanlon’s personal space.
“Well, have you considered what you’re going to be doing to waterproo…”
The 56-year-old semi-retired builder interjected, telling the 19-year-old that he was fine.
Shocked by the forcefulness of the ‘Thanks, mate,” Banjo chuckled to himself and left the pentagenarian alone.
To the casual onlooker, it would’ve seemed a bit rude but what the casual onlooker wouldn’t know is that Banjo and Miles had already had three interactions that morning.
“He won’t leave me alone,” said Miles.
“That cheery little cunt doesn’t know anything about tools or home improvements. He’ll never fucking own a home, let alone work on one. Still, each time, he tries to give me some advice on what I should be doing,”
“I’ve been doing this for 40 years, I don’t need this desert spoon of a man’s opinion on retiling my downstairs shitter!”
But if Miles thought his troubles with Banjo were over, he was wrong.
On his way out to the checkout, the cagey Cancerian pushed his trolley up the lawnmower aisle, where he fantasised about the day when he’d finally be old and useless enough to own a ride-on mower.
From the shadows emerged Banjo.
“They say with ride-on mowers, less is more,” said Banjo.
Miles turned around slowly in utter disbelief.
“Mate, I’m fine. I don’t need any help,” offered Miles – one last time.
“Have you considered an electric mower? I know your generation is resitant to cha…”
Controlling himself and not wanting to end his day in a pair of handcuffs, Miles turned and walked to the checkouts without saying a word.
More to come.
