What is it about motorways services and these fuckers, eh?
You have been driving for hours, desperately need a piss and a cup of coffee and you stop off at the nearest motorway services. On the way in, a budget car (Micra, Arosa, Astra) with a very well-presented (clean-shaven, immaculately coiffed, groomed and fragranced) and charming Italian bloke stops you and says "Buon Giorno! Do you speak Italian?"
When you say "Sorry, no, I don't" he apologises for his poor English. He then proceeds to claim that he is a rep travelling for an Italian fashion house (Versace or whoever) and he has a boot full of stuff left over from a show that he needs to get rid of. "It's-a all genuine!" Of course it is, you lying fuck.
The first time, I was very polite and patient until the bloke got far enough into his pitch for me to realise that something dodgy was going on (about a minute). I hurriedly made my excuses and left.
(He also caught me way off guard by fucking being in a Chatteris petrol station! I sure as fuck didn't expect this kind of shit in the middle of the oo-ar fens!)
Today I was in Sandbach or Kuntsford or somewhere like that when I was accosted. At first, I stopped because I thought it was a lost tourist, but as soon as he said he was from a fashion house, I just held up my hands and walked away. Over coffee, I watched the fuckers prowling round the car park like a pack of fucking vultures, looking for a stupid scouser or inbred villager to thieve from.
What sort of retarded cunt falls for that shit? Why the fuck can't the services shut the cunts down? Or call the police or something? They must know it's going on.
Still, I did get a nice Dolce & Gabbana leather jacket out of them.
Originally posted here.