The Wooing of the Storekeeper

New Zealand Listener, Volume 29, Issue 727, 19 June 1953, Page 8

The Wooing of the Storekeeper

A footnote to a "Listener"

controversy,

by

DESMOND

STONE

Amongst acquaintances and friends, the surname, with the appropriate ports. is used only at the first meeting and only then before the second beer or second cup of tea, Thereafter the Christian name or nickname is adopted. -E, H. McCormick, "Listener,"’ 24.4,53. HE loca! storekeeper had been introduced to-me as Mr, Riley. I in turn had been formally presented as "Mr. Graham who lives along the road." And for the first six months our relations on this basis were steady and unembarrassed. There was no impulse to urge us to intimacy. We had met as strangers and there was a great deal of exploratory work to be done. I had still to show myself a desirable customer; he had still to prove himself an ob!iging storekeeper. And so we circled around each other like two wary and watchful wrestlers, waiting for an opening. Did‘ this Mr. Riley charge higher prices than other grocers? Was this Mr. Graham a man who allowed his debts to pile up? At the end of the first six months the air was clearer. Doubt and suspicion had lifted. Severely formal though it remained, our acquaintanceship had survived the’acid test of everyday buying and selling. I had not been short changed and I had never been told to like or lunryp:*Mr. "Riley'S* particutar’ brand "of tomato sauce. I had in response paid my

bills regularly and made my complaints politely. "That last lot of bacon, Mr. Riley." "Yes, Mr. Graham?’ Nothing had been alleged and nothing admitted. "I think perhaps it may have been a little saltier than the week before’s." "M’m, Yes, now you come to mention it, I believe you may be right. I’ll have a nicer piece for you this week." "Thank you, Mr. Ri'ey." "It’s a pleasure, Mr. Graham." A number of such incidents had passed off smoothly. Most times, as when I was given brown bread instead of white, or a large packet of a well-known breakfast food instead of a small one, I had said nothing. And where self-respect demanded a murmur of remonstrance. I had cut fuss to a minimum. Mr. Riley had been none the less co-operative. He had ordered my bread when I had forgotten it and he had sold me goods when the law forbade it. "Do you think . . . is it possible . would you mind," I on, "giving me a book of tissues." |

A smoker himself, Mr. Riley knew desperation when he saw it on a Sunday. "On this occasion, yes, I can," he said. "I’m very grateful." "We don’t as a rule, Mr. Graham. But I don’t mind doing it for you." Thus we began the second six months with relations soundly established. We had passed unscathed through the searching test of periodical tobacco shortages, frenzied Friday rushes and the tramping in of mud on a freshly-swept floor. Now a new note was introduced. Warmed by a surreptitious whiskey and a common drainage problem-how many feuds and friendships have begun over a faulty drain? — we began to seek some less forma] mode of expression. As neighbours looking into each other’s backyard, the strictly businesslike relationship of storekeeper-customer seemed hardly adequate any more. Yet ‘"mistering"’ each other had been a habit for so long that the transition to Christian names seemed to be more than we could manage. It was Mr. Riley who first breached the barriers, We were already in unanimity about the weather and we were solidly agreed that the "good old days" were the best. Now we were to find

more common ground in the state of the nation. "Things are going to the pack, Mr. Graham," he told me one day. "All this talk about paper money is bad." Though it was my own shortage of paper money I found hardest to bear, I felt he was undoubtedly right and promptly said so. "IT couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Riley." Carried away a little and rendered momentarily incautious by my enthusiastic support for his views, he became dramatically intimate. "Do you know, Bob," he began... I.don’t think he realised what he had said. In the warmth of an expansive moment, he had dropped the prefix unconsciously. But ‘there it was-the old inflexible formality had been breached and our whole relationship was subtly altered. Plieasurably surprised and embarrassed, I struggled to reciprocate. "His name’s Max," I told myself. "You should use it now." But his Christian name died with a rattle in my throat and I turned away with nothing accomplished, Some stronger incentive was needed yet. The next day found me in the shop with firmer resolve, Pink-faced but de(continued on next page) _

(continued from previous page) termined, I strode to the counter with a bunch of irises for the storekeeper’s wife. "Here, Max," I mumbled, "your wife might like these." There-it was out at last. As shy and as nervous as a courting couple, we looked at each other and smiled. The way ahead seemed to be clear. But the following day found us back on the old prim footing of "Good day Mr. Graham and good day Mr. Riley." I had fully decided to consolidate the gains of the day before and to bring intimacy closer. It was not to be. I had myself risen late and reluctantly and my temper was none too sweet. And the day for Mr. Riley had begun as badly, for the paper boy had missed him altogether. In this chilly atmosphere, no further gains were possible. The end of the second six months found us standing awkwardly on the edge of Christian-name friendship. It was thrust and parry all the time, with "Mr. Riley" giving way to "Max" one day and "Max" being rejected for "Mr. Riley" the next. Try as we might, we could not achieve the easy, unembarrassed relationship we desired. Relapses into the old distant courteousness came all too frequently. Had it not been for the bananas, we might have gone on like that for years. But when Mr. Riley disappeared mysteriously out the back and returned with a bag full of beautifully ripe bananas, all restraint was suddenly gone. It was so long since we had seen bananas, so long since we had had so many at once, that I became Mr. Riley’s friend for life. "Thank you, Max," I said. "I’m very very grateful." "Tt’s a pleasure, Bob," he replied, "A real pleasure."