Every Man Needs A Shed

Life and Games (but mostly games) from Tony Boydell: Dad, Husband and Independent UK Game Designer, Agricola fanboy and jealous admirer of Carl Chudyk.
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FLGS 63 (Normal)

Anthony Boydell
United Kingdom
Newent. Glos
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Every homo sapiens needs an outbuilding within the curtelage of their property
Welcome...to my Shed!
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(we are in a newly re-opened, spick-and-span FLGS; there are signs on every shelf, hand-sanitizer dispensers and directional arrows stuck to the carpet tiles. The cashier is sat at the PoS - behind a floor-to-ceiling perspex sheet; gloved, he is reading a copy of Spielbox, which is still in it's plastic sleeve so he can only see the front and back covers. He sighs and his full-face visor mists up temporarily)

Doorbell: *toink*

Cashier: (looking up) I should probably put new batteries in that.

(a customer walks in; he is entirely naked apart from a flourescent pair of Speedo swimming trunks)

Customer: (chirpily) A-wright, mate? (he coughs)

Cashier: Um - might I draw your attention to the signs?

(the customer walks up to various signs pasted around the doorway and presses his nose against each)

Customer: I didn't bring my glasses, sorry...(reading aloud, slowly) "Po-lite notice you will be refused entry if not wearing a mask" - oh, didn't realise.

Cashier: I'm sorry but I'm going to have to ask you to leave, what with Covid-19 and all -

Customer: I just want a couple of the new Keyforge decks and a dice, though?!

Cashier: No mask, no sale - it's the new normal, apparently. What with Coronavirus and everything.

Customer: (disappointed) Oh - (suddenly has an idea) Wait a sec...

(the customer removes his Speedos, loops the 'leg holes' around his ears and adjusts the 'gusset' over his nose and mouth)

Customer: (slightly muffled) Howzat?! Two Mass Mutations and a d20, if you please!

Cashier: - and the hand sanitizer? It's not me, you understand, it's the advice from the Chief Medical Officer.

Customer: Oh, yeah.

(the customer walks over to the dispenser and squidges handfuls of gel and rubs it in to each armpit, his crotch, his chest and - removing the mask temporarily - around his nose and mouth)

Customer: All done! Clean as a Nun's nipsy!

Cashier: Thanks -

Customer: A brace of Garfield's latest pifflery - and a polyhedral randomization unit encompassing the range 1 thru 20, ta.

Cashier: (pointing to the paper on his Counter shield: "Please stand on the arrows, maintaining two metres distance between customers and staff.") You know it makes good, honest, Great British sense!

Customer: (looking at the floor) Whoops! Dear me, what a lot of rules and regulations, eh?!

(the customer chuckles and steps back; he accidentally elbows a stack of roll-and-writes, which tumble to the floor)

Customer: (most apologetic) Damn! I'm really sorry about that!

(he starts picking the boxes up)

Cashier: (calling out) No! No! Please don't touch anything! I'll be right out!

(the customer steps away, hands up in a 'mea culpa'; the cashier struggles through the airlock pod. Re-stacking the games, he sprays each one with bleach and wipes it with a fresh cloth; when done, he returns to the PoS and drops the cloth in to a Hazardous Waste bin.)

Cashier: Right! Where were we, Sir? Oh yes! Keyforge and a die - just a moment. (he fetches the items by reaching through a resealable vent in the counter screen using an extendable claw; he drops them in to a paper bag)

Cashier: (when done) There we are, Sir!

Customer: Lovely!

Cashier: That'll be fifteen pounds, please!

(the customer reaches behind his ear, he pulls out a crumpled £20 note; he unfolds it and waves it against the screen)

Cashier: (crestfallen) Oh dear; I'm afraid it's contactless payments only at the moment - what with the pandemic and such.

Customer: - but I've only got this note?

Cashier: 'No cash payments', Sir; what with the global plague and so on. You can't be too careful, you know?

(the customer slathers the note in sanitizer - both sides - and presses it flat against the perspex barrier. It slides, slug-like, slowly downwards)

Cashier: (watching it) Oh dear; I still can't accept it, Sir - even with all that gel, Sir?

Customer: (outraged and confused) Because it still might be INFECTED?! Because it might be an asymptomatic twenty?! Because it's within two bloody metres of the cash drawer?! What then? Why?

Cashier: (pointing at the sludged currency) We don't accept Scottish notes in this shop, Sir.

(both the cashier and the customer turn to face us, laughing, and give a hearty thumbs-up)

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