Retail Therapy #3
This story needs no introduction, and it's a gem...
The manager of the shop was a gentle soul nearing retirement, watching his days (and boy racers) whiz by while thinking of the pleasures of backgammon and Philomena Begley, although these things may not be related. He had remarkable systems in place to make sure nothing ever went wrong, there was a specific set of rules for the stockroom, one for the shop floor and another for any financial dealings with customers. He also had a wonderful stammer.
On this particular day I was idly moving shoes on a shelf while thinking of my other life as a rock star in order to avoid work. Our esteemed manager was reviewing his accounts behind the till. These accounts, stretching back at least 10 years, were all distilled and listed in a book he had in his possession since he joined the firm, this was the holy grail of shoe shop accounting, not to be touched upon pain of death. My first performance at Wembley (sold out with support from REM) was interrupted by a rather loud lady in a large black fur coat coming into the shop in the midst of what seemed like a hurricane. I saw the plastic bag in her hand. I knew what was coming.
As our dear manager was turning a page in his beloved book the dear woman brought the bag over her shoulder, throwing it onto the counter at a ferocious rate catching the page being turned and ripping it beautifully and poetically down the middle, somewhere between cash in and expenses. I could see the horror in our dear managers face.This wonderful lady in all her fur and money had the tongue of a welder.
Our manager apologised as one would imagine he might. He hoped that the shoe fiasco hadn't ruined the day, asked how the bride and groom were and wished them and the whole family circle well. Our lovely customer asked what exactly he might do to undo the horror of that fateful day. In his wonderful gentle stammer our manager apologised and said he could do nothing, that his hands were tied. He apologised again and told the dear lady that if there was to ever be a resolution to this horror story his only suggestion was that she went to the shoe shop next door where she had bought them in the first place.
Superb!
Ha! Sucks to be yer wan. I bet she snotted herself after ten rounds of tequila and lost her heel to a drain grid in the smoking area. State o’ yeh. That’s what I would’ve said. It’s why I’m not a manager I suppose.
or me…! heh
Hahahahahahaha, *takes breath* brilliant
priceless
In the real world, I work for A Popular Television Listings Magazine; a few years back we had a rash of letters from a nutter who would write in regularly to berate us for our inaccuracy and general lack of attention to detail, stuffing the envelope with clippings and occasionally whole pages with reams of piffling ‘corrections’ scrawled on them in biro, generally to do with changing ‘kids’ to ‘boys’, ‘girls’ or ‘children’ as appropriate, and ‘black’ to ‘n****r’ and ‘c**n’. They would also scribble felt tip ‘make up’ on photos of male TV personalities they reckoned looked a bit effeminate, and fill in the address forms on adverts with weird gibberish. This would be mental enough on its own, clearly, but the icing on the cake was that the clippings in question were actually from one of our competitors, while the envelope would have our address on it, but the title of *another* competitor. So yeah, attention to detail.
karma’s a cow, ain’t she?
There is one thing seriously wrong with this world, people dont spend enough time
“thinking of the pleasures of backgammon and Philomena Begley”
If we all did it would be a better place I’m sure.
*slow clap*
I wish I hadn’t Googled Philomena Begley videos.