Tim Dowling: I’m back in the store I think I once saw a ghost | Life and Style

tHere’s a story I talked about a few months ago about my eldest son demanding a suit for his 30th birthday. The day before his birthday, my wife and I met him at the mall. So he tried it out with a jacket after the jacket. Sometimes he refused the jacket, but before it went back to the hanger I tried it myself.

After some trips to the changing room, we were poised to buy him a dark blue suit.

“This is all wrong,” he said. He told us to trust him.

“Why?” said my wife.

“Is this 42?” the man said, pulling the hem of his jacket. “He needs 40.”

He pulled his jacket off my son’s shoulder, walked across the floor at the scene, returning with 40 regulars of the same colour. My son wore it.

“Perfect,” the man said. “Yes, Madame?”

“Yes,” my wife said through her crushed teeth. Then the man disappeared.

The woman in charge of the changing room keeps me yawning when I stand in front of a big mirror

This episode was with me with the idea that I could use my suit. Two months have passed and I find myself alone at the mall on a weekday afternoon at another business. After making sure I have time, I step into the same outlet, find the same rack and choose the same suit. The men’s division is creepy and quiet. The little man can’t be seen anywhere. I think he’s probably just going back to his time.

I decided to try on a suit. The woman in charge of the changing room shows me standing in front of the big mirror and twisting like this to keep my yawning down. I do a show that appears to need advice, but the little guy doesn’t show up. It confirms my suspicion that he may have been a ghost.

The suit looks all wrong on a crumpled gray T-shirt – the square packer is attractively riding on the outside with the packer on the neck. Also, I look 100 years old. The woman stares into the distance, frowns and says nothing.

Return to the rack. All the remaining suit jackets are on the wrong hangers, so I need to double check each size before I wear them. It doesn’t seem to fit anything. As I shrugged on my fourth jacket, I looked at myself in another mirror and quickly fainted. For me, this is a failed task.

“Hello, sensei,” says the voice.

“Yes,” I say, turning back to find the little man standing right behind me.

“I was on a break and now I’m back,” he says. “How can I help?”

“Um, this is a regular,” I say.

“Let me see,” he says, pushing his fist behind the completed button on his jacket. “What are you doing to make a living?” I have been thinking about this for too long.

“I’m a businessman,” I say.

“And the suit is for work, right?”

“To be honest, it’s mainly for funerals,” I say.

“Indulge in me,” he says. “I’d like to try the 38.”

“38?” I say. “Only my arms…”

“Please,” he says. “This is what I do.”

The little man asked me dozens of questions and didn’t ask any of my answers. He measures my neck, gives me a collared shirt that hasn’t been resold in large letters on the back, and sends me back to the changing room. The woman in charge who had completely ignored me before is now very friendly.

“Which cubicle?” I say.

“The person you want, the baby,” she says.

Finally, the three of us stand in front of the mirror and I wear a regular blue suit of 40.

“This suits you very well,” says the little guy. “You can see what I’m right.”

“It’s way better than the suit you had when you were here before,” the woman says.

I think: I think this is a suit I had before.

“It’s fine,” I say.

“You look great, baby,” the woman says.

“I’ll take it,” I say.

When I came out of the changing room, both the woman and the little man disappeared. I wear a new suit in Tills, where I find myself alone. I stand patiently there waiting for someone to come and take my money. No one does it.