A Head or Tails Fic for Edge of the Woods
Title: With a Cherry on Top
Genre: Are You Being Served?
Rating: PG
Prompt: Ending: Mr. Humphries is covered from head-to-toe in whipped cream
edgeofthewoods, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! Thanks to you for your fun idea and to Sparky for her beta.
It was a typical Spring Monday. Outside the rain was coming down, turning any chance of shopping into a slog from the bus stop and back.
Mrs. Slocomb looked more like a drowned rat when she exited the lift, despite her yellow slicker rubber boots and collapsed umbrella.
Rumbold glanced over at her and smiled. “Ah, Mrs. Slocomb, we can always rely upon your prompt arrival.” He glanced at the clipboard in his hand and made a face. “Now where did I leave that file?” He disappeared as quietly as he’d come, not that Captain Peacock minded at all. He’d be happiest if Rumbold would just stay in his office and leave him alone.
“Prompt has nothing to do with it. I just opened up my umbrella and suddenly it was dragging me down the M-4. It’s a good thing the wind wasn’t blowing in the other direction or I’d be in Wales by now.”
“Won’t help,” Lucas, junior on the Men’s counter and her sworn antagonist, said. “It’s raining there, too.”
Mrs. Slocomb signed in carefully, as to not drip on the book and headed for the ladies fitting room, leaving behind a trail of puddles.
Captain Peacock scowled just as Mr. Harmon was pushing a sheet-covered display onto the floor, stopping just short of where Peacock normally stood. He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Harmon, get something to clean that up. We can’t have the customers slipping.”
Mr. Harmon stopped dead. “You can’t order me,” he sputtered. “On account of you ain’t my boss. And I’ll tell you what, when we workers rise up and they are getting ready to burn you in effergy, I’ll not tell them to hold on. You’re gonna need some other fella to save you.”
Rumbold reappeared and spotted the puddles. “Mr. Harmon, would you please wipe up that mess before a customer slips? The store is nearly open”
“Absolutely, Mr. Rumbold.” He saluted the manager.
“And you should have seen that hazard and had him take care of it, Peacock. You are getting quite slack.”
Peacock’s mouth moved for a moment and Harmon beamed at him as he mopped up the puddles.
“And what have we here?” Mr. Humphries exited the men’s fitting room, still adjusting his suit lapels. His journey had been less exciting than Mrs. Slocomb, but no less wet.
“This is our new Point of Display unit.” Rumbold glanced around. “Are we all here?”
“We are still missing --” Peacock started as a wind-blown Miss Brahms exited the lift and slipped-skidded her way to the men’s counter and the check in book. “Mr. Granger.”
“Tattletale,” Mr. Humphries muttered, but Rumbold merely smiled and waggled a finger.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Captain Peacock, I gave Mr. Granger the morning off. His good wife was to have a medical procedure and he wanted to be there.”
Peacock sputtered. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Because it was a matter for a higher authority.” Rumbold looked towards the ceiling, but whether he meant Mr. Grace or God, it was anyone’s bet.
“Quite right,” Mr. Humphries muttered. Peacock turned his glare in that direction.
It was that moment when Mrs. Slocomb saw her central display stand. Instead of Peek-a-boo nighties, there were hats, a lot of them and none of them particularly attractive.
She strode to the display stand. “What on earth are these?”
Captain Peacock pulled himself up to his full height. “Mrs. Slocomb, I have not given you permission to leave your counter.”
“As the store isn’t open yet, tough cheese.”
Peacock shot a look to Rumbold, who apparently missed the whole thing. Rumbold suddenly saw her and smiled. “Ah, Mrs. Slocomb and Miss Brahms, you have spotted your new display. Mr. Grace was traveling and spotted these.”
“Where was he traveling to? Mars?” Miss Brahms picked up a large red globe-shaped hat, turning it this way and that before returning it to its display stand.
“I believe it was Italy.”
“Milan?”
“Orvieto,” Rumbold confessed. “He went to school with this milliner.”
Mrs. Slocomb picked up one that looked as like an octopus had been sewn to the front of it. “Imagine going to school for this.”
“Or this.” The one Miss Brahms held looked as if it was half dust mop. “I can’t imagine shifting this lot.”
Mr. Harmon had finished his mopping and set the cleaning equipment aside. “Are you ready for the display, Mr. Rumbold?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Harmon. Gather ‘round, everyone, quickly before the store opens.”
The sheet came off, exposing a giant can of shaving cream. “Mr. Grace had been reading a report that men, when buying a suit, would be more inclined to purchase personal grooming items as well. Rather than have the customer trek to the third floor, he suggested moving this display here.”
“What does it do?” Mr. Lucas kept Mr. Humphries between himself and the can. He didn’t trust anything Grace Brothers created since the Happy Pants Pressing fiasco.
“That’s the spectacle of it. It’s motion activated. When a customer approaches to check it out… Mr. Harmon?”
“Oh, right.” He waved his hand and a series of racing lights lit the front of the can. Then, in a small screen, the words, Looking Sharp appeared. Just about them, Feeling Great, flashed on and finally above that, Stepping Out lit up. Then there was a blast of music and a small burst of bubbles appeared at the tip of the nozzle.
“He’s going to have to put out more than that if he’s really stepping out,” Lucas murmured and Mr. Humphries suppressed a smile.
“Well, there is a variety of options, from bubbles, as seen here, to whipped cream, which more close resembles the actual foam and is what we will use when the customers are around.” He waved to the side of the display. “It’s all very technical, but I’m sure you will get the hang of it.”
“Where is it to be?” Peacock still wasn’t sold.
“Well, here.”
“This is where I stand.”
“Then deal with it, Peacock.” There was the sound of a bell and he rubbed his hands together. Harmon grabbed his bucket and mop and vanished. “Good luck.” Mr. Humphries, could you give him a hand.
“Lucas!” Peacock pointed to the display. “Come and move this. Mr. Humphries, could you give him a hand?”
“Of course, Captain Peacock.” Cautiously he approached the machine and examined the display panel.
Lucas saluted sharply and put his shoulder to the can, but it didn’t budge. He grunted, then stepped back and shook his head. “It’s stuck.”
“Weak as water,” Mrs. Slocomb snapped and stormed up to it. She gave it a kick and the machine sprang to life and froth started shooting out. “Miss Brahms, save the hats!”
“Save the hats?” Mr. Humphries cried as soap bubbles oozed from the display. “Save me!”
Quickly, Peacock scanned the racing lights on the control panel. He pushed a button and pulled a level and the bubbles changed to a fountain of whipped cream. Everyone took refuge… everyone except Mr. Humphries. He stayed, frozen in place by fear as the whipped cream covered him.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Mrs. Slocomb was in a panic even as the elevator doors were opening to expel their first customers of the day.
Lucas looked around, desperately, and grabbed the red globe hat and stuck it on Mr. Humphries head. “Stand still. Maybe they think you’re a display for an ice cream cone.”
“If my mother could see me now,” Humphries muttered. “She’d say, “I told him. I warned you.”
And outside the rain was coming down, turning any chance of shopping into a slog from the bus stop and back. Unless you fancied an ice cream cone.
Genre: Are You Being Served?
Rating: PG
Prompt: Ending: Mr. Humphries is covered from head-to-toe in whipped cream
edgeofthewoods, I hope you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it! Thanks to you for your fun idea and to Sparky for her beta.
It was a typical Spring Monday. Outside the rain was coming down, turning any chance of shopping into a slog from the bus stop and back.
Mrs. Slocomb looked more like a drowned rat when she exited the lift, despite her yellow slicker rubber boots and collapsed umbrella.
Rumbold glanced over at her and smiled. “Ah, Mrs. Slocomb, we can always rely upon your prompt arrival.” He glanced at the clipboard in his hand and made a face. “Now where did I leave that file?” He disappeared as quietly as he’d come, not that Captain Peacock minded at all. He’d be happiest if Rumbold would just stay in his office and leave him alone.
“Prompt has nothing to do with it. I just opened up my umbrella and suddenly it was dragging me down the M-4. It’s a good thing the wind wasn’t blowing in the other direction or I’d be in Wales by now.”
“Won’t help,” Lucas, junior on the Men’s counter and her sworn antagonist, said. “It’s raining there, too.”
Mrs. Slocomb signed in carefully, as to not drip on the book and headed for the ladies fitting room, leaving behind a trail of puddles.
Captain Peacock scowled just as Mr. Harmon was pushing a sheet-covered display onto the floor, stopping just short of where Peacock normally stood. He snapped his fingers and pointed. “Harmon, get something to clean that up. We can’t have the customers slipping.”
Mr. Harmon stopped dead. “You can’t order me,” he sputtered. “On account of you ain’t my boss. And I’ll tell you what, when we workers rise up and they are getting ready to burn you in effergy, I’ll not tell them to hold on. You’re gonna need some other fella to save you.”
Rumbold reappeared and spotted the puddles. “Mr. Harmon, would you please wipe up that mess before a customer slips? The store is nearly open”
“Absolutely, Mr. Rumbold.” He saluted the manager.
“And you should have seen that hazard and had him take care of it, Peacock. You are getting quite slack.”
Peacock’s mouth moved for a moment and Harmon beamed at him as he mopped up the puddles.
“And what have we here?” Mr. Humphries exited the men’s fitting room, still adjusting his suit lapels. His journey had been less exciting than Mrs. Slocomb, but no less wet.
“This is our new Point of Display unit.” Rumbold glanced around. “Are we all here?”
“We are still missing --” Peacock started as a wind-blown Miss Brahms exited the lift and slipped-skidded her way to the men’s counter and the check in book. “Mr. Granger.”
“Tattletale,” Mr. Humphries muttered, but Rumbold merely smiled and waggled a finger.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Captain Peacock, I gave Mr. Granger the morning off. His good wife was to have a medical procedure and he wanted to be there.”
Peacock sputtered. “Why wasn’t I informed?”
“Because it was a matter for a higher authority.” Rumbold looked towards the ceiling, but whether he meant Mr. Grace or God, it was anyone’s bet.
“Quite right,” Mr. Humphries muttered. Peacock turned his glare in that direction.
It was that moment when Mrs. Slocomb saw her central display stand. Instead of Peek-a-boo nighties, there were hats, a lot of them and none of them particularly attractive.
She strode to the display stand. “What on earth are these?”
Captain Peacock pulled himself up to his full height. “Mrs. Slocomb, I have not given you permission to leave your counter.”
“As the store isn’t open yet, tough cheese.”
Peacock shot a look to Rumbold, who apparently missed the whole thing. Rumbold suddenly saw her and smiled. “Ah, Mrs. Slocomb and Miss Brahms, you have spotted your new display. Mr. Grace was traveling and spotted these.”
“Where was he traveling to? Mars?” Miss Brahms picked up a large red globe-shaped hat, turning it this way and that before returning it to its display stand.
“I believe it was Italy.”
“Milan?”
“Orvieto,” Rumbold confessed. “He went to school with this milliner.”
Mrs. Slocomb picked up one that looked as like an octopus had been sewn to the front of it. “Imagine going to school for this.”
“Or this.” The one Miss Brahms held looked as if it was half dust mop. “I can’t imagine shifting this lot.”
Mr. Harmon had finished his mopping and set the cleaning equipment aside. “Are you ready for the display, Mr. Rumbold?”
“Oh, yes, of course, Mr. Harmon. Gather ‘round, everyone, quickly before the store opens.”
The sheet came off, exposing a giant can of shaving cream. “Mr. Grace had been reading a report that men, when buying a suit, would be more inclined to purchase personal grooming items as well. Rather than have the customer trek to the third floor, he suggested moving this display here.”
“What does it do?” Mr. Lucas kept Mr. Humphries between himself and the can. He didn’t trust anything Grace Brothers created since the Happy Pants Pressing fiasco.
“That’s the spectacle of it. It’s motion activated. When a customer approaches to check it out… Mr. Harmon?”
“Oh, right.” He waved his hand and a series of racing lights lit the front of the can. Then, in a small screen, the words, Looking Sharp appeared. Just about them, Feeling Great, flashed on and finally above that, Stepping Out lit up. Then there was a blast of music and a small burst of bubbles appeared at the tip of the nozzle.
“He’s going to have to put out more than that if he’s really stepping out,” Lucas murmured and Mr. Humphries suppressed a smile.
“Well, there is a variety of options, from bubbles, as seen here, to whipped cream, which more close resembles the actual foam and is what we will use when the customers are around.” He waved to the side of the display. “It’s all very technical, but I’m sure you will get the hang of it.”
“Where is it to be?” Peacock still wasn’t sold.
“Well, here.”
“This is where I stand.”
“Then deal with it, Peacock.” There was the sound of a bell and he rubbed his hands together. Harmon grabbed his bucket and mop and vanished. “Good luck.” Mr. Humphries, could you give him a hand.
“Lucas!” Peacock pointed to the display. “Come and move this. Mr. Humphries, could you give him a hand?”
“Of course, Captain Peacock.” Cautiously he approached the machine and examined the display panel.
Lucas saluted sharply and put his shoulder to the can, but it didn’t budge. He grunted, then stepped back and shook his head. “It’s stuck.”
“Weak as water,” Mrs. Slocomb snapped and stormed up to it. She gave it a kick and the machine sprang to life and froth started shooting out. “Miss Brahms, save the hats!”
“Save the hats?” Mr. Humphries cried as soap bubbles oozed from the display. “Save me!”
Quickly, Peacock scanned the racing lights on the control panel. He pushed a button and pulled a level and the bubbles changed to a fountain of whipped cream. Everyone took refuge… everyone except Mr. Humphries. He stayed, frozen in place by fear as the whipped cream covered him.
“What do we do? What do we do?” Mrs. Slocomb was in a panic even as the elevator doors were opening to expel their first customers of the day.
Lucas looked around, desperately, and grabbed the red globe hat and stuck it on Mr. Humphries head. “Stand still. Maybe they think you’re a display for an ice cream cone.”
“If my mother could see me now,” Humphries muttered. “She’d say, “I told him. I warned you.”
And outside the rain was coming down, turning any chance of shopping into a slog from the bus stop and back. Unless you fancied an ice cream cone.