Trailed by Shop Assistants

While in England shop assistants may ignore you, and in Spain they may snarl at you (just for asking a question!), and in France they may just look down on you and in America they may pounce on you, in India… they just follow you. And often, not just one, but two or three of them.

It can only be, I suppose, because labour is cheap here. Stores seem to be as stocked as much with assistants as with products.
And I suppose assistants are told they must be at their customers’ beck and call. Often, when the shops I have been in are not that busy, I get an assistant, or two, all to myself.

I walk in, I smile. They smile. I give a little look that says in the universal-shrug-speak, “Just looking!”. I think the exchange of shopper and shop assistant is over, so I start to wander around and gaze. But someone is on my tail. I turn right. They turn right. I stop to look at a shelf of goods. They stop. A shadow of a shop assistant. Or two. Never quite in my personal space, they remain five or six feet away. I verbalize again to them: “Just looking”. But they continue to lurk.
Oddly, sometimes, they refuse look at me, even as they dog my footsteps, which gives one the strange sensation that this is all just a science-fiction. Perhaps I am invisible, but they can sense and follow my presence.
It is even odder, when, as I am looking at, say, shelves of CDs, they continue to stand next to me - right in the way of the next shelf - so that I must go round them in order to see the next row of discs.

I used to wonder if they thought I was a potential shoplifter, whom they must keep a deliberate eye on. Maybe tourists, I thought, are known for being untrustworthy. It’s possible…
In fact, entertaining this thought that I was under suspicion once got me so annoyed that in one shop I walked quicker and quicker and quicker, and then stopped abruptly. The poor assistant, rushing to keep up, couldn’t help but whiz straight on past me.
I’m ashamed to admit that when she regained her position – five feet behind me – I continued my tease by spuriously turning left and then right to see her keep up with me before finally turning 180-degrees to face her directly. However, I’m glad I didn’t confront her at this point, because, yes, after all, she was just doing her job. Does her boss tell her to be on hand for customers at all times? And if she had simply, albeit efficiently, stood in a corner and followed me only with her eyes, her boss probably would have scolded her. Right?

But who needs such close attention? Well, some people obviously. The old and the infirm do.
But does the haughty lady, who does not lift a finger for herself, but who forces the shop assistant to lift the tiniest things off the shelf for her perusal? I doubt she needs the attention; it might in fact do her some good to do something for herself.

Of course, it is, if that is its intention, a successful way of combating shoplifting. It is even more useful as a form of job-creation. Perhaps it is not as daft as it seems.

It was the same when I went to a nursery to buy some plants for one of the many people who let me stay at their home while I was looking for an apartment.
First there was one guy, then two, then as I wandered around the rows of ivy a manager was called over, and finally a fourth man appeared. I was the only customer in this little field off the edge of a city park where they sold plants. But still, four guys were on hand to help me shop. Indians’ natural curiosity, plus the propensity to assist - and the fact that there was nothing, at that moment, better for these guys to do - meant that I couldn’t fail to be helped.
But in this instance, it did turn out that there were four functions to be performed. When I asked one of them, “Do you have jasmine here? You know, the white flower with the strong, sweet smell?” (I didn’t even think then that it is one of the most prolific flowers of the country, the smell of which probably kick-started the Indian aromatherapy industry), it took all four to produce the necessary reactions. One of them sniggered outright; another smiled slowly and said something in Marathi to the old one (who then went to get me the plant); and the fourth said to me politely, “Sir. This is India. You ask me if I know jasmine...?”

(With thanks to LLP for nearly all the input).

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