CANON BALLS

"That’ll be 279 pounds," says the sales assistant.

"You mean 259 pounds right?"

"No that’s 279 pounds."

I check the price tag, and repeat - with renewed confidence:

"No, you mean 259 pounds - look."

"No, that’s the price with the discount."

"Exactly. The discount. The 20 pound discount that is the reason I’m here today buying this camera from you."

"But Currys don’t actually give the discount, Canon do. You’ll have to go online to get it."

I pause for a moment to consider the implications of what I'm hearing. Not that Currys and Canon are actually plural entities. I know that not to be the case. No - that I've been deceiving myself into thinking that the price tag is telling me what the camera costs. When actually it's telling me what it will have cost at some point in the future after something else has happened. This is a price tag with its very own tense.



"So how do I get the discount?"

The assistant relaxes, now on solid ground.

"Oh it’s easy. See our website?…"

"No, but go on."

"…just go to this camera and press the Canon button. That’ll tell you what to do."

I pay quickly and head out into a grey and miserable present. A present where the eldest’s Christmas present is still costing me 279 quid when it should only be costing me 259.  Sod the rest of the shopping, I have to get on line and get this thing costing the right amount.

40 minutes later I burst into the kitchen.

"You get it?" asks my wife.

"Yes, where’s the laptop?"

"How much was it?"

"It’s not as simple as that. Where’s the laptop?"

On the Currys website I click on the Canon button and, sure enough, find myself in a place that’s telling me all about how to make my cashback claim… CLAIM!

"Fuck!"

"What’s up?"

It’s a claim, that’s what’s up. I’m going to have to do tedious things to convince someone who doesn’t care to give me 20 quid they'd rather keep. So not only does this price only exist in the future, it's one of many possible futures, and not necessarily the most likely. 

Half an hour later, with personal and banking details input, receipt photographed and uploaded, product serial number located and submitted, I hit the claim button hoping to be congratulated on the fact that 20 quid has been transferred into my account and the camera that previously will have cost me 259 pounds, now has.

Instead I’m told that my documents will now be processed, and given a username and password 'to monitor the status and progress of my claim 24/7’. 

How can the process of giving me the 20 quid I’m owed be complex enough to even warrant the use of the word ‘progress’? How can there be more than one stage to progress between? And how can my status be anything other than 'rightly paid' or the ‘wrongly unpaid’?

It’s the 19th of December 2016 and I’m facing the bleak prospect of giving my eldest child a camera that has has still cost me 20 pounds more than it will have cost.


2nd January 2017

I’ve eaten very little over the past few weeks, and have grown pale and weak. I lie in bed night and day endlessly pressing the refresh button on the Canon claim website, but there is no progress. I fear that even when there is, my eyes, that have grown sore and weary with the glare from the screen, won’t notice, and that I’ll be too feeble to act upon it. 

But then a movement on the screen rouses me and, struggling to focus, I see it's a new email. From Canon:

‘In order to help us validate and process your claim, please provide us with the serial number of your product.’

I already provided that 14 days ago. But I will provide it again, if that’s what it takes. And again. And again. Because I will not give in. You see I know what they want. They want me to say 'Oh it’s only 20 quid. Fuck it! It’s Christmas!’ But the price on the price tag is the price I will pay, if it takes an eternity. I punch the number in and lay back exhausted. My wife stands at the door and shakes her head.

"Jes - it’s only 20 pounds."

If only it were only 20 pounds….


10th January 2017

It’s dark now. The room is cold and silent as I lay breathing barely audibly in the gloom. My wife has taken the children and gone to her sisters. They’ve taken everything - except the camera. In case I need the serial number again. My finger, now frail and arthritic, still taps away at the refresh button, although I haven’t looked at the screen for days. Outside a dog barks. My eyes are closed and I’m back in Curry’s with the sales assistant and his manager:

"You’re a retailer, right?"

"Yes!" nods the manager emphatically.

"Okay, so here’s a thought. You get Canon - your supplier right?..."

"Yes!"

"…to sell you their cameras 20 quid cheaper, and then you charge me 259 pounds and I don’t have to spend the rest of my natural life trying to prize a few piffling pounds from a multi-national super giant that doesn’t want to give it to me."

"What, you mean you pay what it says on the price tag?"

"Yes, that’s it. You’ve got it. Because do you know what? I reckon one day that’s what retailers like you will do. It could well be the future…"

The manager takes out his wallet - 

"Here you go mate, here’s 20 quid for you. Please take it - it’s the least I can do. I’m going to get right onto our Sales Manager and tell him your idea. This could be huge for us…."

My reveries are disturbed by the ping of an incoming email. I haul myself up into a sitting position and wipe the dust off the screen with the bed sheet. My heart quickens as I notice it’s from Canon. Instinctively I reach for the camera to take down the serial number. But then something in the message catches my eye - an exclamation mark.

'I am happy to confirm that your claim for the Canon UK and Ireland Winter Cashback 2016 promotion has now been approved!'

I lay the camera back down, all 259 beautiful pounds worth of it, now finally mine. I knew they would never break me. That I would prevail. I read on:

'You will receive your payment within the next 28 days…'

And so the 259 pound Canon EOS 1300D DSLR Camera with 18-55 mm f/3.5-f/5.6 Zoom Lens (Black) slips away once more into the future. There’s a clatter outside as the dog knocks over a garbage can. I lay back and close my eyes. My finger twitches and comes to rest. Phantasmic images of retail parks swirl, fade and drop away as the present loses its grip and the past moves in to claim me for its own.

@jesoverthinksit

For more great retail experiences head along to Swegways And Other Villainous Alien Species.