CHAPTER - 3

3 

   

 

My head was right back into shape as I walked into the shop to stare at a frown that made Julie’s good looks unnaturally severe. Even ten minutes late needed an explanation. She didn’t say a word but her fingernails clicking the countertop demanded an answer. So, I told her I had helped a dying man at the scene of a car crash. 

 Now, I know I shouldn't have and people will disapprove but a slight exaggeration does wonders for opening up opportunities within a large busy clothes store and in this particular store they were numerous. Things were that lax. Julie did look at me hard with her forty something year old eyes and adjusted the sleeves of her neat blue blouse. The one with the puffy sleeves she wore that I liked. From the young girl range brought in for the summer. A trim size ten.  

I could tell, you know, just by looking at girls what size they were. That was the beauty of working in a fashion store that catered for both sexes. The place just crawled with girls. All shapes and sizes. The girl’s area way bigger than the guys and, obviously, needing more staff. But good salesgirls, and guys for that matter, were a tough get. Saturday ones being the most difficult. The girls were not so interested in work, spending much of the day staring at nails and chatting. The boys, one word, football and you need say no more. The girls did plant the odd nudge and comment on the few fellas who wandered in but, outside of that, really… Saturday staff seemed a complete waste of time.  

Me, I didn’t count. Sure, I was Saturday only, had been for nearly a year, but I had an agenda as far as financial matters were concerned. All for one and that was me was the appropriate saying. Up until now, of course, when I had a down the middle partner to consider. So, a high turnover of Saturday staff was to my benefit and mostly girls simply because the shop employed more of them. The Saturdays they were short of girls I got to work the girl’s side alongside the lovely Val, the full-time lady. And today that went a long way to explaining Julie’s pissed off expression. Two girls short and I was late.  

So, there I was standing behind the girl’s side counter chatting to Val. A nice lady. She had one of those smiles that melted ice cream. You know the sort, warm and welcoming. That was why the job suited her. Last month she won the top sales award which made it three months in a row. Top girl in a top shop selling top end fashion. Just my kind of place. 

I had this thing about work: there were always opportunities. All those little oddities that added bucks that made it all worthwhile especially when pay for fellas of my age was so low which in my present situation meant ends could be very difficult to meet. The opportunities, though, they just needed spotting and a little bit of creativity never went amiss. The ability to spot the angle and that's what I liked about Monkie. His obvious ingenuity. Combine that with mine and hopefully there was a winning formula. 

For instance, my first ever job at eleven was a great example. Well, to be more accurate I was eleven but shortly to be twelve not that it made much difference other than with perception. It made it just a touch easier to persuade Charlie I was not too young. I’d found out that from his perspective eleven was the age of a minor but twelve, for some obscure reason, he considered grown up. 

So, my first job. I’d spent half the summer holidays sitting on a wall watching Charlie the milk clatter along at slightly more than snail's pace in the three wheeled electric milk float with a permanent roll up smouldering on his bottom lip and a cough that worked well to indicate his presence on dark mornings. Saturdays were payment days when he panted and wheezed up and down the various paths carrying a crate of up to six bottles. Maybe even a loaf of sliced white or a bottle or two of orange juice. A leather pouch on a strap across his chest contained quite a few pounds of loose change that he couldn’t leave on the milk float. Saturdays he collected the week’s payments and as the day wore on the weight just got heavier until he started to fade. 

I knew from Alfie, the same source that provided the perspective information, that Charlie was liable for any shortfall in takings hence the need to hang onto the money bag at all times, the world being so full of light-fingered blighters. Alfie, being a school mate, well, not so much a mate, more the school snitch with a liking for a bag of boiled sweets whose mum happened to be the Doris in that little square wooden cubicle at the front of the food store. The one next to the way out door. She collected the cash from people’s purchases. Chatted, the way friendly ladies do, as she double checked Charlie’s weekly take. Incidentally, this was the same financial liability put upon me when I worked at the petrol station that required careful consideration to stay ahead of the game.  

Responsibility for cash required constant haulage and maybe three miles of rapid walking carrying the weight of up to six full bottles with a return trip of up to six empties - the fella, quite seriously, needed a fit, young pair of legs to relieve the Saturday strain. So, one Saturday at six, having slipped out of my bedroom window… yeah, I know, but we lived in a semi-detached bungalow, I stood outside the rear gates to the food store right in the middle of the entrance. 

The whirr of the milk float and there was Charlie shouting at me about getting out of the way. Stepping aside, as he crawled past, I hopped onto the passenger seat. The conversation was short. First, he told me to get out but not quite that politely. Snapping out a phrase of just two short words the way he did would make any prim and proper lady blush. But, to his credit, he did listen when I said he should hang on and listen. Coughing and breathing stale beer fumes he nearly spat out the fag but did pay attention as I reeled off a stream of untapped benefits that were, fortunately, sitting right there next to him in the cab. 

Two and six was all he said he’d pay but only if I was old enough. A derisory amount, no mistake about that. But I’d already seen the way to improve the financial arrangements, so I took the offer without negotiation. The trick, I’d decided, was to lay on the young lad charm so up the path to the first house with the instructions of two gold top and one orange juice for Mrs Jones, number twenty-two and collect three shillings and four pence. Told Mrs Jones three and five, grabbed the cash, four empties, back into the cab, handed over three and four leaving one penny in my pocket. The bonus of one penny tip I kept as well. The tip being the result of a chirpy nearly twelve-year-old brightening up Mrs Jones's doorstep after several years of a Saturday grump with dog breath. Easy. Hardly anyone questioned my cheeky smile and were quick to accept the sorry, my fault, if they did. 

A year our relationship lasted during which Charlie kept warm and dry in his cab, coughing and catching up reading the top shelf mags while I squirrelled away the pennies people did not miss. All added to the wealth hidden in an old tobacco tin under the shed. Then I moved on to work at the butchers for two years.  

Now, there was a place. Out back full of blood, sawdust and bleach for the block. Sharp knives that I soon got the hang of. Made up the orders then off on the bike. One of those with the small front wheel to allow for a huge basket. Quite easily I appropriated sirloin which I knew my father was particularly partial to. Maybe it was that that slowed down the nocturnal visits, but I suspect it was actually due to a slight fear starting to creep in. By thirteen I was already tall and strong. Strong partly through a year’s haulage of heavy bottles but also due to the fifty-pound sawdust filled punch bag in the school gym and me being selected for the school boxing team. Even if I say so myself, I did have a handy pair of fists. 

 

So, here I was standing next to Val watching the guy’s changing rooms which were almost opposite the girl’s counter. Full of flaws was the way I’d describe the trying on clothes procedure. Super slim guys would grab a couple of pairs of trousers, shirts, maybe a jacket if they were wearing a jacket and wander into the cubicles then return looking like they’d just had a good feed, say something about the trousers being too big and saunter out sporting a sly grin. No one seemed to bother about collecting the not-there clothes and, even more curious, no one noticed the abundance of chubby guys who left. Clearly the place had a reputation amongst the local, young male population. 

A while back I mentioned this to Julie who, being a top manager, immediately identified the reason for consistent stock shortfalls way above what might be expected from shoplifting. Why mention it, you might ask. Surely the opportunity was there to appropriate uncollected stock left in the changing rooms by honest customers and I’d have to agree with that. But… think a bit further. First, I didn’t get to choose the items I wanted. Second, it was to my benefit to keep the loophole open and that would not happen if the stock loss went up due to my pilfering the changing room. Clearly the trick was to keep it open by nabbing offenders so that the monthly stock shortfall decreased. I became a hero which added to my reputation as a diligent worker, like today with helping a dying man. Julie received a pat on the back from higher management for increased profits meaning the need to change procedure disintegrated. 

But where was my angle? Think about it. People worked. Teenagers were at school. It stood to reason that a good percentage of the shop’s turnover was from Saturday sales. The number of Saturday only workers confirmed this. So, logically, a high percentage of stock loss happened then. As most of you are probably aware every shop expects a certain amount of shoplifting and budgets for it. I’d discovered this particular store allowed five percent from the men’s department. Reduce that by careful vigilance and there was a balance to be snaffled and, from the lady’s counter, it was easy to watch and nab offenders. 

A few pairs of Levis, all the most common sizes, two slim cut medium jackets and, of course, Ben Sherman's, the check patterns sold best, and all neatly stacked in the yard out back during the course of the day behind the waste skip next to the hole previously knocked in the fence. Theft? Not as far as I was concerned so long as the stock loss stayed below the five percent. After all, I’d done the store a favour. I’d reduced stock loss, improved profits and made a manager very happy. All I was doing was taking a cut of the savings which some would agree was only fair. It might be asked why the try on procedure was not changed. The answer to that was simply, who knows. I expected it to at any moment, it certainly should’ve been but, of course, that would have been the signal to change my Saturday employment in which case I’d plump for an extra shift at the garage as that was a way more profitable place to work.  

There were other benefits of working with Val. Girls bought more clothes than guys so commission was higher especially for a fella who had not only succumbed to his uncle’s word addiction but had inherited a good quota of his father’s natural charm which was definitely the only thing I could ever thank him for.  

And of course there were the girls. A steady stream of the lovely creatures poured through the door. One thing I had made a point of learning early on in anticipation of opportunity was how to determine a bra size. It was easy and I expect every girl knows the tried and tested method with the three inches and all that stuff and the cup size calculations. So, in comes a girl and she wants a new bra. I say stuff to her about getting Val. Most say thank you but some… some find it a giggle having a guy with a tape measure stand behind them, whisper in their ear and measure twice. Once under and once… yeah, once right over the sticking out parts.  

Today it’s Wendy. Tall, blonde with a face full of mischief. Trim but quite well structured on the front if you know what I mean. Not so far off a D I’d say. It's what she said that attracted me. Came straight out with it, “Hi Rich, I’m Wendy and I hear you fit bras.” 

Of course, I wasn't aware I had a reputation but as time goes on and all that. So, I said, “Sure,” picked up the tape measure and walked around the counter.  

Wendy held up her arms high above her head and turned to face the mirror. “Come on then,” she said. Tilted her head a bit with wide eyes as she looked into the mirror. The corner of her mouth turned up wickedly. 

“Drop your arms, can you,” I said as I stood behind her. “That’s better. Loose at your side. Up high like that and you stretch your bumps.” 

She wiggled as I fed the tape around just under her bust all the time looking at my face in the mirror. “You’re nice… Want my number?” Wiggled some more backing up a bit and grinned into the mirror. 

“Maybe,” I replied but I wasn’t enthused and moved the tape to the widest part. She twisted side to side, “Keep still,” I ordered and looked her in the eyes. She tilted her head again. Seemed to be laughing. I kind of sighed, “Okay, give me your number and maybe I’ll give you a call.” Actually, though, I don’t really know why I said that habit maybe. I now had different views, so I really wasn’t all that bothered.  

“You don’t get embarrassed then?” 

“Nope, why would I, I’m just doing my job.” 

“Yeah, right… you love it, don’t you. All the girls. You know the words out. Your…” 

“I’m what?” 

“Your… recommended if you know what I mean… Here’s my number. Phone me later. I'm off now.” 

“What about the bra?” 

“Oh, that. I only came in to check you out.” 

“And.” 

“You’ve got my number so work it out… and bring all your cash.” 

I watched her slip out of the shop and disappear into the market crowds thinking the comment about cash needed careful consideration. I’ve already mentioned the problem with sponges and the one thing I didn’t want was a high maintenance evening with someone I didn’t care so much about.  

The day ended on a high note with me reflecting on the reasons for my clothes shop employment: lax security and girls. The thing was though, as far as girls were concerned, my thoughts were firmly elsewhere and that was something I had been struggling with for a couple of months now.  

Anyway, my pay in hand I headed for the pub. One slight problem: it was not exactly divisible by two. That left a halfpenny, but I’d get over that by rounding it up in favour of Monkie. I grinned, just to underline my sense of fairness you understand.