Intro: At one point in this story, Dear Reader, I will stop and invite you to guess What Happens Next. I am convinced that it is humanly impossible for anyone to guess correctly, but I swear this tale is true.

<>- - -

<>I was staying in Providence, Rhode Island, with my friends Rory O'Brien and Judy Reilly. It's a very nice city. I had seven rolls of 35mm film that I wanted to get developed, and I wanted 5 x 7 inch prints (to match the other 6000 photos in my collection).

<>Attempt #1. 'We'll go to CVS in the Providence Place Mall,' suggested Rory, 'they develop films all the time.' Lacking anything convenient in which to carry seven rolls of film, and being in rather jovial mood, I grabbed an empty 16 oz. red plastic cup and dumped the films into that.

<>At the Mall we went up to CVS booth on level 3 (CVS being a chain of 2000-ish New England pharmacies). Behind the counter, a young man had his back to us while he fiddled with some equipment. After 3 minutes, he turned to acknowledge our existence. I plonked my large red cup of films before him.

<>'Hello. I've got seven rolls of film. Can you develop them for me?'
'Yes.'
'I'd like 5 by 7 inch prints, please.'
'Oh. Okay.'
'Can you tell me how much that would cost?'
'I don't know.'

<>On the counter lay a bound set of laminated cards detailing every CVS service and tariff. The youthful CVS person began to look through them, though not with a degree of concentration I would call 'fierce'. It was not a fast process. At length, he reached the end of the laminated cards, and his demeanour made it plain that he felt none the wiser for his troubles. There was a brief pause while he considered his options. He then turned to the front of the laminated cards and began looking through them once more. He mentioned that he was relatively new to the job - not that we had formed any substantial views to the contrary.

<>His second trawl through the cards seemed to be generating no major break-throughs. The correct price for 5 x 7 inch prints remained an elusive secret, tantalisingly masked from view. Rory and I made our excuses and left.

<>We returned to ground level and enjoyed a fine lunch at Joe's American Bar and Grille (I had excellent fajitas, and Rory had excellent meatloaf). The red cup o' films sat on the table the whole time. We went back to the Mall, and found another photo-processing place. Ritz Camera, also on the third level.

Attempt #2. We sauntered into Ritz Camera, which was altogether more promising. A compact but neat-looking store, having a reassuring whiff of keen and willing professionalism. No chance here of watching someone flip through laminated cards while negotiating puberty, no sirree! The store was staffed by two very attentive and helpful people. I presented my big red cup of films.

'Hello. I've got seven rolls of film. Can you develop them for me?'
'Yes, of course.'
'I'd like 5 by 7 inch prints, please.'
'Ah, sorry. We can't actually do those here. Not five by sevens. But 'Adlers' can probably help you.'

This was a reference to Adlers Photo on Orange Street. I gathered up my films, and Rory and I returned once more to ground level. 'It's just a short walk away,' quoth Rory, and we set off with purposeful stride. By now the fun of walking around carrying a big plastic cup full of Kodak was wearing just a little thin.

Attempt #3. As soon as we reached Adler's Photo, it was obvious our problems were over: a spacious, well-appointed specialist store clearly devoted to excellence in photographic equipment and services. A mature woman, who I imagine, if sliced open, would be found to have the word 'efficient' written through her major organs, asked if she could be of service.

I produced my big red cup o' films. The woman maintained her poise, but it was clear that she took a dim view of this vulgar mode of conveyance. I explained my desire to obtain 5 x 7 prints. An icy tone creeping into her voice, the woman explained that as it was now Friday afternoon, their lab could not produce such prints until Monday at the earliest. I explained that on Monday I would be flying back to England. The woman had had enough. Fixing me with the sort of look typically reserved for discovering dog vomit in a bidet, she said there was nothing she could do.

Having now made three unsuccessful attempts to get my films developed, Rory and I took the next positive step: we gave up and went home.

Later that evening, Judy suggested we try KMart. Of course! KMart! They do films and stuff, dont they?

Attempt #4. Judy drove us over to the nearest KMart. Under the KMart logo itself, in giant plastic letters, was the legend '1 Hour Photo'. Even the doors by which we entered bore posters hyping the 1 Hour Photo service.

At this point, I stop the story and invite you, Dear Reader, to guess What Happened Next. If I were with you in person, I would willingly place a large wad of folding money down and wager that you can't guess the twist in the tale. Don't spend too much time over it, because it's impossible for anyone to get this right.

• I had not been given the wrong films. I had all seven of my films, and only mine.
• There was nothing technically wrong with the negs or the prints, most of which had come out pretty well.