Bob Newhart worked in retail many years ago before pursuing his career in comedy, and he recounts the story of gifts he sold and prayed wouldn't be returned:
Other returns days offered similarly useful lessons. But perhaps the most memorable returns day experience centered on a return that never took place. This also occurred at V.L.&A., probably in 1957, when I was working in the tobacco department.I try to give gifts that can't be returned. It saves everybody a lot of trouble.
That Christmas season, a gentleman accompanied by his wife stopped by the counter and, in a surprisingly short time, purchased any number of lighters, ashtrays and other accessories. (Many of the ashtrays he selected had gambling motifs, like dice or roulette wheels.)
The bill came to more than $3,000, a considerable sum in those days. I asked him if he wanted the gifts wrapped and delivered. He said yes. So I went through the formalities of asking him his name and he told me a name I immediately recognized as the name of the reputed head of “the outfit” in Chicago.
In a slightly higher voice, I asked him his address, which was River Forest, an affluent suburb of Chicago. He said he preferred to pay by check. I didn’t require any identification.
Before sending his considerable order over to the shipping desk, I felt compelled to explain to this gentleman (and his wife) that once the shipping clerk picked up his presents, they would be out of my control. If any arrived damaged, he should be in touch with the shipping department — not me.
My sleep the eve of December 26 could probably be described best as fitful. Work was equally unsettling. In fact, that particular returns day was one of the longest in the history of returns days. The clock didn’t move.
In the end, however, the workday came and went without incident. Two men with suspicious bulges in their jackets never visited V.L.&A. that day. Apparently, everything survived undamaged — including, thankfully, me.
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