Retail Whores

The people who are employed to work in clothes shops are a curious breed. Despite the fact that all they do is WORK in a SHOP (and they probably don't even get the minimum wage), they seem to think they are better than us mere mortals who choose to buy clothes from their establishments (which are owned by their bosses, not them).

I was unfortunate enough to come into contact with a couple of these beasts yesterday on my after-work mission to locate some new (vintage) jeans. I left the office early at 5:10 so I could race through the streets of the City to get to Beyond Retro before they shut. I arrived at the store (it's more a lock-up than an actual shop) just before 6pm with red cheeks and half my hair stuck to my forehead with sweat.

A painfully cool stick insect with thick-rimmed glasses, dressed head-to-toe in mismatched 'quirky' pieces sloped over and stood in front of me. She looked me up and down, sneered and then stated in her you-don't-belong-here drawl, "Closing in two minutes!"

Her plan worked because I turned into a self-conscious, inadequate wreck who couldn't even remember what size he was looking for, let alone whether he liked anything they stocked. I downed tools and bailed out without really looking at anything, stopping only to thank the creature as I walked out. She sneered again.

Deflated and without a purchase, I thought my shopping trip was over, but luckily, one of the smaller boutiques along Brick Lane was still open. I sauntered in and was greeted by an even cooler boy-with-a-knitted-tie. And of course, the pre-requisite thick-rimmed glasses. He looked at me and then looked away. I needed some jeans though, so I started to look around despite the frosty welcome. I saw some vintage Levi's in soft-feel denim with a straight leg and scuttled into the changing 'area' (i stood behind a screen). They were the perfect fit, so I took them over and said I'd like them. While he stared right through me, I asked if they took cards as I had no cash on me. He said they did not. He obviously spent too much time rolling joints to bother installing a Chip and Pin machine.

I asked him if there was a cash machine nearby. He said there was, but added that he was, "Closing in two minutes!" Is this some kind of mantra all shop workers in the Brick Lane area are instructed to yell at anyone they deem not cool enough? I ran up the road, got the money out and returned to pay.

He made me feel so unwelcome that I ended up buying a vintage leather belt as well.