Moved to tears

The shop was absolutely heaving yesterday. Couples of all description. Cases pulled behind the weekend visitors to sample the delights of Edinburgh. Buggies bulging with fancy carrier bags, and general happy mayhem that is our famous department store. Usual. Oh, and we have the mile-long festive German market open across the street, a fairground, yes fairground outside, and of course, Jenners famous gigantic Christmas tree surrounded by onlookers taking pictures and carol singers from one of the posh schools warbling merrily on high.

My head was spinning and brain on 'alert' mode. Folding, smiling, selling, agreeing, bagging, cash-taking, when l was stopped in my tracks. It seemed like in slow motion, that an elderly gentleman with a white stick stumbled through the side door where my particular menswear brand sits. Blink blinking and hanging on to the heavy brass rail at the entrance, he looked so out of place in amongst the chattering bustle of shoppers and walk throughs.

Being ten steps from the door, l can see who's coming in and alert security if need be, so my eyes are constantly on the look out. Just as well, as the very well turned out chap stumbled as he made his way around the many fixtures and mannequins. I grabbed the leather bucket chair and placed it in front of both him and an aftershave stand.

'Hi sir. Cold day. Would you care for a wee seat?'

Well now.

Turns out he's 94, lives alone apart from a niece who's a bit busy with a part time job to finish his memoirs, but he has her phone number if he falls again, got central heating but not using it that much, doesn't want to go into sheltered housing as they're all so old, and forged his papers to go into the army when he was 15, and his plastic coat's wind proof, you know.

The Kings of Leon screamed out about being on fire, and my hugely high up powerful boss was walking around with his phone as usual, stuck to an ear, finger running over glass to check for dust.

Ignoring potential till ringing customers, l gently excused myself from the old man and ran accross the crowded and very Grand Hall which is the heart of our beautiful store, and asked James the high heid yin if he could come with me. My colleagues gawped open mouthed. What's she doing, actually speaking to HIM. We the plebs just do not do that. James was in charge of this place. He ran how the stands were placed. How the windows looked. How the brand managers were doing financially. He was the Pope. A God. And l had beckoned him! Wonder if this would be my very last shift. Aw, fuck it. He needs to see just what we deal with here. Real people who come into Jenners, not the streaks on a flippin' mirror.

'Hello. I'm back with a very important person. (Aye, right) This is James, our General Manager. James, this is Professor Drain. One of our esteemed and valued patrons'.

Well, you know, as we stood over the once young and vital elderly man, this James was both attentive and informative with the professor. They spoke equally about the wartime, James relating stories about his precious grandfather and the fact that the forty foot tree was chosen by his ten year old daughter. As they chatted like old friends, l was aware that word had got around l was with James. 'How very typically Denise, that' some of them would say/think. But l was witness to a rather warm and charming side to our boss.

As there was a bit of glaring going on from women-with-socks hopefully waiting at my neglected till, l felt l'd really need to return to my work. But this WAS my work. Looking after the folk who crossed our threshold.

Eventually, James concluded the exchange, offering an outstretched hand of farewell, giving me a nod of approval. He's just a human being after all.

As the tall, thin, frozen old boy tried to get up from the chair, it did cross my mind to shove a cashmere scarf on his wee neck. Apologising for being so helpless, he gripped my arm in his, explaining he'd broken a bone in his knee but the doctor said he was too old to operate on. I was filling up with sadness as l barged my way slowly, parting a pathway through cosmetics from down a huge staircase heading into the frosty, winter's evening.

'Oh, l'm so grateful to you. I should have got home before dark. Thank you for passing the time with me. Hope l haven't been any trouble. Goodbye, my dear'.

We're not allowed outside during a shift, but once again, fuck it, as l badgered a couple leaving the store to escort him to his bus stop, then hopefully he made it home.

As l ran back to my pitch and back down to reality, l felt incredibly sad, thinking of my own wee dad and how l missed him. I wished l'd bothered to listen to him.

What a world to live in, that someone is so lonely they have to painfully pop into a shop to speak to another person.

'The fitting room? Of course. There you go. Let me know if require any assistance', l said, blink blinking away the tears.

The much loved children of the choir now sang Silent Night. Beautifully