Even the long arm of the law sometimes needs sun protection

One of the memories I have of working as a salesman in an awning store in the early 1990s is of Harry*. On a drizzly day, he stormed into the showroom for the first time. A typical man, dressed in short, self-cut jeans, with bare feet in wooden clogs, an AC/DC T-shirt with holes around the skinny torso and a cowboy hat on, as you used to find mostly at festivals. "Do you have store daughters, too?" he called out to me, ignoring the customers I was just helping. I referred him to the boss, who undoubtedly still had a few returned shutters or an old awning in the warehouse.

Harry became a regular visitor and bought everything away from the old ironmonger's nose. Sometimes he would take coffee and stay for a chat. "I can arrange anything Jan. Anything your heart desires. For example, I'm getting a batch of VHS recorders and CD players soon. Hot, get it? Fell off the truck boy!" A big wink followed. That I wasn't interested didn't bother Harry.

Mr. Carbonada

Retrieved from a Saturday morning a neat car pulled up in front. We had just opened the doors and were standing with all the employees at the coffee machine in the showroom. We looked through the porch windows to see which department this customer belonged to. "Awning!", my colleagues noted with delight. Not their department, so the coffee could take a little longer. It was Mr. Carbonada. He had been in the store three times in the weeks before, each time dressed in an impressive uniform, as he was a motorcycle officer with the police.

The Carbonada family needed indoor blinds. During several sales meetings, we had come to an offer and Mr. Carbonada had taken home the sample book. He now came to bring it back, in plain clothes - it was Saturday, after all. I sat him down at a table and got him coffee, while he cheerfully called out to me that the quotation was in order. A little later we were filling out the order form together.

"All fell off the truck, get it?" (Photo © A. Gorgots.)

Wrong day, place and time

The while Mr. Carbonada made a final check of the receipt, I saw from the corner of my eye how Harry parked his rusty, canary yellow Opel in front of the door. He had already seen me sitting at the table and came running into the porch, gesticulating excitedly. Apparently I had to come out immediately. Not going, I gestured back and pointed to the customer. But that was no reason for Harry to wait. He stormed in and came over to our table. "Boy, come on now! I've got the trunk packed. VHS recorders, CD players, Veronica CDs and lots of other hot stuff. Pick it out, tap it and enjoy!"

I could sink through the floor. Carbonada raised his eyebrows and asked, "Sounds good. Is it secondhand stuff?" Harry, delighted with a possible new customer, responded immediately. "Brand new man! All fell off the truck, get it?" He pulled one of the bags under his eyes well below his glasses frame at the last sentence. "Gee how cool, I'm interested in that! If you have enough, I'll ask some friends to come right away too?" replied Carbonada. "Surerrsss... Call them, I'll wait outside," Harry jubilated. "Where is the phone here?", asked Carbonada, as Harry stood back at his car. "Behind the counter, go ahead," I said with lead.

While Harry waited visibly delighted at his open trunk, Carbonada called his "friends. Together we walked outside, where Carbonada assured Harry that the friends would surely be there soon. He kept his word. Five minutes later, two police vans cornered the old Opel and a fuming Harry was offered a state-funded cab ride to the police station. It was the last time I saw Harry. Inside, Mr. Carbonada signed the order form with a big smile. "What a beautiful day Jan," he said.   

* The names used - except Jan Mol, of course - are fictitious for privacy reasons.