The Return of the Very Nice Man

I recognised him straight away, but I was not sure why at first; people linger in the memory for all sorts of reasons. It was not so much a striking set of features, or even his rather unusual glasses; it was rather his bright and energetic demeanour that prompted my mind to find him in its catalogue of “Very Nice People.”

“I’m looking for some shoes for my son,” he said, “But I can’t remember what he had last time.”

He was making his way over to the shelves then with a troubled look as he scanned the rows of unfamiliar styles.

“I’m pretty sure it was this one,” I said, “2E fitting, in a size... nine?”

His puzzlement turned to astonishment, and I battled to conceal my pride.

“You’re right! How could you possibly... ? It was six months ago!”

“I have a rather selective memory; it’s not as reliable as it seems,” I replied. Little did he know the infrequency of such an accurate recall.

“We had to order them last time, but now we stock them as standard,” I went on.

“Yes, I remember you got them the next day. The service really is excellent.”

“Thank you. We send everything by post, so it’s really just down to the excellence of the postal service. Does he need a different size now?”

“Yes, he has grown somewhat. Do you have a ten?”

I brought the ten for him, and his continued delight brightened my day.

* * *

Two days later he returned. The ten was not big enough, but we did not have the half size. I would have to track some down, and in the meantime give him a credit note. I shuffled through the magazines and retail paraphernalia under the counter until I found the carbon book with “Credit Notes” written on the cover in black marker pen. I thumbed through the lined and numbered pages until I found a blank one, where I wrote by hand and signed my name.

I sometimes feel a little awkward handing over such an unofficial-looking document to represent what is often quite a lot of money. Though having said that, a carbon copy is probably as reliable as any electronic system, and indeed has not yet failed us in all these years.

I passed it to him, but instead of scrunching it into his wallet, he held it up with fascination and admiration. “I don’t really want to fold it,” he said, pointing to my hurried signature “it’s like a certificate.”

“Yes, and completely automated; it’s already linked up to our head office.”

He seemed to thoroughly enjoy my joke, and then looked me straight in the eye.

“This shop is a sea of tranquillity and service,” he said.

I was almost floored. Could we wish for a higher compliment? I thanked him most sincerely, and rushed to tell the others as soon as he had left. They were just as stunned and moved as I was. I had to wait for one of them to get off the phone first. Ironically she was fielding a complaint from a customer about an incident, which was not our fault on this occasion, but the fault of the postal service.

It was then that I realised how different people will assess our service based on their own view of the world, and in fact my catalogue of “Very Nice People” is quite crowded with Run and Become customers. I remembered the Very Nice Man, for his own inherent brightness, and not through any brilliance of my own. I suspect my memory has now catalogued him under “Extremely Benevolent People.”

Sumangali Morhall
May 2005