I believe in giving as well as receiving good service (not just when it comes to sex, either). But sometimes, I get the distinct impression that a great many sales people in Malaysia just have a tough time differentiating between what is good service and what annoys the sh*t out of a potential customer. To me, there is a big difference between helping a customer arrive at an intelligent purchasing decision and badgering him into submitting to a sale. Sadly, most sales people wouldn’t recognise the difference even if it fell from the sky and bit them in the ass. On occasions such as these, we are often left with only two choices: either be extremely rude and ignore the salesperson completely or we could, conceivably, jump out the nearest open window and hope that we’d land in front of a fast moving bus. My friend G, however, found another solution to the problem.
G was the kind of guy (make no mistake he is a guy) who, because of his penchant for the softer things in life, made you wonder if he had enough testosterone coursing through his body. A bit on the rotund side, G, nevertheless, had pretty good dress sense. This wasn’t always so – but that’s another story. In any case, G had a passion for clothes and could hardly resist browsing the display of clothiers and men’s sections of departmental stores. He liked nice clothes and was prepared to go to great lengths in order to get just the right item of clothing for himself.
One fateful day – many years ago – G and I were between appointments. We had about an hour or so before the next appointment and neither of us wanted to go back to the office first only to leave again after a few minutes. G suggested that we pop into the nearby Metrojaya to while the time away. I agreed. Just what harm could that do, right?
Once we were in the aisles of men’s clothing, there was no mistaking that G had died and gone to heaven. He glowed and radiated joy from every pore in his body. For a brief moment, I could have sworn I could smell the golden buttery scent of his excitement. This super-charged enthusiasm did not go unnoticed by the salesperson/promoter who was lurking in the shadows. Within seconds, she was all over us like a malodourous blanket.
Every time G picked something up for a closer look, she’d launch into her vigourous sales pitch extolling either the merits of the product or how good it would look on G. Being sales people ourselves, we politely endured her over-the-top hard sell techniques ad simply smiled our acknowledgment of her sales message. After about 15 minutes of being treated like herded cattle, we had had enough.
When G started to inspect the buttons on a rather nice shirt, the salesperson started her pitch al over again:
“Mister! Velly nice shirt. Got discount. Velly good plice oso. Sure look good on you, mah! You want to tly?”
G gave up being nice. Without any warning, he wrapped his arms around my waist like a lover would, rested his head against my shoulder and smiled at the unsuspecting sales person.
“No-lah, my boyfriend don’t like!” purred G. He then proceeded to squeeze my bum for effect.
The sales person slid away in horror and was gone faster than you could say “sexually transmitted disease”. She never saw it necessary to ‘attend’ to us after that – which was fine by us.
Now, some twenty years on, I hope the people who witnessed the incident have forgotten what I look like.