Roundabout

Sales Women IF you can keep your head when all about you are Oar losing theirs and spending their money like drunken moo` sailors, there are good bar-

gains to be had in the July Sales. And in this belief some sixty-odd women were moiling and straining in the entrance of a big Oxford Street shop early that Monday morning. The hard core, whose shoulders had been polishing the glass doors for three-quarters of an hour, were unmis- takably old hands at the game: their faces wore a look of gleeful cunning, and their clothes were clearly a random sample of what they had bought in last year's sales. None of the bits quite matched or fitted; their cotton frocks wore, still, an invisible label 'REDUCED TO 25/6'.

Few of the women seemed to have any idea of the different categories of sale goods that were offered. So here, for the un- initiated, is a glossary of the usual terms: Ends of Ranges — the puce one they couldn't sell.

Manufacturer's Sample—the dress they modelled in the sales room all season, the shoes that are a bargain if your feet are the size of matchboxes.

Unrepeatable Offer—what it sounds like— an insult; in this case, to the intelligence rather than the virtue.

Special Purchase. This has two meanings. Either the Japanese have been working overtime to produce genuine Empire Goods ; or, when the foreman said `Stop the Machines—that lot will have to be scrapped', they thought better of it.

Genuine Reductions. Could mean what it says—especially if it's grubby or has a burst zip.

Sale Offer—covers all the above, doubled in spades.

As the clock struck nine, the door opened and the women were unpent. Here the sheep clearly divided from the buzzards; some looked neither to left nor right but swooped straight for the stairs that led to the fashion bargains; while others trotted breathlessly between the counters, torn be- tween MITTENS 6d., BEADS 2s. 6d., ODDMENTS REDUCED—REDUCED.

First kill went to a girl in a thick sweater, who incontinently bought two pearl neck- laces within seconds of getting inside. 'I'm really on my way to Maternity,' she ex- plained, blushing.

A small housewife in wispy spectacles fingered a ten-guinea Bridal Gown on a stand, and an assistant stepped forward With an enquiry.

'No, I'm looking for vests,' said the woman vaguely, and was gone. There are, apparently, definite rules for shifting the goods in sales. 'You jumble all the dresses together on the rail,' explained the head of the dress department, 'and they think they're getting hold of something you've overlooked. You do get bargains, of course—that dress and coat for three guineas, for instance, well, it's a horrible colour, but we sold plenty that colour at the full price.'

Whether they buy sound goods or not, the women get value for money—they are buying a feeling: the feeling of having out- witted the next woman, of going one smarter. And if they can outsmart the men too, so much the better—the biggest hassle in the shop was around a counter selling cut-price men's underwear.

Salesmen 'iT USED TO BE the eleven o'clock test- ing,' said a director wearily, 'but the public relations people said it would be so much more alliterative if we made it Ten O'Clock Testing, so here we are.'

It is not every businessman who would care to eat samples of his firm's pro- duct so early on a hot summer morning ; but at least, that day, they had not to face Marrowfat Processed Peas. Only the previous day's factory output is cere- monially tested each morning in Crosse and Blackwell's Soho offices.

The director, the sales manager, the chefs, the visitors, the chemist and the PRO were assembled in the clean demon- stration kitchen ; with them, a house- wife—supposed to be a typical repre- sentative of her species, but sporting eyeshadow and a smile at a time most have nothing on their faces except flour. Ranged on a slab were bowls labelled A and B (one of them a rival product), dishes of pickles and beans, and salad cream to be eaten, just like that, with wooden ice-cream spoons.

`I used to insist that we eat it with real salad,' said the housewife, 'but one hasn't always the heart to sit down and eat it seriously.'

Everybody pottered about, tasting a bit of this and a bit of that, the forms they filled in becoming an unconscious status-symbol : two curt comments from bigwigs, fuller and fulsome reports from other ranks. The visitors, having timidly preferred A to B, were told they had backed the right horse, and left it at that ; only the PRO ate heartily.

We get the real fun when the directors disagree,' said the chef. 'One says it's too sweet, another says it's not sweet enough, and they argue about it till we have to take the whole matter back to the kitch- ens. People like things sweeter these days,' he added, 'though mind you they hate anything new. We could run the whole factory on baked beans and tomato soup.'

Mr. Crosse, a little of soup A now worn proudly on his moustache, shook hands all round and left : the chemist muttered something about restraining bacteria and went back to the factory. The cooks started washing up and no one saw what happened to the forms : the ritual of the morning was over.