There is news that has rocked the bath shop world. We are no longer the Bath Shop Girls, or the Ladies of the Suds, or the...I can't come up with another title that doesn't sound dirty. Anyway. We can no longer be defined by our sex.
There is a man in our midst.
Now don't get me wrong, we wanted a man. We wanted someone tall and strong, because we're a gang of midgets, and our storage room is taller than it is wide. Makes the sale to men easier too, as most of them aren't particularly keen on being in the land of perfumes and bubble bath.
Georges (the French way of spelling it, which never fails to amuse me) is a smart one too, with a cock-eyed sense of humour that fits in perfectly with the insanity that we've already carefully cultivated through months of button-pushing, rule-bending and limit-stretching. We like him, in short.
Yesterday, he told me about a rather interesting phone call that he got the other day.
Georges: "Hi, thanks for calling the bath shop. This is Georges, how can I help you?"
Caller: "When are you guys getting in more scents?"
Georges: "Well, I'm not sure..."
Caller: "Are you going to get a new car smell?"
Georges: "Actually, you can scent your car any way you like."
Caller: "No...A New Car Smell."
Georges: "Oh well, I'm..."
And then the caller hung up, giggling.
Yes, folks. Georges the New Kid got prank-called.
I thought that went out of style in the 90s, but maybe that's just when I stopped doing it.
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