A fitting place to steal ..

One of the cute, wee lassies l work beside came dashing over to my desk and said that this right hard-looking junkie had scooped up a few XXL polo shirts from Lacoste and just gone into the fitting room we keep locked. Someone had used it and left it open. I was busy and didn't see him slither in.

'You know him', she whispered. 'It's the one that gets aggressive if you look in his direction!'

Is that right? Well now. It's common courtesy to ask us if they can try on clothes, and how many they have. Also, this particular changing room is kept closed as it isn't easy to man when l'm helping other folk. Usually we stand over it so this kind of thing doesn't happen. It's next to the side exit, and when the Ralph Lauren designers created the area, they didn't include wasters and smack heads in the picture.

Here we go again. I beckoned the security guy and gave him a head nod indication towards the locked door.

Knock knock.

'Hi there. Sorry, l didn't know you needed in. Was busy with a customer. Can l just check how many items you have? Those cameras will pick up l didn't do my job. My boss will be after me, you know what this place is like. Real strict'.

I was babbling, giving him time to sort out what he was doing. Ie, shooting up, or ripping off the tags.

'Aye. Awrite. A ken a shooduv askt yi, bu' the door wiz oapin' so a wen' in'. He had that nasal whine they all use. It's like a siren. Does my head in, and gives the game away even though l haven't even set eyes on him yet. That's going to be such a treat. Once he opens the door, that is ..

BANG BANG

'Everything alright in there?'

Of course, l had the security of security guards. One was in the camera room, on plenty of fish dot com, and l couldn't be bothered getting HIM here, as he's a hot head. He loathes junkies and would cause a riot, cos l got him out of the warm camera room. I can deal with it just fine.

The door opened. I'd need to scoosh some air freshener around when Lurch eventually left. He had that half-bent over posture that only that lot do. God. Heroin AND booze. He's in a bad way.

'Av goat money. LOOK' ..

He had obviously pulled a wad (that they always seem to have) of various crumpled denominations out and thrust them at me. I took the clothes off him, trying not to take in the skeletal face, dull, grey fish eyes, neat hair, overpowering aftershave and the obligatory slashes from ear to chin.

None of the polos had been tried on. They were still neatly folded with the tissue paper intact. He must be ragin', me stopping him doing his job!

'No good? Never mind. Maybe next time, yeah?'

'Ken woh' a hate aboot this place, man, is aw you lookin' a' mi'. Is it cos ama tramp? (He was well dressed, clean and looked better than some of the menswear staff!) 'Av goat cash, see? E v e r y time a come in heear, you c*nts are oan ma back. Ma burds upstairs. Am gonny get hur doon, n f*ckin' ti fuck wi' yies aw, man. Ma bairins urny neglected, naw. An' if youz dinny leavies alane, al knock yies clean oot'. A HUD a wee bit bother when a wiz younger, bu' am no a robbin' b*stard nae mair. Yoora snobby c*nt, man'. I pat-patted the neat chinos, trying to not be disgusted and scared. It was quite a combination to feel on a busy Saturday afternoon.

Whippin' himself into a frenzy, he blink-blinked away out of the side door. God. He's got a burd? That means they have kids. Poor things.

I had a phone call from Dunderheid Dave in the camera room.

'KEEP THAT DOOR LOCKED, Denise. You never know who can sneak in when your busy at the till'

Yessssir ..