But my experience is the exact opposite. Instead of feeling cheery when I walk over the 'welcome mat,' into the George Street store opposite the Queen Victoria building, my blood turns cold. I break out into a sweat and a shiver goes down my spine.
The reason for this extreme reaction is that I know that, contrary to the ad, I'm going to have an unpleasant time. And there are two people in particular in that store who invariably make what should be a happy shopping experience an ordeal. I have nicknamed them Vampira and Uncle Bela, for reasons that will become clear.
Both look like they've been taken from an old horror movie and dropped into the store without any customer service training. They never greet customers, never politely offer help or advice. And they never, ever smile! Sales assistants of their vintage should be kindly and helpful, like Alfred the Butler in the Batman series, not rude and arrogant, like themselves.
With receding hair, coke-bottle glasses and daggy clothing, uncle Bela looks like the horror star of the same name but instead of the cape he has an identical bald patch and a deathly air about him. Uncle Bela could be anyone's elderly uncle in disguise; with his nerdy top pocket full of pens, and his mismatched old grey polyester pants and mustard coloured shirts. But this man would not make an endearing uncle.
He will never assist you and in fact if you are looking through a pile of jeans he will inevitably come right up to you and let out a grunt of annoyance that you've just messed up his neat pyramid of clothes. He will immediately start rearranging the jeans that you have just looked through, regardless of the fact the he is in your way. This one incredibly rude action is almost enough to make you walk out of the store in a huff yourself. If you are courageous enough to ask Uncle Bela if the store has a particular size he will inevitably bark coldly - "If its not there we don't have it."
Vampira is just as bad. Located behind the sales counter she watches everyone from her perch like a Sphinx. With arrogant disdain she looks down at you as if she were the queen of sales. Around the same age group as Uncle Bela, she bleaches her hair white and paints her finger nails blood red. Wearing black, she inevitably looks like a vampire. As if this unpleasant sight was bad enough having to buy clothing from her is an excruciating experience. She looks at you with those cold unfeeling eyes as she takes your credit card. There are no polite 'hello sir'. The whole transaction is done as if you were a hated enemy. On the rare occasions I have dared to cancel a layby it has drawn a chilling, "You've done this before, haven't you". I've half expected to be bitten in the neck!
But there was one incident in particular that set off my dread and loathing of this store. Noticing two business shirts one day outside the store I wandered in to try them on. Passing the sales desk, the evil eye of Vampira followed me. Naturally there was no polite 'hello sir'.
In the change room I took the shirts out of their plastic packaging, careful to pull out the pins around the collar and sleeves - which inevitably scratch you if you don't before trying them. They weren't me so I put them on the clothes rack and kicked the packaging out of my way, into the next change room, as I exited the room - I was certainly not going to help the two unhelpful goons on the floor. They could put the shirts back themselves.
There was now a queue in front of the sales desk so I took a detour past the underwear. I didn't particularly want Vampira to take another look at me. I hadn't gone more then a few feet when I heard Vampira call out 'Sir", in a high pitched wine. As I wasn't sure if it was me she was calling out to I continued and walked out of the store to the bus stop just outside.
A bus was waiting so I joined the queue. As I was boarding the bus Uncle Bela yelled out from the front door, "Where's the packaging?" I turned flabbergasted to look at him. I gave him the same cold, ugly stare and got on the bus. As I sat down, and the bus took off, I noticed that the silly old coot was still looking at me, perhaps hoping he could hypnotise me into telling him what he wanted to know.
I suddenly felt like Harrison Ford out of The Fugitive. Was I now on the run because I'd opened two packets of shirts to try them on? Should I go back and turn myself in so that I could be tried for my packet opening crime? But I suspected that I wouldn't receive a fair trial if Vampira and Uncle Bela had their way.
Needless to say, I haven�t set foot inside the George St Lowes store since that stressful packet-opening experience many years ago. By now, Uncle Bela and Vampira might be well and truly underground (where they belong). But I know that if I ever do find myself having a peek inside that store I will make sure that I have my garlic, crucifix and silver bullet all handy just in case those two sideshow freaks return from the dead - again!
