People are funny and in this regular series, our kitchen retailer recounts some of the crazier moments he has had dealing with customers
For the purpose of anonymity, I can’t divulge my name, but I can tell you that I am male. I like to think of myself as a sensitive type, one that is very respectful to people, irrespective of their gender. That said, I am a bloke, and it must be admitted that we blokes have our flaws.
I once had a very embarrassing experience at the home of one of our clients – the art-loving wife of a banker, whose kitchen we were fitting. The décor was a bit over-the-top for my taste, with plenty of paintings on the walls and lots of sculptures dotted around among a load of ornaments.
For the sake of anonymity, we will call her The Client. She had gone out, leaving us to it.
Along with my installation expert, who, for the purpose of anonymity, is going to be called The Fitter, we were doing the last bits of snagging, ensuring that drawers and doors were straight and that all of the appliances were quality-checked prior to final sign-off.
The clients had already moved in most of their kitchen bits and pieces, plus lots of decorative knick-knacks.
One of these was a large, lifelike plaster bust of a naked female upper torso. A bust of a bust. I admit, I thought it looked a bit odd on the worktop.
The Fitter thought it quite strange to have such a thing in a kitchen, but he couldn’t take his eyes off it, and I admit that I couldn’t either.
I don’t know why I did this, but I just couldn’t resist. I picked up the hollow-backed bust of the large bust and then positioned it against my own chest. I was prancing around, behaving like a schoolboy.
I positioned the hollow-backed bust against my own chest and was prancing around, behaving like a schoolboy
Then The Fitter stopped laughing and started to slowly shake his head, looking frightened. His eyes were firmly focused on the door to the hallway behind me. The Client had returned home early and was looking rather cross.
“That’s my bust,” she said, as I was suddenly and shamefacedly returning it to its rightful position next to the Quooker tap.
“Yes,” I said, “and it’s a very nice artwork.” She looked at me with a wry smile.
“No,” she said, “what I mean is that is a bust of my actual bust, and you two are well and truly busted!”
I swallowed hard and waited, and then she laughed out loud, offered us both a cup of tea, and then signed off the kitchen.
I’ll never make that boob again.