During my lunch break, I dashed into a salon in London to get my nails done. In the chair next to me sat a slim, pretty woman in her early thirties, clearly from my part of the world, by her accent. She was getting her hair styled and was chatting animatedly. The hairdryer noise enforced my eavesdropping…
I caught her story halfway through, so that’s where I’ll begin—not much I can do about it.
“I kept wondering what to get her for her birthday! She has everything, and it’s impossible to surprise her. She’s gorgeous and capable of buying anything she wants, being a lawyer and all. We have been friends for about seven years, since university, and I’ve given her all sorts of gifts. Another scarf just wouldn’t do; I really wanted to delight her. So, what would you give to someone who essentially has everything, Jenny?” she asked the hairdresser. The hairdresser pondered, “Well, perhaps a set of creams, that’s always useful…”
“Exactly, Jenny! So, I was wandering around the city center, right nearby, and suddenly stumbled upon a store—very charming, like Victoria’s Secret. I went in—they had lingerie and all sorts of personal life accessories. Very classy. I decided to buy her a set of fragrant creams because, although she’s a lawyer, her personal life seems a bit lacking. You know how scented creams can be alluring! But that’s not how it went. The moment I entered, a handsome fellow, possibly Latino, approached me, listened to my idea about the creams, and then laid out a bunch of totally different items.
I don’t know how, Jenny, we veered from creams to that, I just don’t know, don’t ask me, it just happened… Long story short, somehow, I don’t even understand how, he talked me into buying… a vibrator!”
The whole salon went silent. Jenny turned off the hairdryer and said, “I’ll put some oil on your split ends for about five minutes…” My manicurist unplugged the nail dryer and strictly told me, “No need to dry them; they’ll air dry on their own.” Everyone gathered around, as the place was small. I moved my chair a bit closer.
Well, I immediately liked this large, purple, very advanced gadget. The guy showed how it works. No, don’t get me wrong—he waved it in the air, of course. It hummed a bit loudly for my taste, but it was simply fantastic. Lots of settings.” By this point, nobody in the salon even pretended to be busy with their tasks—everyone was holding their breath.
“It came with an enormous velvet box and a big manual,” she continued. “So, I bought it, named it Purple Joe, wrapped it in pink ribbons, closed my eyes, and presented it to her. I thought, whatever happens, happens.
My friend was thrilled. She’d never seen anything like it. Wow!
She took it home. At the airport, she went through the green channel. They asked her to scan her bag—the huge box drew their attention. ‘What’s in there?’ the customs officer asked sternly.
‘A watch, maybe a Breguet, an Hublot? A tourbillon? What’s it called?’ The brand name was proudly displayed on the box. ‘I’ve never heard of such a watch; is it something new?’
Caught off guard, she blushed: ‘No, it’s not a watch… it’s… home electronics,’ she whispered.
‘What kind of home electronics come in a box like that?’ the customs officer asked, even more sternly. ‘What are you telling me! A kettle? Curlers, perhaps? Ha-ha?
Open the box!’
Well, what could she do—she opened it.
Everyone got really interested. The customs officer turned red. The people behind her in the baggage scan queue craned their necks. My Purple Joe certainly made an impression!
‘We need to scan it,’ the customs officer persisted, ‘to see if there’s anything inside. Take it out of the box!’
Okay, they put it back on the conveyor. Both the box and Joe. It solemnly and ceremoniously inched along. And suddenly—to my friend’s absolute horror—having been taken out of the box, Purple Joe, perhaps due to the vibration of the belt, suddenly sprang to life and started buzzing merrily! Buzzing, twisting, and flipping, it proudly headed into the scanner. ‘Lord, swallow me up!’ my friend prayed silently.
A small crowd gathered. A young man behind her whispered hotly, ‘Why do you need it? I’m even better, and I can hum if you’d like.’
At this point, a cheerful, spinning, buzzing Purple Joe was returned from the scanner directly into the customs officer’s hands. It was now blinking a little light, which, as it turns out, it also had. My friend heard giggles behind her. “What is that? Stop it, will you! Take your property away,” snapped the irritated customs officer.
So, flustered and sweaty, she barely escaped the crowd with her half-open box, struggling to repack Purple Joe. It kept sticking out with its purple nose from beneath the velvet lid. She felt quite popular with the young man trailing her, ready to hum. To get rid of him, they exchanged phone numbers.
‘Shall I give you a lift?’ offered another passenger standing behind her. ‘My driver is waiting… take your time packing… it up, I can wait.’
But Purple Joe’s adventures in the city didn’t end there.
She called me two days later, annoyed—“Your Joe’s not working.” “How come?” I was upset on Purple Joe’s behalf. The first thought I had was maybe it had become impotent—it had probably been sitting unused for months in the store, perhaps like with people, if it’s not needed, it just forgets how to do it.
Perhaps it should be taken to a repair shop? Which one?!
I suggested she go to Dave’s workshop, someone I know—a handyman—and take it to him.
She went to see Dave. Dave perked up immediately. Honestly, I was proud of my Purple Joe—it instantly inspired people with joy and love for life!
Dave’s eyes lit up, and he said, ‘Leave it with me for a few hours, and you’re such a lovely lady, I repair fridges and vacuum cleaners too, and I can hang a chandelier—do you have all your household appliances in order? I could come by; just let me know.’
So, while Joe was getting fixed (it turned out it needed a different plug adapter), my friend ended up with a bunch of suitors, and Joe stayed out of action.
Everyone in the salon fell silent… For a moment. The hairdryer hummed again, the nail dryer whirred—everyone returned to their treatments.
‘Where did you say that shop was?’ one of the patrons quietly asked…
