Sandy bit her nails. The lure of the satin pink and midnight silk were tempting – and the stuff that marriages were made of, she thought. Never mind the idealistic 'true love’ and ‘soul mate’ blah blah blah her elders had told her about – let alone the ‘brother/father’ feeling that was supposed to indicate a good match – that had to be even more ridiculous. In the end, it all came down to what happened in the bedroom. Surely that’s what seemed to doom all the failed marriages her friends had told her about.
“Beyond Sexy" - the sign hovering just below the holy month reminder and just above the scantily clad mannequins - promised the answer. Sandy bit her nails again.
“Not for you.” A male voice distilled her from her thoughts.
She whipped around to find a male shop attendant (in a place like this?) standing next to her.
“I beg your pardon?” She was more than taken aback by the bluntness of his statement, not to mention a little offended.
“You don’t need it.”
“What? Don’t need what?”
“That.”
For someone whose job it was to sell, he wasn’t doing it well, she thought. How odd!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sandy quipped. “Perhaps you should mind your own business.”
“Ramadhan Kareem,” he greeted – wishing her generous blessings of the holy month.
She walked out of the shop, disturbed by the interaction. Who was he to say that? How did he know what she had sort of been thinking? At once she was mortified to realise perhaps it had been written all over her face. She couldn’t let it rest.
Sandy turned on her heels and marched back into the shop. That was no way for a sales assistant to be speaking to a customer, no matter what.
“Excuse me,” Sandy approached the female cashier. “Can I speak to your manager?”
“I am the manager,” the young woman replied sheepishly. “Short-handed today. How can I help you?”
“I would like to lodge a complaint about one of your sales assistants. He was really quite out of line.”
The young woman looked at her blankly. “I’m the only one here today. We don’t have any sales assistants on the floor….”
“That’s impossible,” Sandy interrupted. “He came right up to me and told me I didn’t need this lingerie.”
The young woman smiled sweetly. “Well, I don’t know who that was, but it sounds like quite a gift.”
Jasmin Webb
“Beyond Sexy" - the sign hovering just below the holy month reminder and just above the scantily clad mannequins - promised the answer. Sandy bit her nails again.
“Not for you.” A male voice distilled her from her thoughts.
She whipped around to find a male shop attendant (in a place like this?) standing next to her.
“I beg your pardon?” She was more than taken aback by the bluntness of his statement, not to mention a little offended.
“You don’t need it.”
“What? Don’t need what?”
“That.”
For someone whose job it was to sell, he wasn’t doing it well, she thought. How odd!
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Sandy quipped. “Perhaps you should mind your own business.”
“Ramadhan Kareem,” he greeted – wishing her generous blessings of the holy month.
She walked out of the shop, disturbed by the interaction. Who was he to say that? How did he know what she had sort of been thinking? At once she was mortified to realise perhaps it had been written all over her face. She couldn’t let it rest.
Sandy turned on her heels and marched back into the shop. That was no way for a sales assistant to be speaking to a customer, no matter what.
“Excuse me,” Sandy approached the female cashier. “Can I speak to your manager?”
“I am the manager,” the young woman replied sheepishly. “Short-handed today. How can I help you?”
“I would like to lodge a complaint about one of your sales assistants. He was really quite out of line.”
The young woman looked at her blankly. “I’m the only one here today. We don’t have any sales assistants on the floor….”
“That’s impossible,” Sandy interrupted. “He came right up to me and told me I didn’t need this lingerie.”
The young woman smiled sweetly. “Well, I don’t know who that was, but it sounds like quite a gift.”
Jasmin Webb
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