Getting rubbed up by the sales assistant certainly helped focus the mind – Steve Canavan

I was in a well-known cosmetics shop on the high street. I’d not been before – I’m a man and as such we don’t tend to be big on cosmetics; I stopped using lipstick a few years back as it kept leaving marks on the teacups - but the shop had been recommended by a friend and I needed to buy some gifts, so I went in.

I had barely entered the store when a young man cornered me, like a hoodlum about to mug an elderly lady at knifepoint, and asked if I needed help.

I’m not sure when this fad started in shops. In the old days I could enter a store, peruse the shelves in blissful peace, select the items I wanted, and head to the till without anyone bothering me. It was lovely. Now you can’t set your foot in Tesco Express without someone flinging themselves at you. 

Anyway, back to this cosmetics place. The young lad asking if I needed help was aged about 20, had dark hair, and a nose set at a slightly odd angle as if he’d accidentally hit his face against a wall.

Now, as I say, I’d normally be annoyed at the stupidity of this ‘do you need help?’ question, respond ‘no’ in terse fashion, and continue independently with my shopping.

But as I looked around the shop I saw it was filled from ceiling to floor with a bewildering array of toiletries and I realised I wouldn’t know where to start – so, for the first time in my life, I replied, ‘erm, actually, yes I do.’

He introduced himself as Danny and told me, for reasons I’m unsure of, that he lived locally with his partner Dave.

I responded, slightly awkwardly, ‘that’s nice, well done’ and then eager to steer the exchange away from his domestic arrangements told him I was looking to buy gifts for my wife and sisters.

‘Right’, he said, turning to his left and picking up a lump of something that looked like a leftover prop from Superman II. ‘How about this for your wife?’

I asked what it was.

‘It’s a massage bar,’ said Danny.