”What is it?” I said looking at a very indecisive customer. ”I’m just not sure if I should buy the shoes, mate!” he says, confusing me.
”You love the look, the price, they’re comfortable.”
I wait for his long-owed reply, knowing the amount of time I’ve wasted on him.
‘’Yes, yes, It’s all true!’’ he says like an over-dramatic drama teacher with his palms pushing hard on the rich leather couches; his hair is blonde and spiked, like the early 2000s.
I also wanted to say what the fuck’s wrong with you, but something creeps in my mind urgently, ”Is your wife shopping here in the centre?” and he nods his head nervously.
I instantly regret showing him the shoes.
”There you are,” this nosy lady says with pointy granny glasses she wears, but much younger and something tells my heart she despises this world, and especially men.
”You ran off here,” she says in a harsh voice, reminding me a little of Cruella de Vil from 101 Dalmatians.
While she looks at me, I hesitantly choose to nod with a smile, but her face doesn’t show any warmth.
‘’Get those hideous things off him right now!’’
She makes me literally feel ashamed just like her husband.
While I’m watching this madwoman searching through our shelves, scaring Chinese shopping tourists out of her way, I see her husband’s face of despair; many times this happens when they find something they like, and then their wife will take this away from them.
Should I say something?
Just tell him to do what he likes?
Or should I take it up with the wife?
Not particularly my place.
A married couple I’ve never met, and me the dirty salesman who spends half his working hours drooling over Instagram hotties with his foul co-workers!
But I cannot lie: this urge to make sure my customer gets what he wants is burning, as I watch his wife, Ms Cruella; an example of the biggest bullies of all shopping centres, above the road rage car parkers or baristas who look at you judgingly because there’s a coffee they don’t know how to craft.
Imagine a man controlling everything a woman wears…
The offender shall be hanged at dawn!
‘’These are perfect, put these on!’’
Her eyes beaming through her pointy glasses but quickly turn harsh again, ‘’Damien,’’ and he snaps into action!
Shit Damien, if that’s your name, I’m scared for you.
He puts the shoes on looking very upset.
‘’Absolutely stunning,’’ she applauds as I watch in agony biting my tongue.
‘’Honey, I don’t like them,’’ he says with an uncertain voice; but surprising us all as hope still flickers, and I root for him in my head: ‘go Damien!’
‘’Just get your goddamn ass to the counter!’’ she tiredly says like her husband’s an old cow, not giving him a chance and his weak fight is shortly lived.
‘’Go with that salesman,’’ she sneers in a distrustful tone.
‘’I don’t think he likes them.’’
I can’t believe I say, watching the room evaporate into silence.
She puts her eyes on me, I think hoping I’d blow into smithereens.
‘’I don’t like him,’’ she say,s pointing her finger straight at me, while reaching for her ringing phone.
And before she answers her phone with it against her ear.
‘’Move it, Damien!’’ and she starts talking by the sounds to a girlfriend on the phone, not thinking twice that she’s dealt with any opposing humans.
I had no words.
‘’OK, just give me the goddamn credit card Damien,’’ I say without hope, unable to meet Damien’s eyes; giving into defeat, the same thing I despised him for.
Holding his card, I’m quick to tap on that EFTPOS machine: ‘Pay pass, pay pass this shit and get them outta here!’ my only thoughts left.
And then one of earth’s phrases we’ve heard time and time again hit me.
‘‘I can never get him out shopping with me,’’ said by a Girlfriend? Mother? Some blonde? Or was it toads???
Mate, I bet even Frankenstein’s wife says the same thing!
Women taking their men to shop, controlling what they wear and denying all their ideas.
All of a sudden he’s leaving the house less, upgrading his TV sports deal, and you’re pissed off how he’s happily isolated from the world indoors not wearing the clothes you both wasted money on.
Sometimes men prefer to wear Nikes and trackies and just a singlet, thinking we’re the rappers we listen to; compared to leather boots, neat forest green shirts and skinny jeans as if we’re all just a part of some lame Peter Pan musical…
Image from PublicDomainPictures, Pixabay.
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