It started when the knee on my work jeans tore. This was a fairly good indication that I needed a new pair. I had no intention of letting them get as worn (and therefore as fragile) as my old, much-missed, pair. Even though the boxers-of-doom are ash, drifting on the breeze, I didn't want to take chances. And since work jeans get a lot of hard use, they have to be bought new. This meant a shopping trip.
I hate shopping (unless it's for books). I especially hate shopping for clothes. I get in, get what I want and get the hell out. I also have a tendency to find something I like and buy multiples of it. About 7 years ago a local sports shop had a special offer on polo shirts with the word "England" across the front. There were two types, red with black letters and dark blue with white letters. I liked them. They fit well. I bought 20 of each. I'm wearing one of those in about half the photos that have been taken of me in the years since then. I still have 4 blue and 3 read that I haven't worn.
I actually needed two pairs of jeans. My gardening jeans had also given up the ghost. So my scruffy, hanging-round-the-house jeans were demoted to gardening jeans. My not-smart-but-ok-for-supermarket-trips jeans became my scruffy etc. My second best pair became my not-smart-but-ok pair and my best pair became my second best pair. I needed a new best pair.
So it was off to Jean Genie (named for the song). As the name suggests they specialise in denim. Jeans, skirts, dresses, jackets. I could find a pair for work with no problem. The had a table right near the door with cheap but strong work jeans (with the extra pockets for a rule, screwdriver; and a loop for a hammer). Looking for a best pair was more difficult. I knew what I wanted but could I find it?? There must have been a couple of thousand pair of jeans there but I couldn't for the life of me see the type I like. As assistant bustled over. "Can I help you??" I resisted the temptation to correct her grammar. I was proud of myself for that. Instead I said, "Yes, please." Then I told her what I wanted. A pair of button-fly, straight-cut, easy-fit, dark blue, 32 inside leg but not 501s. She asked me to repeat what I'd said. Twice. Finally she understood and led me to some shelves. I pointed out, politely, that these were all boot-cut not straight-cut. Plus they were 501s.
She led me to another set of shelves. I politely remarked that these were zip-fly - and still boot-cut. We tried a third set. Skinny fit. I could tell she was regretting coming over to me. She led me to the back of the shop where there were several, rather high, loose stacks of jeans. They were straight-cut, there were easy-fit in amongst the other styles. And they were button-fly. I grew hopeful. There were 30 inside leg, there were 34 inside leg (quite a lot of those actually). There were 38 inside leg. There was even a single solitary pair that declared themselves to be a 42 inside leg. (Bloody Ada - how tall would you need to be for that!!).
There were no 32 inside leg. She informed me that this was because 32 is the most popular size. Am I the only person who thinks that not having the most popular size in stock is just a trifle barmy??
Then she spotted a pair. Right at the bottom of the largest stack. She tugged on them. They didn't move. The stack wobbled slightly. With an uncharacteristic burst of common-sense I remarked, "I don't think that's a good idea." She replied, "I can get them." And she grabbed hold with both hands and heaved with all her strength.
She flew backwards. The pile toppled. It hit the next pile. Which also toppled. Pretty soon there were five 6-foot stacks of jeans heading towards the floor. As the assistant crashed backwards she cannoned into me. I also flew back. Into one of those chrome racks on wheels, full of jackets. It rolled. Within half-a-minute there were three more racks speeding towards destruction.
Then there was silence. Complete silence. There were approximately five hundred pairs of jeans, one hundred-and-twenty jackets, and fifteen dresses on the floor.
"I told you I could get it." She held up the jeans. I bought them. I kind of had to after that. I would have anyway because they were perfect. I did offer to help pick up the stuff on the floor, the assistant would have been happy to have me help, but the manager was a little stressed and in a rather strained voice told me that wouldn't be necessary.
I'm not 100% certain but I think I might be banned from Jean Genie in future.
But it really wasn't my fault. Honest.
Ze
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2 comments:
LOL. Not your fault.
:-)I hope that this is You demonstrating that you are a talented writer and not a story of your real life lack of shopping skill. Well I don't care - it was fun reading.
Take care
UK
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