How to please a customer...

[najade]

How to please a customer…

1953…
‘Oh, my dear heaven!’, she would sigh, her wrinkled face ablush with something twixt fake emotion and an inborn talent for her own kind of drama. My dad, behind the counter, knew her well… He had played his role of local social helper, human emergency telephone and ‘dear Abby’ since he sold his first claw-hammer 1936… She was his customer, this sweet old lady in pale blue, who had the habit of complaining daily about the costs of life.
‘Your prices are much too high’, she grumbled as always. And - as always - he smiled.
‘My precious mrs. Brown’, he answered, ‘These fine potato-peelers come all the way from Norway and they are made out of Russian steel! I would love to sell them cheaper, but…’ Mrs. Brown interrupted him in a fierce voice…
‘But mr. Keller, your shop is the only one around here and you have plenty of customers. You must be rich enough by now!’ She turned her grey mouse-head away from him, pouting, an aggrieved expression on her face.
‘Dear mr. Keller, I am a poor old woman’, she continued, ‘And I must say, your prices were much better before the war!’ Dad stared at her, thinking of the way she used to leave the store, head down, as if watching her nicely polished, blue shoes gave her comfort. Then his soft eyes looked at the neat rows of shiny knives in the velvet-lined showcase he had opened for her so many times before. ‘What the heck’, he thought, ‘Let’s make a change this time. Reconstruction of Europe, cost prices, who cares…?’
He carefully lifted the prettiest knife from the velvet and handed it to her with a slight bow, like a gentleman offering flowers to a lady.
‘Here you are, mrs. Brown! You may have this peeler for free today!’ Dad grinned, pleased with the situation. Mrs. Brown’s lips trembled and her bushy eyebrows were raised to exceptional height.
‘For free you said, mr. Keller? For FREEEE???” She gasped. Dad nodded to her.
‘Yes’, he confirmed, ‘Yes!’ Mrs. Brown kept real quiet for a few seconds. Then, looking dad straight in the eye, pulling her skinny shoulders back as if she felt the whole world was hers, she gracefully asked:
‘Can I have two then…?’

Najade
:rofl

[ZEB]

lol..tiza buzzy little story..I like it lotz..your Da soundz like a gr8 man..

[Spirit of Kahn]

Oh Rikki... I have just read this to Maureen and we both agree its a lovely story. I can just imagin your father's shop and the little old lady...

I must post a poem I wrote about a little shoppe (the two 'p's and the 'e' is intentional <smiling>

Thank you so much for sharing :kisses

[Diesel]

Najade

I grew up in a small village and there was a small shop/post office.

The lady behind the counter always seemed larger than life. She was a grand old matron who all us kids feared if we stepped out of line, but she had a tender heart made of molten gold. She rescued stray cats from the streets and always has a free penny sweet to give to us if we had been good or told her of an abandoned animal.

Her name was Mrs Marsh, though her husband died she kept the name and never remarried.

Your story reminded me of her and childhood in my quiet village, a million miles from the life I now lead, in the rough area of the City where house prices are cheaper and I pay the bills and balance the books and hold down a job.

It was a good memory and it made me smile, so thank you for sharing this story.


Dx

[JP.]

Hi Rikki,Great little story, I know little old ladies like that they terrorise the neighbourhood here...well done.....JP.

[najade]

Aw...dear John...
It's been months since I took a look here and I'm sorry I didn't thank you earlier...
I'm very glad you read this story about my beloved dad...
He's been gone for 30 years now and I still miss him.
Yes, he did do his utmost to please all of his customers.
The store still exists and the two sons of my (older) brother run it now.
It's a huge company today and I'm so happy to say that some real old customers still remember dad...

:kiss :kisses :beaming Rikki