On the corner of Baker Street in London, there stood a mannequin in the window of a clothing shop. It was always dressed the same: a white shirt, grey trousers, and a slightly crooked flat cap no one ever straightened. The mannequin had been forgotten, standing there for over ten years. So still, so much a part of the scenery, that most people barely noticed it anymore. But the local shopkeepers had grown fond of it. Every morning, as they opened their doors, they’d say, “Good morning, Mr. Albert”—the name they’d given it as a joke, a little ritual to start the day. The baker, the newsagent, the florist… they all greeted the mannequin. And, of course, it never replied.
Until one day, it did.
It was a Monday. The shop window was foggy from the early morning damp. When the shopkeepers passed by and called out, “Good morning, Mr. Albert”… the mannequin smiled. It moved. And in a quiet voice, it said, “Good morning, folks.” Everyone froze.
It wasn’t a mannequin.
It was a man. His name really was Albert. He was 74 years old. He’d been the night watchman for months after losing his home, with family far away and nowhere else to go. So at night, he slept in the stockroom. In the mornings, when the shop opened, he’d stay perfectly still behind the glass, pretending to be a mannequin. Not for a prank—but because, he said, behind that window, he felt less alone.
“I like watching people, seeing how their day begins. And at least here… no one ignores me.”
The story spread when a young man filmed it and shared it online. It went viral. Thousands commented: “Sometimes we think no one sees us… but there’s always someone watching from the other side of the glass.”
Now, Mr. Albert no longer pretends to be a mannequin. They gave him a job as the shop greeter. He sits on a chair by the window, smiles at passersby, and every morning, when someone says, “Good morning, Mr. Albert,” he replies with a phrase that’s become part of the street’s history:
“Good morning… and thank you for seeing me.”
