Trust

Having decided that my already burgeoning list of home improvements wasn't intimidating enough, I've opted to add a new kitchen to my shopping list. Quite where this notion came from remains a mystery to me - it popped into my head without warning when I woke up one morning - but it seems well and truly lodged now so I may as well run with it.

So far it's turned out to be an educational experience. I hadn't realised just how much I'd taken kitchens for granted before deciding to get one of my own. Before I paid them very little heed indeed. Now I'm seeing kitchens everywhere: On television, in newspapers and magazines (there are so many magazines devoted to home improvements! I had no idea...), even in friends houses (people with new kitchens, I've discovered, are remarkably happy to demonstrate their features if asked, in a manner not dissimilar to new parents and their infants. It's not a connection I intend to dwell on...). I'm by no means fluent in kitchen, but I am pleased at the rate I've picked up the vocabulary and syntax. Conversations featuring mysterious terminology such as splashbacks, shakers and carcasses faze me no longer, thanks in part the vast array of promotional material I've gathered from a number of... erm, kitchen shops.

In general my foray into the world of kitchen shopping has been rather covert. I have a natural distrust of sales people, my level of trust typically being inversely proportional to amount of money involved (which reminds me of one of my other discoveries: kitchens are expensive!), so I've done my very best to explore as many shops as I can, picking up as many brochures as I can carry, whilst encountering as few sales people as physically possible. If you've played any of the stealth based computer games that have become popular over the last few years you'll have a fair idea of how I went about it. A mirror to peer around corners with would have been useful, come to think of it. It's been a pretty successful strategy so far - even now my floor is covered with a neat checker board of pamphlets to allow for side by side comparisons (not just to raise obvious questions about my mental state in the minds any visitors) and a scarcely had to speak to a person to obtain them. Today, however, I got caught out rather badly, when I visited one of the smaller establishments just a little ways down the road. The main problem with such a small shop floor is that it severely limits the number of hiding places. As I soon found out. Scarcely had a I walked through the door when I was pounced upon by an ebullient saleswoman. In self defense I sought to evade her enthusiasm by asking for a catalogue, hoping that I could obtain whatever literature was available before making good my escape. It availed me not - the saleswoman apologised for having just run out of brochures but, even as she sidled somewhat sinisterly between me and my point of egress, she told me that if I were to leave my name and address, she'd be only too happy to mail me something.

Alarm bells duly started ringing in my head. I dislike giving out my home address since to do so to a stranger, or worse, to a sales person, will usually guarantee a future flurry of unwanted junk mail. However, I calmed myself, recalling that I have only six weeks left in this place and risk (and junk mail) be damned, I wanted that catalogue. This turned out to be a mistake. With hindsight now, I can see her ploy for what it was, a means to engage me in conversation, all the while extolling the virtues of her range of kitchens. In this she succeeded quite admirably, appearing, to mine innocent eyes at least, knowledgeable on the subject, as well as proving friendly and personable. We conversed far longer than I'd intended, and I'll admit she convinced me her company was at least worthy of my consideration.

In the end, as I was about to take my leave she offered me her business card. Just before I accepted it however, she paused for a moment, reached into a drawer... and pulled out a catalogue to which she stapled her card. It's a little thing admittedly, but connection and trust she'd spent so much time and effort to establish evaporated in that instant.

I took her card, thanked her for her time, walked out, and promptly deposited both card and catalogue in the nearest bin.