MY FUNNIEST EXPERIENCE

Press, Volume CVIII, Issue 31785, 16 September 1968, Page 12

MY FUNNIEST EXPERIENCE

(By CARL SMITH) The funniest thing that ever happened to me in business? That’s a hard question in a career that spans 45 years but I’ll plump for “Mary’s Choice.” I never did know his name but his wife’s was Mary. A placid looking couple they were though a trifle nondescript who treated shopping for him as a relaxation. It certainly was for us. He wanted a jersey and brought her along to help in the choice. On the matter of size he was adamant —two sizes too small was just right and she knew better than to I interfere so we took our cue from her. It should have been a | 'simple choice for it was soon reduced to a neat grey which was two sizes too small and therefore fitted, and a hideous jacquered thing in purple also two sizes too small.

His technique was interesting. Mary was his valet helping him on and off with a number of jerseys all the right size but in his view two sizes too big and consequently discarded one by one. It was then to try to show him how ridiculous a s.m. fitting would look that I persuaded him to try on a hideous purple atrocity. The purpose of Mary’s presence at once became evident because neither he nor we could have got him into it. He dived forward while we and Mary grappled with the jersey barely stopping his headlong lunge into the glass hat case. He came to rest on our knees.

But he had proved his point—the jersey was not too small and we were all wrong. But what goes on must come off and it was during the removal operation that I found out how strong Mary was. At first she tried, with us helping, the rabbit skinning method but as his lily white skin began to rise above the waist of his trousers I beat a smart retreat. I have seen a few tugs-of-war in my time but none that matched the one going on in my shop. Inch by inch the

expanse of broad white back revealed the ground won. For a moment she stopped and asked: “Ow do ya feel?” “Orright, Mary. Keep pulling, I’m not cold.”

Then suddenly jersey, shirt and singlet all came out and over. As he stood there bending forward firmly held round the neck by the tie and separated from Mary by this

ghastly trinity of pink singlet, black shirt and purple jersey, the wife of one of our most particular customers came in. Astonishment and embarrassment chased one another across her face —and mine. But not his or Mary’s. They merely sorted out the mess, he unbuttoning his trousers to make the process easier. Tousled and triumphant he

stood surveying the garment he had doffed. Then he turned to the neatly folded grey one. “Like that one, Mary?” “Yes, I do.” “Right, I’ll take it.” “Like this purple one?” “No, it’s ’orrible." “Wrap ’em both up. Mary’s got good taste.”