His Job Requires To Be Perfect
James Hunter regarded his nails as he glanced at the shop door from time to
time to reassure himself that there were no customers to catch him doing
his manicure. His job required his appearance to be impeckable; the
clientel he dealt with was the vain part of the upper class. It was unusual
for him to arrive at work with dirty fingernails, but he had spent the
night with his date in the most delightful manner, causing him to sleep to
long and barely reporting in time for today’s work. But it had been worth
it, every minute of it, he said to himself. As he thought of the pleasures
of the previous night, the door bell suddenly tingled. Quickly, he
straightened himself and prepared his “The-customer-is-always-right”-smile,
as an elderly man stepped into the shop. “Good morning, Lord Reginald”, he
said. “Yes, a damn fine one, if I do say so myself”, the lord replied as he
stepped further into the shop. “If my memory isn’t playing tricks on me,
I’d say it’s your wife’s 26th year birthday tomorrow, am I right?” “Ah, so
you remembered it, eh?” “Of course, Lord Reginald”, James smiled. “Old
pig!”, he thought. “I’ll just browse a bit.” James made a mental sigh.