Clothing chain, Primark, is the darling of the high street for those looking to spend a tenner on disposable clothing that one can chuck in the bin after wearing. From its humble beginnings as a solitary store in Dublin back in the sixties, Primark now dominates the high street and more often than not, most people who look like they could annihilate a person just for looking at them ‘the wrong way’ have a Primark bag in hand. However, while I am a total tramp, I am also the type of person who curls up into a ball and cries when intimidated and as such, I get eaten alive in Primark. It seems that this shop belongs to the cheeky pramfaces of our society. This is an injustice!
Therefore, I decided to conduct some research on how those who sport the illustrious brown Primark bag make it round the shop unscathed to achieve the ultimate glory of buying lots of budget items that will later end up in the charity shop. Who will dispose of them immediately. Here’s what I’ve learned.
Ladies who shop in Primark are notoriously classy, respectable and courteous. Emulate this prior to entering the Primark shop floor by standing outside, smoking and generally being a drain on society. Holding your cigarette and scowling is a tiring process, so you might want to wear your pyjamas. That you previously
shoplifted bought from Primark.
Upon entering the shop, acknowledge that all Primark doors are disproportionately small by obstructing the doorway with your fucking pram to check your bastard phone. Tut at me when I trip over you- I’m sorry, it was my fault that you stopped unexpectedly, I’ll just go kill myself, shall I?
Once you have adequately obstructed the door area, head straight to a table of folded items and proceed to rifle through them in a manner more commonly associated with contestants of popular 90s child game show, Fun House, in which
horrible bastard children lovely little scamps ransack a house in search of clues and prizes. You aren’t looking for anything in particular on the table; you just want to fucking destroy it because you are an unfeeling cunt who likes to make a mess, and it does not occur to you that someone has to clean up after you. Walk away from the aforementioned table with nothing in your basket, just to add insult to injury.
Don’t forget to stop at the sale rack- it’s full of the world’s cheapest attire, such as ballgowns for 25p and crazy hats clipped on to hangers. Aggressively pull at every item and fling it to the side, walking off and leaving it all at your arse.
Make your way to the lingerie department, where you can delightfully block an entire aisle with your frilly bastard of a pram, which is far too big for your child, little Shaniquisha, because you smoked a lot during pregnancy and she came out a bit on the small side. Fill your basket full of fluorescent knickers while other patrons hold back vomit. Make sure that, when filling your basket, you drop lots of items on the floor, which get caught in your pram wheels and therefore, get covered in wheel-tracks and dirt. Fuck anyone else who has to buy them- other people don’t matter. Waddle off to the nightwear department and get yourself some comfortable clothing for doing the school run.
At this point, it might be a good idea to park your pram with little Shaniquisha in it outside the changing rooms, so that sexual predators and baby kidnappers can steal them if they want- shrug… Go into the changing rooms and inexplicably excrete on the floor. This is how we do, baby.
Finally, head to the footwear department and just randomly throw things around like a caged animal. The object of the game is to get one shoe as far as possible from the shoe is corresponds with, just because you can. In other shops, a security guard would promptly throw you out in the street. But this is Primark! Home of anti-social behaviour! Throw those shoes- throw like you’ve never thrown before. Throw like you’re throwing a punch at your Sandra-Louise for selling your ASBO story to Take A Break. Throw like you’re on Jeremy Kyle and you just got told that you weren’t the father after all. Throw those bastards all over the floor.
When you’ve finished being a total sociopath, head to the checkouts to buy your basket of worthless crap. It is advisable that, as you are otherwise engaged with an irritated checkout assistant, you should lift little Shaniquisha out of her pram so that she can obstruct the aisle on your behalf and be a general nuisance. Being the great parent you are, walk off and forget her after paying, after which, she goes off to start a new life as a child of Primark, roaming the shop 24/7, motherless and alone, wreaking havoc by infringing on other pram babies’ personal space by day and living on the second floor in amongst the socks where she makes her bed by night. She belongs to Primark now.
Leave the shop and reward yourself with a cigarette.
Now- where’s the nearest Peacocks?