Another day/store/customer

Sometimes in my job I have to travel to another store to help out.

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So when you set the scene, don't picture my store ( a store in which most of you have never seen.) and picture a different store ( a store which almost every single one of you has ever seen.)

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A guy comes in and asks me if he can get a hand with something he's seen in the window. I walk out and we stand together at the diamond rings. Like with most diamond customers, the journey turns my pupils into little dollar signs for  split second.

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He asks me all the relevant questions. Why is this one more expensive?  Which ones are 18 carat gold, What's the difference between this and this, that kind of thing. I'm giving all the right answers and I'm really beginning to think this guy want a good couple of hundred pounds worth of diamond. That's when it happened.

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I'm pretty confident that you know the direction my blogs usually go. It turns into a bit of a rant, something happens that makes the initial conversation (and fisrt half of each post) redundant. But I'm also confident that, out of all the possibilities floating around your head, what actually happens isn't one of them. (unless you're V, or Steffi, in which case, we've had this conversation)

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He turns to me, mid sentence and looks me straight in the eye. He smiles slightly but looks a little confused. 'Are you English?'

'Yes.' I say, a little confused myself.

'Oh, never mind.' he says, and waves me aside before walking out of the shop and onto the street. I'm left in front of the diamonds with a confused look, raised eyebrows and a feeling of utter rejection.

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I'm English, apparently that's not a quality that makes you eligible to sell diamond rings.

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Maybe I'm in the wrong profession.