Several years back, I bought myself a shiny, brand new motorbike. A few days after, I was passing a bike shop, and decided that I needed a new set of leathers to go with it. This place has a good stock so I go in and nose around, and as it turns out I find a great set on sale.
The shop assistant, a cute little blonde, sees that Iíve taken an interest and comes over to ask if I want to try them on. We make a little small talk as she hunts around to find a set my size. Itís only when she hands me the jacket that I realise that, not having planned this trip, Iím not exactly dressed for it. Iím wearing a baggy sweater and no shirt, and you really need this sort of gear to fit well.
I have a look around for a changing room, and canít see anything. The cute blonde doesnít volunteer anything either. Feeling a little self-conscious, I take off my jumper, which blondie takes for me, and try the jacket on. All is well, and she gestures for it back.
When I do take it off, she doesnít give me my jumper, but instead hands me the jeans to go with the jacket. Still no mention of anywhere else to change, but she is grinning at me. I can change in front of her, or I can go around the corner and change in front of a plate glass window and a street full of people.
Feeling really self-conscious now, I kick off my shoes and take off my trousers before trying on the jeans. A good fit again, so I tell her Iíll buy and give them back. Taking her time as I am standing in front of her in just a pair of jockey shorts, she hands me my clothes back with a sweet smile and says;
ďThe changing room is just over there.Ē