Remember those times I raved about surprisingly good customer service? Well, this isn't one of them.
Robespierre and I wandered into an "antique" shop a couple of weeks ago. I've never explored the place; I'm not sure how they stay in business since they're often inexplicably closed at peak hours. It's crammed with scales, catalogs, magazines, boxes, bubble wrap and glass cases haphazardly stuffed with faux-vintage plastic and less-than-semi-precious-stone trinkets from the 70s and 80s, Hummel figurines (anyone else get the willies from those things?), and an oddly out of place autographed football from 2001.
In a vitrine crowded with unremarkable watches and pocket knives we noticed pince-nez*, a pair of those pinch-on-the-nose eyeglasses like Teddy Roosevelt wore.
::Seemingly inexplicable change of subject goes here::
It just so happens that my nephew, Sweet Talker, appeared last week in his school's production of Arsenic and Old Lace. If you've never seen the film you ought to; it's slapstically, farcically wonderful. Amazingly, Cary Grant, the Brad Pitt of his day, was an accomplished and uninhibited physical comedian. He was also a model for James Bond.
My nephew was abundantly pompous as Teddy Brewster, a blustery nut who believes he's Teddy Roosevelt. Teddy's delusions come in quite handy as his sweet, homicidal maiden aunts assure him that the graves he digs in the cellar of their home are nothing more than locks for the Panama Canal. Teddy's definitely one of the best roles in the play and Sweet Talker OWNED that role.
Here's a clip from the movie showing Teddy in action:
::Seemingly inexplicable change of subject ties in to original subject here::
A few days before the play opened I remembered the pince-nez and thought it might be nice to pick them (it?) up for my nephew as a memento (yeah, I'm the one who sent my niece flowers when she learned to tie her shoes). Someone at the restaurant next door was kind enough to look up the shop's name and phone number.
Now that's excellent customer service.
Unfortunately our story's not yet finished.
The lady who answered the phone kept repeating that she was just filling in for the owner and she couldn't possibly help me. No matter how I tried to charm her, beg her or reason with her, she simply would not tell me the price of the pince-nez or even look for them, even though I tried to explain precisely where they were located.
So Robespierre and I stopped by the shop to evaluate the pince-nez in person.
There she was (the lady, not the pince-nez), stationed in a chair in a cluttered corner, shoes off.
She wouldn't show me the glasses. She wouldn't open the case. She wouldn't get up off her chair. She wouldn't even put on her shoes.
She was willing to call the owner to find out that he might return soon.
Sweet Talker got lots of hugs and praise for his performance, but no pince-nez.
I think that store must be a front for a speakeasy.
*By the way, I have nothing constructive, instructive or destructive to say about the apparent renaissance in pince-nez use, as evidenced by an actual and regularly updated blog called Pince-Nez Renaissance. Draw your own conclusions.










