It’s a Dogs Life 59

I thought for a long time before writing this one, not least because it means I must also tell my wife. No-one likes to tell a tale in which they are made to look like a gullible fool. Certainly I play up to being the fool, but that’s not the same thing as being conned.

There is a certain undeniable shame, and perhaps even a few years ago I would have been angry beyond description (and doing my blood pressure no good at all), but now, although somewhat stung, I can regard the episode with rye equanimity.

Mock if you must, I’m surely used to it, but perhaps someone else will read this cautionary tale and not ignore the alarm bells.

I was passing a private car park near my house, when hailed by a stranger just parking. It was quite early and there were not many folk around.

The driver appeared foreign, quite heavilly tanned, and somewhat sauve. His accent seemed Italian, although not ridiculously so.

“Hello Sir – I wonder -a – could you help me?”

Now there are days when my complete disregard of humanity would allow me to ignore cries of help from a drowning man, however, I am also always very concious of the -I would say – obligation – to extend every courtesy to a visitor in the country. So I reciprocated, walking over to his car window.

He very conspiciously eyed me up and down, and offered that he was an Italian, on his away home, just dropping of a hire car, before taking a lift to the airport.

This did not seem all that likely, but, may I say just from the smell, I smelled like hire car, and although grubby from travel, had much of that internal newness that a hire car has.

He asked if I happenend to speak Italian (I do not), and said with a little hesitation, in very slightly broken, but very passable English , that he was a fashion salesman returning after a show, with samples he had taken and had not sold. He had jsut a couple of items left, and the duty on return was not worth his while. I looked about the size for one garment…

Alarm bells were ringing loudly in my head. And I started to demurr, but he pressed on handing out a silver clothing bag. “Look he bade me,- have you heard of Versace?” “I think this is your size, have a look…”

Alarm bells are still ringing, be he has handed me the bag and I accept it almost as an automatic gesture. I can see a desingner quilted jacket within, the Size label suggests XL (I am a bit more XXL or even XXXL these days).

Now I freely confess my knowledge of “fashion” could be written on the back of my hand in very big letters, however I can see Versace branding, I can see Versace on the tickets, and – invited to feel the quality of the silk lining, I, with my miniscule knowledge, say it could be silk. However Versace or not, it is not a garment that I would wear, even if it was my size.

I say as much and hand it back in through the window. (When I should have walked away).

He sighs and say this is a 600 euro jacket,, and his opinion it will just fit me, he will be happy to let me have it for 200…

I laugh, because frankly, to my wife’s horror, even if I had a 600 euro jacket, the chances are good that I’d wind up wearing it to change a car tyre. However my Italian interlocutor thinks I am scoffing at him, – A few words of Italian, and he produces a newish catalouge (Versace), which has been much used, a flicks through (it’s in English), and displays a jacket, that could be the jacket in the bag, being modelled by some impeccable Italian youth.

I protest that I intend no disrespect and am not questioning his bona-fides, but that in any event I do not have 200 pounds or Euros. I bid him safe travels, and good luck.

Would that it had ended there. But the Italian salesman sighs and thanks me effusively for my time, and expresses his regret that I cannot help him out. He must rush now to catch his flight to Milan, if I am ever in Milan I must come visit, do I have a wife, bring her too… here I’ll give you my card, and then, as if on impulse he says, look, drops the card in the bag, and hands it back out to me…

“Just take it…you’re doing me a favour, between the duty and the fuss to get it through customs, it not worth my while. You’ve been a gentleman to me and I rather it went to someone it would fit”

This is a surprising and unseen turn (for me) and accept his outstretched hand, caught between refusing and accepting, and thanking him. (Even if it will not fit me, there will surely be someone I know who would get use of it).

“could you give me even £20 pounds just so I have some British cash,,,”and I am lost.

I read that he will give me the item even if I say I have no money, but he’s read me perfectly, his very insuiciance convinces me that the item may be real, certainly worth more than the £20 he asking. His congenial manner, apparant disregard of the money have silenced all my alarms. I give him the money. We bid goodbye and he hurries off to return his car.

I am only a short way from home, and with each step, I am liking this outcome less and less.

Was it a Far Eastern fake, would I even know? We will never know. Of course the bag he handed out to me the second time, was not the same bag he handed the first time. His card , tossed so casually in the bag, a random ticket.

Available for collection – XL quilted jacket – 100% Polyester – made in China – ladies style.

In retrospect I see that it was never the 200 he was after, but the £20 in my wallet, although it seems a lot of work to get £20. How much was an act? His clothing? his Italian? His tan? and of course in the final exchange, no lie was spoken. I assumed the “Versace(if it even was)” coat was in the bag, he did not say so.

Yes, I was a fool, and I can understand why most people woud not tell this tale, but then my Italian salesman might find another mark who can afford this a lot less, and although he would never have got 200 off me , there may big a bigger gull yet who would walk that road and would sorely miss the cash.

Congenial as he was, it is easy to miss that he remains a predator, so I wear my shame openly and hope to save another fool.

Cavet Emptor

Next week on IaDL : The funniest thing I’ve ever written.