Last in my series of remembories of my time spent working in a camera shop. I have saved the best until last and shall now document the greatest thing that’s ever happened to me and perhaps to any human ever. This was after the days of Keith and Sean, those guys had moved on. I was working in the shop with a fat Irish asshole named Peter. *As I’ve said you could tell what people wanted as soon as they came in. If they were Portuguese they wanted Fots for pass-a-port. They would first ask if you had Machina for pass-a-port? We didn’t, we had a camera, then they’d want fots. We hid from Portuguese people as taking passport photos was more tedious than going through old negatives. They always came out shit and changing the film cartridge was a pain in the cock.
If somebody came in carrying a camera bag they were in to waste your time. They had no intention of buying a new camera or camcorder, they just wanted validation that theirs was okay.
One afternoon a time-waster came in to look at the camcorders. Peter and myself were in the shop. Peter was an asshole and it rubbed off on me. Sometimes I could be an asshole too. I was a bit of an asshole to this guy. I can’t remember exactly what I was doing but I was probably talking in a funny voice and saying stupid shit to the guy while Peter cracked up behind the counter. I was really playing to the gallery. Eventually the guy left and Peter and I hi-5ed and then resumed our normal boring day but things took a turn for the great when the guy we’d fucked with came back in about half an hour later, completely furious and demanding to see the manager – Jorge – who hid upstairs all day.
I tried to calm the guy but he was adamant so I eventually got Jorge. I wasn’t too concerned as I’d only been a bit of a dick, not a total dick.
Jorge came down and, well, what the customer accused me of doing beggars belief. I thought he was just going to complain about my attitude, never in my wildest nightmare scenarios did I expect him to accuse me of scribbling on his trousers. I’m laughing my head off typing that. The guy came in all furious and accused me of scribbling on his trousers. While he was wearing them, in the middle of a shop.
He showed the scribble and indeed it was on his trousers. Around his crotch. He wanted the cleaning off of the scribble paid for by the shop.
“But, but, but, but…” Was all I could manage at first, so ridiculous was the accusation. “You’d have felt it!” The guy was still furious.
“You are your mate were laughing the whole time I was in here.”
“We were just thinking about something funny that happened yesterday.” I told him and then the guy went back to barking at Jorge who didn’t know what was going on. Then my super brain kicked in. In a lucid moment I thought of the only possible scenario which could have left a man with scribbled on pants.
“You must have a pen sticking out of your bag. And you’ve sat down with it on your lap.”
“No, no pen!” He replied confidently and offered up his bag and ran his hands around the bottom. The moment he found the pen sticking out of the corner he didn’t die but I bet he wished he did. “Ahhh!” He went.
“Ahhh!” I went. Jorge still didn’t know what was going on and Peter was shaking with suppressed laughter. The guy left the shop with his tail between his legs and Peter and I laughed for a solid hour. We stopped laughing for a bit and then the guy came in again to apologize which I accepted graciously and then we laughed for the rest of the afternoon. Bet that guy still thinks about that day and I bet he hopes that if somebody else does remember it they at least don’t post it on the internet. Tough luck, guy with scribbled on pants!
*As I’ve said/as I say. Started saying that first when I worked in the camera shop. Don’t know why but I noticed myself saying it a lot during the selling of things. In most cases I hadn’t mentioned the thing I referred to with ‘as I said.’