Well, that’s the fun of going to the big DIY warehouse and buying cans of spray paint. You get to pretend that you’re a graffiti tagger and that you’re going to scribble your name over the walls of the local train station.
To thwart this, they keep the aerosol cans under lock and key, just leaving colour charts out for people to make a selection. When you are ready, a staff member opens the lock and you can get whatever you need – frequently it is a junior sales assistant.
At this point I start to have fun. I ask about the paint quite seriously; ” Is it suitable for hand writing?”…” Will it stick to the brick walls of the local member of parliament’s office?” ( Note that the MP’s office is just up the road from the DIY warehouse…)… and “Can the police wash this off easily?”.
The fact that I am a geezer in old-guy clothes and old-guy hat gives them some cause to pause. And they give very straight-faced answers to the questions…until they see I am joking and then they break down.
Not so, the senior staff ladies, particularly the Asian ones. They are horrified and scowl and lecture me about my civic responsibilities. They do not smile or see the joke. But the funniest thing is…they always sell me the paint.