Tales From The Bookshop — The Returned Thought

Bloke wanders in, straw hat shoved on his head like he’d nicked it off a scarecrow, face all twisted like he’d just bitten into a lemon. Bookshop it was, mine, dead quiet on a Tuesday morning. Name’s Ted Page, that’s me, behind the counter stacking paperbacks.

—Morning, mate. What you after?

He leans on the counter, pulls this daft face.

—Yeah, wanna return this thought, like. Tried it out, didn’t like it one bit.

I blink at him. —Say what?

—This thought here. He taps his temple. —Bought it off you lot. Shite, innit? Want me money back.

I give it a proper think, scratching me chin. Don’t help one jot.

—Mate, this is a bookshop. You can’t return a thought. It’s stuck in your noggin, ain’t it? No take-backs on that.

He juts his chin out.

—Got it from here, didn’t I?

—We don’t flog thoughts, pal. Books, yeah. Thoughts? Nah.

Then it hits me, like a brick to the bonce.

—Hang on. You mean you had this thought while you was in here last time? Browsing the shelves or summat?

—Spot on, that. Exactly it.

—Right then. Thought returned, accepted, done and dusted. Cheers, have a good un!

I watch him, dead chuffed with meself. Sorted that quick as you like.

But no. He ain’t done.

—Refund? Gimme me ten quid back.

I went through the “Muttering Nutters” file in me head. Chapter bleedin’ three. Deep breath.

—Thought was free, weren’t it? Gift with purchase, like. Remember?

He squints. —Did I? Can’t recall.

—Yeah! ’Course we did! Freebie, mate. No charge.

—Well, it were crap anyway. Turned me stomach.

Nutters everywhere, thoughts bouncing round their skulls like dodgy ping‑pong balls.

Me? I just flog books. Keeps life simple. But that one? He’ll be back, mark my words, with a whole trolley of returns next time. World full of ’em, ain’t it? Blokes trying to offload their daft notions like they’re yesterday’s pies. I stack another shelf, whistling. Keeps the madness at bay.

The nutter? He spins on his heel – proper heel it weren’t, mind you, had a shopping trolley wheel wedged on his trainer, spinning lazy like. Clacks off to the right, out the door into the rain. I shake me head, chuckling to meself. Another day in the madhouse.