Built like a heavyweight boxer, his striped shirt looked two sizes too small. His smile could either have spoken ‘friend’ or ‘I’m going to eat you.’
‘Sorry, sir, I don’t remember,’ I quaked. ‘Did I sell – ?’
‘You sold me this shirt,’ he growled. ‘It’s shrunk.’
‘You followed the washing instructions?’ I asked, retreating slightly.
‘I wash all my clothes the same way. In the bath. Cleans us both together.’
Never argue with a large, angry customer. ‘You’d like a refund, sir?’
‘Not at all,’ he grinned. ‘The shirt fits perfectly now. I wanna buy four more.’