I've had quite a few moments
I used to work for a well known and loved British Rock outfit who had some considerable success over the years - I used to look after their website but later was invited on tour as a photographer. During the long days on tour while the crew were knocking up, I'd gopher for various bits and bobs to help out.

One day, the drummer came up complaining he'd thrown his gloves into the audience after last nights show and needed some new ones for tonights gig - fortunately we were in London and being at a loose end, I offered to assist. In typical spinal-tap mode, he wanted a pair of golfing gloves as these were his preference so I wandered off to the nearest JJB sports and requested a pair of leather golfing gloves.

Now I don't play golf, and they were a tad surprised when I asked for a pair - for the uninitiated, golfers it seems, only actually wear on glove when teeing off. I explained my situation, and then was show to the rack where I searched in vain for a left-handed glove of the right size that would match a right-handed one of which their were an abundance, but to no avail. The lad in the shop suggested I head to their "nearby" superstore - it was in fact a 20 minute tube ride followed by a 2 mile walk through a completely unfamiliar part of surburban London. Add to the fact I was a) Hungover, b) had not eaten that day and c) it was about 30 degrees, by the time I finally got to the shop I was glad of the airco and the fact I might now be able to complete my task.

I explained to the shop assistant my predicament and explained in detail that they were for a drummer, and I needed a left and a right one. The guy happily assisted, gave me a glove to try on (as I had a similar hand size to the drummer), and once satisfied, pulled out a left handed one, and bagged them for me. Pleased as punch, but very dehydrated and suffering I began the long trek back to the venue.

Upon arrival, beaming with pride I presented the sticksman with the package to shouts of mission accomplished - chuffed, he pulled one out, tried it on and was most impressed. He then proceeded to pull out the second one to find the stupid cunt had just sold me two-right handed ones, having ignored everything I had told him.

I trekked off again, instead going to the local store and giving them a mouthful and demanding my money back for their imcompetence. I then walked to the next available store, some 4 miles away (Not a JJB I may add) and whilst trying not to pass out, explained my dilemna to the lovely shop assistant who happily provided me with a matching pair, both left and right and I returned triumphant, although completely destroyed of any energy. The drummer, was however most impressed and grateful.

Still composed myself that night to get up on the stage, whilst a group of my mates chanted "waynster! waynster!" as I went past security with my tripe A pass. Yep it was worth it...
(Waynster James Joyce is fucking my sister!, Thu 29 Jun 2006, 14:34, Reply)