I'm a country bumpkin
Ok, so it's like this. I drive along Parnell Rd, slightly unsure of where this Working Style place is. I see these guys outside a small shop in flash black suits. They're standing behind a table with fancy snacks, wines and beers. I park the car and walk up to them, feeling slightly inferior in my Barker's jacket and shirt from Country Road. They offer me a drink, but being unable to make a choice from such a sophisticated selection, I choose the Kiri orange juice. Feeling terribly naughty carrying a glass of juice into a clothes store, I make my way in through the front entrance...
As I walk through the door, I wonder to my left and start looking at the clothes on the racks. It contained lots of nice shirts and most of them appeared to be various shades of pink. I started talking to myself, (internally only of course) "Hmm, that's interesting. It must be one of those modern shops like Marcs at 277..." Then I noticed that the shirts were all quite small and had an unusual cut. Very strange indeed! After a few moments of puzzlement, I looked up and saw the manikins modeling the clothes. Whoops!!!! I'm in the women's clothes section. Time to move on!
A group of guys are making their way upstairs, so I decide to follow them. Terrified that I'm going to spill my juice, I skull it down as quickly as possible. Then I proceed to look through another rack of shirts. This time, they're all very nice in various shades of whites, blues and browns. The cuts are more man like too. Next thing to check is the price tag. OUCH! Well clear of $200 each. Of course, these ones are not on sale.
There's a section where all of the items are clearly on sale. Now we're talking! Unfortunately, these items are still over $150 despite the massive savings. What sort of shop is this!?!? I look around at the other customers, and realise that they're all at least twice my age. Maybe I did receive that invitation by mistake. Speaking of the invitation, where is my free consultation!?!? By then I'd been in the shop for a good 10 minutes and nobody had approached to offer me any service. They must have seen my sorry state and probably triaged me - like when rescue crews prioritise people to rescue at the scene of a big disaster like a plane crash. I was probably Triage category 0 which means you're beyond help and not worthy of attention until the body bags arrive.
I was tempted to try on some stuff just to see what it's like to wear clothes that cost the same as a return flight to Melbourne, but I decided that there was no point even trying to pretend that I need, or can even afford, clothes like that. On my way down the stairs, I noticed that there were some men's clothes downstairs after all. It wasn't all women's clothing. Just to make sure, I asked an assistant, "Are there only guy's clothes upstairs?" I should have added, "Or are those men's clothes down there too?" however I didn't realise the ambiguity of my question until he replied, "We only have guy's clothes upstairs..." with a really suspicious tone as though I was actually looking for women's clothes. On that note, I decided that it was definitely time to leave, so I put my head down and made a quiet exit feeling rather simple and uneducated. Oh well, at least I managed to get a free glass of orange juice.
As I walk through the door, I wonder to my left and start looking at the clothes on the racks. It contained lots of nice shirts and most of them appeared to be various shades of pink. I started talking to myself, (internally only of course) "Hmm, that's interesting. It must be one of those modern shops like Marcs at 277..." Then I noticed that the shirts were all quite small and had an unusual cut. Very strange indeed! After a few moments of puzzlement, I looked up and saw the manikins modeling the clothes. Whoops!!!! I'm in the women's clothes section. Time to move on!
A group of guys are making their way upstairs, so I decide to follow them. Terrified that I'm going to spill my juice, I skull it down as quickly as possible. Then I proceed to look through another rack of shirts. This time, they're all very nice in various shades of whites, blues and browns. The cuts are more man like too. Next thing to check is the price tag. OUCH! Well clear of $200 each. Of course, these ones are not on sale.
There's a section where all of the items are clearly on sale. Now we're talking! Unfortunately, these items are still over $150 despite the massive savings. What sort of shop is this!?!? I look around at the other customers, and realise that they're all at least twice my age. Maybe I did receive that invitation by mistake. Speaking of the invitation, where is my free consultation!?!? By then I'd been in the shop for a good 10 minutes and nobody had approached to offer me any service. They must have seen my sorry state and probably triaged me - like when rescue crews prioritise people to rescue at the scene of a big disaster like a plane crash. I was probably Triage category 0 which means you're beyond help and not worthy of attention until the body bags arrive.
I was tempted to try on some stuff just to see what it's like to wear clothes that cost the same as a return flight to Melbourne, but I decided that there was no point even trying to pretend that I need, or can even afford, clothes like that. On my way down the stairs, I noticed that there were some men's clothes downstairs after all. It wasn't all women's clothing. Just to make sure, I asked an assistant, "Are there only guy's clothes upstairs?" I should have added, "Or are those men's clothes down there too?" however I didn't realise the ambiguity of my question until he replied, "We only have guy's clothes upstairs..." with a really suspicious tone as though I was actually looking for women's clothes. On that note, I decided that it was definitely time to leave, so I put my head down and made a quiet exit feeling rather simple and uneducated. Oh well, at least I managed to get a free glass of orange juice.
posted by SpongeMike @ 18:22
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