SPIDERS AND FLIES

Taranaki Daily News, 20 February 1932, Page 1 (Supplement)

SPIDERS AND FLIES

‘WALKING INTO PARLOURS’ (By “Wanderer.”) / Shop salesmen always did remind one of spiders, those spiders one associated with flies and “walking into parlours.” The customers are the flies and, of course, the shops are the parlours which, as in the old story, prove to be lairs. For by processes of deceit and cunning, of-bullying and flattery, the salesmen persuade the customers to buy what they do not want, buy more than they do want, and spend much more than they ever wished to. The Spider, salesman bleeds the Fly customer. But the human Spider is not as humane as the' spider of the story, for the human Spider does not kill his victim outright; he just bleeds him sufficiently that he may eventually recover, and so be in a position to be bled again. Enter a large grocery store. There is a buzz of voices, a rattle of brown paper and a sneezing of cash-registers. Through a barrage of prams, sacks of potatoes and old ladies’ elbows you find a spare yard of counter. There is a momentary lull while you aSjust yourself and then—a Spider sees you. With prodigious agility and the daring of a professional skater he slithers between castles of jam tins and pickle bottles and occupies the opposing front. “Yessif?” Then you order your half a pound of cheese (mild). In a twinkling the cheese is cut, weighed, wrapped and dashed on to the counter before you (for the Grocer Spider is of a most energetic and livewire type). But now beware for your -Spider is about to feast.

Before you have time to ask the price, before even the cheese has reached the counter, the Spider strikes —‘‘And .the next, please.” You stagger. Such expression! In a moment you feel what a rude and presumptuous Fly you have been to venture into this tremendously large and important Spider’s lair to worry—yes, worry—him for a mere half-pound of cheese (mild). And you waver. Seconds later you are submerged beneath a storm of “And the next, please’s.” The tragedy ends with a grand sneeze of the cash register as your £1 Hs 5d departs for regions new, and you think, as you clasp your unwanted flour and eggs and butter and tin kettles, what a very small Fly you are, And pounding in your brain _as you wander sadly away is that echoing devil’s chorus, “And the next, please,” “And the next, please, “And the next.” Now the Grocer Spider’s metiiod is dominating and blustering and designed to awe. But the Cake-shop Spider has ■more finesse and appeals to the chivalrous qualities of the Fly. And apparently chivalry did not die with the last Crusade.

You crave block cake for tea and hence visit the corner cake-shop. You suggest a pound would do. One says suggest,,because that is all it amounts to: you give the Spider an idea as to what basis to work on. Now cake-shops generally contain lady-Spiders, and usually they’re Miss Spiders at that. Their sole occupation, it appears, is to fill their shops with pieces of cake of a size always a little larger than you require. Generally, it happens like this. You have suggested a pound and at once the Miss Spider is all attention. She drags open the sliding / window panel and stands tegarding those O.S. chunks of cake intently. ,

Now, for the Fly the poison is working. Brave yourself or, —well, you must agree that she does frown prettily . . . that dainty pursing of the lips and puckering of the brow . . . that hair and those eyes. “I wonder if this would do?” she says sweetly, persuasively. “It is a pound and a-quarter.” It seems cruel and harsh to refuse. \ So you take the extra cake and pay the extra money. Long is it before you recover and realise that you have once more been in the toils of a Spider. Fly, I warn you, study the cake., in the window next time, and when you go in to buy, ask for lib. 3Joz., and at least have the pleasure of getting what you asked for.

The Butcher Spider employs a similar method to bleed the Fly and usually endeavours to sell you a 4jlb. roast when you want one of only 31b. But the Butcher Spider is sadly handicapped and is not nearly as successful as the Cake-shop Spider. Instead of the charming Circe of the Cake-shop, the (Butcher Spider is /always of the mere male variety and usually has a shaggy moustache, a fat paunch and a red streaming face. The Fly can be much more strong-willed then. Of course, there is the Auctioneer Spider. He bullies you, and shouts at you, and calls you names. -Soon you are believing that his implications must be true, that his wares are much too good for such as you. He says he will sacrifice them and you feel flattered. He really must be offering stupendous bargains. And because you blink when he thrashes his hammer down suddenly, you find that you have bought an ancient iron bedstead or a tin bath. A most unfair Spider is the auctioneer. Ostensibly the Barber Spider sells only his services, but during his tonsorial operations he generally manages to retail something in the tonic or patent remedy line,’ too. From the “Next Please” to the last snip the Fly, confined to his tent-like throne, is subjected to an appalling story about the shocking state of disrepair his golden locks are in. Into his astounded ears the Spider purrs of the wonderful freshness of his own special shampoo will effect or of the fine thick crop his particular lotion will produce. And the Fly, having a sneaking pride in those same golden locks, permits the shampoo to mow through them and the greasy evil-smelling lotions to bo applied. And, strange, he never notices any difference afterwards except that his pay ticket says 3s fid instead of Is. • The Gent’s Mercer Spider has the cunning of the devil. He looks to a renewal of your business in the future. He thrives on deceit. Your dear old Uncle Robert is having a birthday tomorrow and you feel bound to give him a present. So you trot along to your own particular Gents’ Mercer and ask to be shown something nice in spotty ties. Eventually you select one and ask the price. Then the Gents’ Mercer Spider gets to work. He looks serious, clears his throat and then m a whisper of fearful confidence and familiarity, says “Well, old man, we’re selling these at 6s 11 d. But (more tensely) to you, old man, it’ll be ss. Yes ss, to you.” Poor Fly; he says the same to everyone. You think what a splendid bargain you have made, ■what a nice spotty tie, and won’t Uncle be pleased—when all the time the beastly tie i» only worth Is lid.