During my lunch break, I dashed into a salon in London for a quick manicure. A slim, pretty woman, who seemed just over thirty and clearly shared my background, was seated in the chair next to me. She was getting a blow-dry and animatedly sharing a story. Due to the hairdryer, she was speaking loudly, so I couldn’t help but listen in.
I caught the story mid-way, so forgive me for beginning in the middle. “I kept wondering what to give her for her birthday! She has everything, she’s gorgeous and can buy whatever she wants, being a lawyer. We’ve been friends for about seven years since university, and we’ve exchanged almost every gift possible. I didn’t want to give her another scarf; I wanted something special. What would you give to someone who has it all, Jessica?” she asked the hairdresser. Jessica pondered for a moment: “Well, maybe a set of creams? They’re always useful.”
“Exactly, Jessica! So I’m wandering around the center, right nearby, and suddenly, I stumble upon this shop—absolutely gorgeous, like Victoria’s Secret. I walked in, and they had lingerie and all sorts of personal life items. It was all very tasteful. I decided I’d buy her a set of these scented creams. Because even though she’s a lawyer, her personal life is a bit lacking. You know how attractive scents can be! But things didn’t go as planned. Immediately, a Latino sales assistant—quite a looker—approached me. After hearing me out about the creams, he laid out a whole array of… entirely different items.
I have no idea, Jessica, how we transitioned from creams to this business. Don’t ask; it just sort of happened… Anyway, believe it or not, he muddled my thoughts and convinced me to buy… a vibrator!”
The salon fell silent. Jessica turned off the hairdryer and said, “Let me work some oil into the ends of your hair for a minute.” My manicurist unplugged the nail dryer and firmly told me, “No need to dry them; they’re almost done.” Everyone gathered around, given the small space, and I moved my chair as close as I could.
Immediately, I was fascinated by one that was large, purple, and quite advanced. The Latino demonstrated how it worked. Don’t get the wrong idea—he waved it in the air, of course. It buzzed a bit loudly, in my opinion, but it was simply amazing. It had multiple settings.” By this point, no one in the salon pretended to be focused on their own business—everyone was riveted.
“It came in an enormous velvet box with a massive manual full of instructions,” continued the woman. “So, I bought it, named it ‘Purple Joe,’ tied pink ribbons around it, closed my eyes, and gave it to her. I thought, whatever happens, happens.
My friend was delighted. She’d never seen anything like it. Wow!
She took it home. On her arrival, walking through customs, they requested her bag for inspection—drawn by the oversized box. ‘What do you have there?’ asked the customs officer sternly.
‘Watches, perhaps, like Breguet, Hublot? A tourbillon? What brand?’ The name of the manufacturer was proudly displayed on the box. ‘Never heard of this brand of watches, something new?’
Caught off guard, she broke into a sweat: ‘No, not watches… it’s… household electronics,’ she whispered.
‘What sort of electronics come in a box like that?’ the customs officer asked, more sternly. ‘Are you having me on? A kettle? Curlers, perhaps, haha? Open the box!
What could she do? She opened it.
Everyone got excited. The customs officer flushed. Those behind her craned their necks. Clearly, my Purple Joe made quite an impression!
‘We need to scan it,’ persisted the customs officer, ‘who knows what’s inside?’ Remove it from the box!
Okay, they placed it back on the conveyor. Both the box and Joe. He moved solemnly and ceremoniously along the belt. And to my friend’s utter horror, when taken out of the box, Purple Joe, perhaps due to the vibration from the belt, suddenly sprang to life and buzzed joyfully! And with a lively buzz, twisting and turning, proudly displaying himself, he headed into the scanner. ‘Please let the ground swallow me up,’ my friend thought desperately.
A small crowd gathered. A young man standing behind her whispered hotly into her ear, ‘Why do you need it? I can do better. I’m even willing to buzz.’
Meanwhile, the customs officer received the jolly, spinning, buzzing Purple Joe back in his hands from the scanner. Now it cheerfully winked its built-in light, which, it turns out, it also had. My friend heard laughter behind her. ‘What is this? Please switch it off! Take your stuff and go,’ the flustered customs officer exclaimed.
Bag in hand, flushed and sweaty, she barely managed to escape the crowd with her half-open box, struggling to fit Purple Joe back inside. He stuck out stubbornly, purple end first, from under the velvet lid. She felt very popular, with the young man willing to ‘buzz’ following her. To get rid of him, she exchanged phone numbers.
‘Would you like a lift?’ asked another passenger standing behind her. ‘My driver’s waiting… take your time, tuck… it in; I’ll wait.’
Purple Joe’s adventures in town didn’t end there.
She called me two days later, complaining, ‘Your Joe doesn’t work.’ What do you mean, doesn’t work? I asked, affronted on behalf of Purple Joe. My first thought was—could he have become impotent? He must’ve been lying unused in the store for months; maybe they work like humans—forgotten when not needed.
Should I take it to a repair shop? ‘Where to?!’
I suggested taking it to Dave’s repair shop, this guy I know—he’s a jack-of-all-trades—he’s the man for the job.
She went to Dave. Dave got all excited too. Honestly, I was proud of my Purple Joe—he instantly inspired people with joy and a zest for life!
Dave’s eyes lit up. ‘Leave it for a couple of hours. You’re such a lovely lady, I fix fridges, vacuum cleaners, and can even hang chandeliers—everything okay with your home appliances? Need a hand?’
While they got Joe sorted (turned out he just needed a different plug adapter), my friend found herself with a host of admirers, and Joe remained unused.
Everyone in the salon fell silent, in thought… Quiet moments passed. The hairdryer started up again, the nail dryer hummed—everyone returned to their treatments.
‘Where did you say this shop was?’ one of the visitors asked quietly.
