…full treatment, Sir?… we’ll sort that out right away… a cut too far…

Scottish

…in my defence, I was barely eighteen years young at the time… WURLD-ly-wise I certainly was not… when I’d clocked up fifteen and a half of those years (the half is important, Mabel), this callow youth from Docklands Govan in Glasgow left the Big City to go live and WURK in Tobermory on the fabulous Scottish Hebridean Island of Mull… apprentice banker to the good crofters and shepherds in an insular community, where the edge of the universe crept as far as the ferry to Oban on the Mainland… two and half years into the sojourn in Tobermory, the source of the advertisement escapes my mem’ry now, but it may have been in the venerable Bankers’ Magazine… prescribed reading for wannabe banking moguls fifty years ago… but there it was… a prime international financial institution looking to employ ‘smart young bankers’ to send overseas to parts exotic, exciting and, the important bit, paying at least ten pounds per annum more than my then current salary of around two hundred and forty pounds sterling per year… huge salaries back then, huh?… first problem presented itself in the location for interviews… London… five hundred miles away…

sign

…I’d never even been to England, let alone all the way down South to the capital… however, I gathered as much of my meagre savings as existed, in sum roughly about Seven Pounds and Six Shillings (this was before the decimal-money days)… a few days leave was arranged, and off went the intrepid Master Gallacher… bound for the Eldorado of Banking… dreams of unbounded fortune lured this wee Scots laddie… the overnight train from Glasgow to London took eight hours, fortified with a couple of pints of lager and lime (extra penny for the lime)… I slept surprisingly well until the train drew into a now-forgotten-named terminal in the metropolis… timing perfect… two hours until interview time… brainwave dawned… get a neat haircut… look my best for those swanky types at the ’soon-to-be-new-employers’… close to the station, under some not-so-elegant railway-archway premises, a hairdresser’s red-and-white twirly signpost pole beckoned…

barber

…they must have seen me coming… ‘short back and sides, Sir?’… conversation flowed… ‘new job interview,is it,then?… we’ll want yeez looking yer best, eh?… how about a shampoo, Sir?… special banana cream lotion rub, Sir?… makes yeez look a million dollars, Sir?… it’s got hair tonic in it as well, Sir?… wrap up some for yeez to take back home, also, Sir?… full treatment, Sir?… suffice to say this wee boy had no defence against the barber’s sales technique… I left the place with admittedly prob’ly the best haircut I’d ever had in my life, a brown paper bag with three months supply of banana cream lotion, and a huge hole in my Seven Pounds and Six Shillings stash… about Four Pounds and Ten Shillings lighter to be precise… five hours later, I was on the train back North… with no offer to go serve at that time around the international banking markets, a haircut to make Cary Grant jealous… and a full refund of expenses from the bank… including the Four Pounds and Ten Shillings in ‘preparatory travel expense’… and I’ve never had a better haircut since… see yeez later… LUV YEEZ!

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11 Comments

Filed under Blether, Scribbling & Stuff

11 responses to “…full treatment, Sir?… we’ll sort that out right away… a cut too far…

  1. If you got your money back….Great story! It’s always the extras!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Well Seumas, at least you got a refund and a great haircut. Well done.

    Liked by 1 person

  3. And I bet you talked to people too… cardinal sin in the metropolis!

    Liked by 1 person

  4. Quite a handsome lad, he was! AND a refund!

    Liked by 1 person

  5. You’ve done well, Seumas, AND you’re a good human being. 🙂

    Liked by 1 person

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