Once upon a time in the past- Electronics shop, rhymes with 'Craplin'
I worked - as I have oft mentioned - behind the counter of an electronics shop. For anyone who thesedays wonders into a branch of Maplin and views the gaudy displays of RC helicopters, garden LED lamps CCTV cameras, car subwoofer kits and shoddy Disco DJ Dave gear, I should point out that (in diminishing order these days) they also sell electronic components and circuit board prototyping kit for the hobbyist who likes to make their own projects, electricians and sound engineers after urgent connectors or tinkerers who repair old electrical consumer goods (including some classic analogue synths which are very much back en vogue these days).

Therefore back in the early 90s this was not a store where the clientèle were the kind of young attractive happening sexy young things, but often as not more your trainspotting anoracky socially inept batchelor who may also have been in CAMRA.

But even though they weren't hot sexy page 3 models and may have had an annoying snorting nasal laugh, with a tweed-style fashion sense and a slight air of snotty condescension, they were at least intelligent and probably not one to offer to stab you in the face if you questioned their choice of NPN transistor.

But we had eccentrics and then there were ECCENTRICS. Top of the league for me was (he called himself) "Mr Tandy".

A stringy, gangly gentleman of (my guess) colonial African extraction, he spoke perfect English with that sing-song cadence (and occasional High C note when he wanted to emphasise a particular word) of Bishop Desmond Tutu.

But also he mixed this soundtrack with the impression of a distant haughtiness and an aloof gaze, as though he were a Field Marshall inspecting the privates at Trooping The Colour. He would walk, pause, spin around and ask a testing question about the stuff on sale, consider the answer as you could almost hear the wheels turning as his gaze turned inwards and he mulled it over, then would sniff with a 'HMMMmmmmm' and walk on around the shop in a slightly off-kilter gait as though a prototypical gangsta rapper.

This is not the sum total of his oddness. He always wore the same outfit when he visited. Old-style Adidas navy blue tracksuit (2 stripes in case you were wondering), trainers, woolly hat, black nylon gloves. So, you may think he was perhaps a keen jogger, maybe a Rocky-style boxer in training?

Well, that's not it really. He had plastic bags wrapped around his feet and hands and head, that peeked out from the edge of his sleeves and trouser legs and behatted brow. Ghod knows what was going on inside the tracksuit but the combined effect was...

Well, you may have heard of the Phil Spector concept called the 'Wall Of Sound'? Mr Tandy was the living embodiment of the Skipload of Stink. He REEKED of ammonia and effluent and dark notes that I don't want to think about. You could come into the shop floor from the backroom and after 2 seconds, ask 'So, Tandy been in just?' because the of stationary fug he left behind on his wanders about the aisles. It was so epic that even non-bloodhounds could detect what path he'd taken about the shop by the foul stench lingering in the air.

The incredible thing was, one day he turned up WITH ANOTHER WEIRD GUY IN TOW (maybe they met at a day centre or something) and it was jaw-dropping to see this social maladjusted stink bomb address another human being in such condescending tones, because 'I know all about science and you don't'.
( Rotating Wobbly Hat That's not a banana. THIS is a banana., Thu 27 Sep 2012, 22:21, 1 reply)

Keeping warm on the street, and losing weight.
Nice story. Click.
( Evil Bastardo, Fri 28 Sep 2012, 11:33, closed)