Blimey. Some of these stalking messages are
quite dark aren't they.

Mine's quite sweet really.

I was 16 and I'd just started my first Saturday job at Woolworths. Not for me the delights of the pic n' mix, or slaving over a slightly-too-cold-to-be-classified-as-hot stove in the cafe.

No, I was the king of cool and worked on the record counter.

This meant listening to Daniel O'Donnell for most of the day as that's what most people who came into Woolworths wanted to buy.
In those days I was thin with a highly fashionable curtain-style haircut, before I became the fat mess I am now.

I'd only been there a month before I got my first love letter.

It had been handed to the security guard, who was told to give it to me, which he had done with a smirk, saying it had been given to him by a group of giggling girls.

"Result!" thinks I.

The letter was quite sweet, telling me how cute I was (oh how I long for those days again) and how they all wanted to go out with me.

I got these letters regularly for about three months, never knowing who sent them, apart from it being a 'group of girls'.

We then started Sunday opening. We were the only shop open in the arcade open on a Sunday, so it was never busy. Plus I was generally in charge of the counter on my own, which meant I could put on the music I wanted. I was (and still am) a bit of an indie kid, so it was stuff like the Manics, Radiohead etc The stuff I wasn't allowed to play on Saturdays.

It was then I noticed the group. They were standing outside, just watching me through the doors. They were all only about 14. As soon as they saw I'd noticed them they all ran off giggling.

About two hours later they were all back, all wearing a ton of slap, hair all done and whatever clothes were considered fashionable back then. they'd made a lot of effort.

One of them even dared to come and buy a CD, some terrible Eurodance nonsense. She asked if I liked it. I said I didn't, and told her that the kind of music that was on was the music I liked.

The next Sunday I was working again, and again all the girls piled into the store for most of the day to watch me work. Except this time, all of them were wearing long-sleeve t-shirts professing their love of such bands as Ned's Atomic Dustbin and the Manic Street Preachers. they were all wearing dark eyeliner and stripey socks. It was like Trinny and Susannah had given them a 'My Little Goth Girl' makeover.

I was incredibly touched they'd made the effort.

I was in that job until just before I went to University and they came into the store virtually every weekend, sent me Valentines cards and the odd letter and generally made me feel adored but never threatened. Mainly because apart from when one of them plucked up the courage to talk to me it was only ever to buy a CD.

I felt quite sad when I went to Uni I wouldn't have a little gaggle of admirers any more, even though they were all far too young for me.

These days I'd be happy to have one admirer.
( backrubslut - treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 10:52, 3 replies)

hehe
that's quite cool. I remember plucking up the courage to buy some crappy magazine (Mizz/Sugar/Bliss or something) from WHSmiths in Cambridge when I was young, just because the sales assistant was cute. Went bright red, stammered at him, ran away after paying, and chucked mag in the bin. Reeeeal smooth.
(The Empress it seems you CAN polish a turd!, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:17, closed)

Oh NOW.
Sue still talks about that big wet snog she gave you on NYE.
( Amorous Badger NAKED BEA ARTHUR PHOTOS 4U, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:46, closed)

What what what?
I didn't snog ANYONE on NYE. Some old woman did kiss me. On the lips. But there were no tongues involved and I immediately went for a cigarette to calm my nerves.
( backrubslut - treguna mekoides trecorum satis dee, Thu 7 Feb 2008, 11:49, closed)