I Was A Secret Shopper For The Triads

I have had a few strange jobs in my life, but none was stranger, than buying Louis Vuitton handbags for the Triads, and yes you did read that right, I said buy and not steal or make.

It is some time in the 1990s, I'm not sure when, and for various reasons it's a decade I don't remember too well, perhaps it has something to do with the amount of time I spent smoking a shit load of high grade Skunk weed and partying my ass off.

Anyway it's a fair chance that I was lying in bed stoned when I got the call from @bleepcoin saying; "You should call The Belgian Count, he's doing something really interesting with some Chinese people, that I think you'll like."

Bleep knows me very well; and he knows that is exactly the kind of sentence I simply have to act upon.

The Belgian Count is a dear friend of ours; he is loosely connected to Belgian aristocracy, or he is Belgian aristocracy, I can never remember. Anyway, I make the phone call and he tells me the following:

Belgian Count
"....yeah so take your passport along, they'll give you some money and you just spend as much as you can, they'll give you 10% of whatever you spend."

Cryptogee
"Bleeps said they're Chinese; they are Chinese right?"

BC
"Yes."

Cg
"Sweet, I'm going to be working for the Triads!"

BC
"I don't think they're actually..."

Cg
"Hey! If you want me to do this; they're Triads OK?

BC
I don't particularly want you to do this; I just thought you...

Cg
Can we stop overanalysing things, and talking about who wants who to do what; and just call them Triads please?

BC
OK, have it your way, they're Triads, so don't fuck with them!

Cg
Now you're talking...

Preparation

I am standing in front of my full length mirror at home, I'm wearing my black Prada shoes, my grey Ted Baker suit, my purple Versace shirt and my long black coat, the coat isn't designer, but everyone always comments on how smart I look when I wear it. I have topped the look off with a gold watch that I bought for £10 on Church Street Market.

As I stood looking at my reflection; I told myself that the watch was in fact one of those understated, terribly expensive watches, the kind of watch that you have to be really rich to even know the existence of the brand.

I practiced standing in different positions, that would allow the watch to flash little glints of gold to the person I was talking to, it was very important to get it just right.

If I revealed too much of the watch, then somebody who was used to seeing expensive watches on other people's wrists, would spot it was a fake and the whole charade would come tumbling down. However, the strap looked the business, and the black face, with the tiny fake baguettes were good enough to fool at a semi-obscured glance.

The final touch to the outfit, was a pair of small round purple shades (this was the 1990s after all!), the problem with me wearing sunglasses, is that I am extremely short sighted. My eyes are -13 and -12, I believe the technical term is blind as a bat.

I had also bought these sunglasses from Church Street Market the day before, and now I was wondering if the finishing touch, to my overall look, outweighed the fact that I couldn't see anything with the sunglasses on, especially if I was inside, and I planned on wearing them inside.

I shrugged, I had bluffed being able to see many times before, being quite sporty and the kind of kid that older kids enjoyed fighting with, I had broken my glasses many times growing up. As a teenager, social exception is pretty high on your list of priorities, so pretending that I could see when I couldn't had become second nature to me.

Right, time to go and meet the Triads.

The Meeting

I don't so much walk down the street, it is somewhere between a glide and a swagger; in my head I am running through a film script, which has me as the lead guy, the head honcho, the big cheese. I am gangster, I ooze cool, I feel every single millimetre of my 6 foot 4 inch frame, I notice heads turn as I glide pass, admiring looks from men and women as they wonder, who's that badass?

The mood isn't broken, as I rendevouz with the 52 bus on Ladbroke Grove, I sit upstairs and look wistfully out the window, in my head I am in a limosine. Michael Corleone is next to me, he is consulting with me on how best to deal with the Triads, he's nervous, I tell him not to worry.

The bus rises up and over Notting Hill Gate, twisting down the long windy road of Kensington Church Street, meandering past the dimly lit antique shops, down through Kensington, past the bright glitz of the homogenised shops, you'll see in any major city.

I pause the internal gangster film in my head, to wonder why some people get so excited about shopping in different cities. London, Paris, New York, Milan; surely they're all the same? How is Fendi, or Bulgari, or Prada, going to differ country by country? Surely they don't; so what's the thrill?

I come to the conclusion it's boredom; a handbag must seem more exciting when you buy it in a city you're not used to. The Halo Effect clearly plays its part for international shopping.

I snap myself out of my reverie, the bus has gone past the Royal Albert Hall on my right, and Hyde Park on my left. We are about to enter into the capillarious streets of Knightsbridge, that's my cue to get off.

I am standing in front of a hotel that I can tell will make a super big deal about its Knightsbridge address, as this is clearly the only thing the place has going for it. It reminded me of the cheap hostel type hotels that are prominent in Bayswater, quite out of place in the more upmarket SW1 area. As I pushed the big gold and glass doors and walked past an empty reception desk, I wondered how much longer before somebody realised their mistake and knocked the place down.

Ascending in the lift, checking my reflection; ach! It's too damn dark in here, I'll have to put my normal glasses on, that's fine, I don't need to get in character yet. I alight from the lift, I walk to the room, 306, I knock and the door opens almost immediately.

The sight that greets me inside, is confirmation that I've done the right thing, the place is chocked full of Louis Vuiton handbags. There is a hive of activity as around 7 or 8 Chinese people are furtively packing the LV bags into boxes, they are shouting at each other in Mandarin.

I can feel a huge grin creeping it's way onto my face, for now I supress it, the main guy approaches me, he smiles at me; he has terrible teeth, he is clearly in charge, he is the Chinese Boss.

Chinese Boss
You the Belgian Count's friend yes?

Cg
Yes

CB
Did he tell you what to do?

Cg
Sort of, not really, no.

CB
Ok, that's fine, it's easy, don't worry. Did you bring your passport?

Cg
Uh, yeah, here it is.

CB
OK, great, give me here, I'll go and copy, you speak to the accountant, he'll give you the money.

I walked into the adjacent room, a smaller Chinese man, sat hunched over a large calculator, furiously punching in numbers. He too was speaking in Mandarin, at first I thought he had mistakenly thought I was one of his compatriots, until another Chinese voice emmanated from his open laptop, and I realised he was on Skype.

The only other things on the desk, was a money counting machine and a huge pile of fifty pound notes; the accountant barely seemed to notice I was there. I took a small step forward and cleared my throat, he glanced up at me for about a fifth of a nanosecond.

Accountant
Passport?

Cg
Oh, um, your er...

The Chinese Boss walked into the room, said something in Chinese and handed the Accountant my passport, who grabbed a bunch of 50s, put them into the money machine, took them out and handed me £1000, all without pausing his Skype conversation, or even looking at me.

I walked back into the other room with the Chinese Boss, he handed me a photocopied piece of paper, on it there were pictures and prices of various Louis Vuitton bags and wallets.

CB
Memerise these, only buy things on this list, if you buy something off the list by mistake, you won't get paid. You get 10% of anything you spend, if you spend that thousand, come back, we give you more.

Well there you go, I am now buying Louis Vuitton for the Chinese; I mean the Triads, they have to be Triads, this only really works for me if they're Triads.

The Politics Of Envy

At this point, you might be wondering why anybody would want to pay me 10% of what I spend on Louis Vuitton handbags.

You see, Louis Vuitton, at some point in their past; maybe right from the beginning, realised that if you are selling something that isn't essential to a person's continued survival. Then there's every chance they probably don't want your product, so you have to make them want it. More than that, you have to make them desire it, you have to put in their mind, that their lives will be immeasurably better, if they buy your product.

This is the basis of all advertising; however Louis Vuitton have gone one step further, they actively restrict the purchasing of certain high-end products. They do this because they know, that when you tell people they can't have something, they tend to really, really want it.

The way Louis Vuitton restrict your purchasing is subtle, first of all, if you walk into an LV store, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, unless you are famous, they won't sell you anything that costs more than about £150 ($200). If you do try and buy something that costs more than this, they will simply tell you they don't have it in stock.

The second way they restrict your purchasing is that you can only buy a maximum of 3 items per month, you can't buy the same thing three times, they have to be different.

When purchasing Louis Vuitton, you can't spend more than £200 ($263) in cash, so that they can track your purchases via your credit or debit card.

Bearing this in mind, consider that Louis Vuitton comes out in Paris first, then London, New York, Milan and so on.

The last places to receive the latest Louis Vuitton releases, are the furthest flung corners of the Southern Hemisphere. Sydney, Taiwan and Singapore.

These places, especially Singapore, which is akin to a superstate and is one of the few places on Earth where there are more jobs than people. As a result of this, the population has its fair share of ladies who lunch, bored rich women, who don't want the social inconvenience of not having the latest LV bag, as soon as it hits the streets of Paris.

That's where I and my Triad family (I was getting deep into the role) come in.

Do You Even Freaking Know Who I Am!?!

One of the joys of acting, is that you can experience what life would be like, from a perspective from which you would never usually experience. You are given your script and you are told who your character is, you take it away and you study the lines. Then it is time to try and work out the motivations of the person you are going to play; how they interact with others and how others view them.

When you are trying to buy the most expensive products, in the highest volume, from a shop that is trying to stop you doing exactly that. Then you know that you are going to have to take on a certain persona, and that persona, I decided, was that of an arrogant Nigerian businessman, who lived in Manhattan and was used to life's luxuries.

Hell, I even gave him an imaginary jet!

What better script than life itself?

In my head, I moved effortlessly from, mysterious London Gangster, doing a deal with the Triads, to chic hedge fund manager, used to the finer things in life.

Walking down Sloane St. heart pounding, palms sweating....lines memorised... don't feel right... don't feel rich enough. It's OK, there's the LV store... calm

I remember Jules from Pulp Fiction standing in front of a door, about to knock...

"let's get into charachter...

OK... back straight, shoulders back...breeeeeaaaaathhhhe...change your stride, how would a billionaire walk?

That's right, not a care, sense of self satisfaction, the clothes on your back cost an average year's wage, life is great for you.

It's working, normal people are glancing at me as I walk past, I can see them search their memories for recognition, I must be famous.

I'm at the door now, a man in a liveried suit opens the door as I approach, I give him an almost imperceptible nod, and glide into the air-conditioned, boutique shop of Louis Vuitton, Sloane St.

I leave the shades on, my stance advertises to all, that I am a man who is used to having people rush to his aid, I do not look for assistance, because I know it will come to me. I exude a confident arrogance, whilst soft-gazing at no particular point in the shop, in my head, I have told myself, I will walk out if nobody comes to help me in the next 10 seconds.

Five seconds later, I allow myself a slight inward, ironic smile, as I spy out of the corner of my eye; from behind my shades, a young Chinese assistant walking tentatively over to me. His body language tells me that he has bought my persona. He hunches slightly, whilst walking unsurely towards me, his hands clasped in front of him, we are playing the unspoken game, where he is staff, and I am the V.I.P. he has been charged with looking after.

Got him!

Sales Assistant
Can I help you sir?

I pause for a second longer than necessary before I answer him, he's a full head shorter than me, I raise my chin slightly as I turn to him, literally looking down my nose at him. I allow the barest, flicker of disdain, to flash across my face, before smiling a thin smile and answering him.

Cg
Ya, hi, my girlfriend said she wanted me to go Louis Vuitton and get her a bag, and I've forgotten the name, I think it was....

At this point, I give him a couple of mangled names, of the bag I can clearly remember, in fact I can see it over his shoulder, sitting in a tall glass, display case. But I am playing ignorant, I am also trying to give the impression that I'm not used to shopping as someone else does that for me.

He goes away to look for the bags he thinks it is; in a normal situation, I would follow him across the small store. However my character is arrogant, he waits, relaxed, still, barely acknowledging the sales assistant's efforts.

After 3 separate trips to three different locations in the store, I realised I had been too good at mangling the name, so I decided to move things along.

Cg
What's that over there?

I said pointing to the (truly horrible) bag in the glass display cabinet by the window.

SA
That''s the Vernis Stanton from our new collection, it just came out in Paris last week.

Cg
Well, if I know Arrabella, it's probably the latest she wants, let me have a look at that one.

SA
Certainly sir, and how will sir be paying?

Cg
Cash

SA
Um, er... we don't..ah.

My character turns round, giving him a look that is a mix of disdain and anger, the sales assistant, decides not to say what he was just about to and takes me over to the counter. He wraps the bag and hands it to my character, who flashes him a smile by way of a thank you, before turning and walking calmly out of the store.

I didn't walk out of that shop, I glided, lubricated by a sheen of my own self-satisfaction, for a moment I was lost in the character, for a moment I really was headed back to my $2000 a night suite, to sip champagne in an ornate bath.

What A Rush!

The next few days were a blur, I was easily their best buyer, they trusted me with more money than the others, because I always managed to get items that cost more than £200.

The other buyers, who were mainly students, and more to the point looked like students, the poor kind, as opposed to the rich foreign exchange kind. These poor guys and gals didn't stand a chance, the LV staff were used to being condescended to, by people who were wealthier than them.

So when people who were clearly poor came into the shop, this gave the assistants a rare opportunity to condescend to a customer.

No, we don't have that in stock; perhaps this is more you

I on the other hand, had no problem convincing them that I was the one who should be doing the condescending. However one morning, whilst buying a bag to order from Harrods, I let my aloof, arrogant, veneer, slip, just for microsecond mind you, but it was enough.

What was the silly mistake, the obvious gaff that I made? I hear you ask; well, for a splitsecond, I gave her eye contact and smiled politely, like I do when I'm normally shopping.

She pounced on this weakness with all the skill of a wise old farm cat, leaping upon an unsuspecting mouse...

Sales Assistant
...and how would sir like to pay?

Cryptogee
Cash

Sales Assistant
(raises chin, so as to look down nose)
Oh, I see, do you have your passport with you sir?

Luckily for me, I had recovered from my earlier slip and this question genuinely infuriated me, so with the spirit of the great Stanislavsky coursing through my veins. I summoned up my most disdainful look, and allowed the rage that was building in my head to bubble over, and fill my body, like wine in a bottle.

Cg
WHAT!?! MY PASSPORT? MY PASSPORT? WHAT THE HELL IS THIS? FORT GODDAMN KNOX???!!!

The horror on the face of the assistant, and the stares from the fellow customers in the quiet, boutique corner of Harrods, only served to spur me on. I had gone this far, I had raised my voice beyond a socially acceptable level in a public place and I wasn't going to stop now.

I was shouting and enjoying it; I had to fight, to keep myself from smiling and ultimately bursting out with laughter.

Cg
(turns to fellow customer)
Excuse me Ma'am, Ma,am, did you have to show your passport to get a bag?

(turns to another)

What about you madam? Did you have to show your goddam passport to these guys? I mean, what is this?!
(Yes I was using American vernacular and colloquialisms, remember; I was playing a psuedo Nigerian/American business man; keep up!)

Cg
I MEAN CAN YOU BELIEVE THIS NON.....

Sales Manager
Excuse me sir, my apologies, my assistant made a mistake, of course you don't have to show your passport to purchase this bag; please except my sincere apologies.

Cg
I should goddamn thinks so! I'm trying to buy a bag, not leave the country.

SM
I'm sorry sir, there you go.

The Last Job

After the end of the second week, I realised the limitations of my new found career. At the time, there were only 4 places in London where you could buy Louis Vuitton.

There was the flagship store in Sloane Street, a section in Harrods, round the corner on Knightsbridge, then one in the west end on New Bond Street and then finally one in the city in St. Paul's. This meant, it didn't take too long before you had cycled through all the people working there and so you were recognisable and I don't exactly blend in.

I had tried to buy from the New Bond Street store, but I could tell as soon as I got there, that the snotty arrogance that had got me so far in the more gentile climes of South Kensington, wasn't going to get me anywhere in West One.

New Bond Street is all about turnover, quantity over quality, unless you actually are famous, the sales assistants will treat a guy in a versace suit the same as a girl with torn jeans. Whilst a much more admirable and fair stance, their political correctness was no good for my buying needs.

PIC

I realised my time as a buyer for the Triads was limited, not because of gangster folklore about never being able to get out once you're in. But through the mundane fact, that I was totally recognisable, and as there was still one store in London I hadn't gone to yet; St. Paul's, I had to make that one a biggie.

So I hatched a plan, I told my Chinese bosses, that I would pull off the biggest buying frenzy they had seen in all their time doing this.

They were all ears...

I told them it would cost a little bit of money.

They were not all ears anymore...

I had to prove to them that I could do it; shit! My idea was awesome, it was stunningly simple and awesome, it was awesomely, incredible!!!

The Fake Sheik

It is no big news to you or anybody, that people with money have an alluring quality, and that some people, behave completely differently around very rich people, than they do around people who are not.

This phenomena, is magnified a thousand fold, if the rich person in question, happens to be from an Arabic nation, where they wear the dish dash.

In the west we attribute this form of dress as being worn by wealthy sheiks, it is what we see when we see the Saudi royal family on TV and so therefore, because we see it as a sort of uniform of wealth. The dish dash, is usually the cue for people to start fawning and vying for attention.

So my plan was to get one of my Arabic, or even just Arab looking friends; borrow one of my friend's flash Mercedes, hire out another one or two and then, after first ringing ahead to make sure they shut the shop, because the Prince likes to shop in private. We pull up outside the shop, with fake bodyguards and interpreter (me) in toe.

Then I stand, he sits, he whispers in my ear what he wants, I stand and point and say, his majesty would like 8 of those, 6 of those 4 of those 12 of these, and so on...

I knew it would work, I wanted to do this, I had to do this; I had to convince them that I could pull it off; but how?

I Am Legend!

It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon, and as I made my way to the Sloane Street Louis Vuitton store, I decided that this was going to be my last run. It was fun while it lasted, but it was completely unsustainable. The day before I hadn't managed to buy anything, because Harrods and Sloane St. were full of sales assistants that had served me before.

As I approached the shop front, I tried to see if the Chinese guy who had served me the week before was there, he already believed my story, so it would be easy to buy some more stuff. I also wanted to avoid a wiley old sales manager, who had refused to sell me anything the day before.

"You were in here yesterday, you are already over your three item limit."

I couldn't see the Chinese assistant, but on the plus side, the manager wasn't there either. I relaxed and slipped into my now familiar character.

My mind wondered not for the first time, how some soap opera actors, could play the same role year in, year out. Surely they must become the people they play to some extent? I had got to a point where I could effortlessly be the character and display traits and emotions that weren't my own. Admitedly, in a similar, effortless fashion, I dropped the character as I got on the bus to go back home, but still, some of those actors play the same role for 20 years.

I think my daydreaming was adding to my aloofness, I hadn't noticed a small, fillipino looking sales woman, was standing next to me, with the expression on her face that said she had just asked me a question. I acknolowdged her by bending my head so I could peer over my shades and raised an eyebrow.

I had been perfecting that look over the last few days, if done right, it appears that you are giving the person permission to speak.

Was I starting to get a bit too into this arrogant lark?

Filipino Sales Woman
...can I help you sir?

I gave her the standard story of being in London, and shopping for my nonexistent, label-obsessed, vacuous girlfriend. We got to the part where she asked how I was paying and I said cash, by this time I had become confident enough that my demeanour was enough to scare them off, suggesting I couldn't pay with cash.

However this particular sales woman's body language completely changed when I mentioned cash, from that of obsequisious, assistant, ready to do my bidding. To stern, schoolmistress, type, with a steely determination not to let me get my way.

FSW
...I'm sorry, you can't pay with cash, we don't allow it.

I was taken aback, she didn't even call me Sir!

I gathered my self in an instant, and prepared to fix her with my steeliest gaze, I started to lower my head, so as to peer at her over my shades again.

Then, that beautiful word, serendipity, played it's sweet, melodious tune; my phone rang, I held up a finger to the face of the sales lady and indicated that I was taking the call. It was the Belgian Count, who was ringing to ask me how it was all going. He of course new exactly what I was doing, so I immediately launched into an on-the-spot, script.

Cg
Yeah, Kevin? Yeah, I can hear you, I'm in Louis Vuitton right now, yeah I'm shopping....

Belgian Count
What?

Cg
OK, look, it's a 20 million dollar deal Kevin, I'm sure they can wait half an hour for 20 million dollars; don't you?
Yeah, right, that's what I thought, I'll see you in half an hour, 45 tops.

As I said the words 20 million dollars, I was secretly looking at the sales lady out of the corner of my eyes, it had the desired effect; I literally saw her snap to attention, and her body language, reverted to that of a subordinate waiting for her boss to tell her what to do.

Gotchya!

I got off the phone and turned to her with all the languid, ease I could muster, making it appear as if our conversation pre-phone call was so insignificant, I could barely remember it.

Cg
Hmm, oh; what was that? You were saying something about not being able to pay with cash; if you want I could get my driver to bring my gold card arou...

FSW
Oh, no, no, no, Sir!

That's better.

FSW
Please, sorry Sir, if you don't mind Sir, follow me!

She literally sprinted across the store with my bag in hand, she fussed a junior assistant out of the way as she wrapped my bag.

Cg
Ah, I think I saw a couple of wallets I like...

She was off and back in a flash; she spread 6 wallets in front of me, as if she was laying out a deck of cards, for inspection before a card trick.

I walked out of that shop having spent almost £1500, a new record. now my Triad paymasters would sit up and notice, maybe now they would give me my big chance.

Will The Real Grace Kelly Please Stand Up

My chance to prove myself has come, they have given me a bigger job than just buying Louis Vuitton, I am moving up the ranks.

I am standing outside one of the corner entrants to Harrods, just yards away a Romanian woman, holding what could be a filthy baby or a doll, is sitting in silence on the pavement, holding a cardboard sign that simply says "money". As I get closer, I realise that the filthy bundle is indeed a child, the child is alive and awake, but unusually still, I vaguely recall a story about Romanian beggars drugging their children, so that they would sit still while they begged.

My daydreaming is interrupted, the Triad that I liked to call the Fixer had arrived, and was about to hand me £8500 ($11,200) in crisp fifty pound notes, in the cold light of day the Fixer didn't look very Triady. In fact, away from the seedy gloom, of their third rate hotel, the Fixer looked distinctly normal.

Why couldn't he wear black slacks, with a black turtleneck, or something? He should have mirrored shades, a sharp haircut and a scar on his cheek.

I was snapped out of trying to bend reality to my infantile fantasy, as I realised he was talking to me.

Fixer
Remember, it's the brown, leather, Kelly bag, not the crocidile, not the cream one; it has to be brown, it costs £8500, if it's more or less than that, you have the wrong one. Remember this isn't a young woman's bag, don't use the girlfriend story.

(I had told them about the girlfriend story)

Cg
Sure, no problem; I'll get it.

In 1956 shortly after her marriage to Prince Rainer of Monaco; Grace Kelly was photographed holding a Hermes handbag, in front of her, apparently using it to shield her baby bump. The photograph was seen around the world, and subsequent photos of her holding the bag, prompted people to dub it the Kelly Bag.

Hermes made the name official in 1977, all of this presumably gave the French fashion house the perfect excuse to charge over eight thousand pounds sterling for a handbag.

All of these events that had happened decades earlier, had led me somewhat indirectly to standing in the Hermes department of Harrods, attempting to buy one of these bags, for the Triads.

As I approached the Hermes department, I could already tell the difference between them and Louis Vuiton. Hermes seemed more grown up, more formal, more stuffy. I was going to have to play this one differently, being loud and brash in this environment wasn't going to help my cause, Hermes is all about the understatement.

I strode up to the counter, there was a young French man on the desk; I sized him up and immediately decided that I could bend him to my will.

Cg
Hi, I'm looking for a Kelly Bag for my mother in law.

French Assistant
Of course sir, which one would you like?

Cg
The Classic

French Assistant
Oh, I...

Cg
(fixing assistant with over the shades, steely glare)
Is there a problem?

French Assistant
No...erm, no, problem, I'll go and get one for you now sir.

What happened next, still amazes me till this day; the young assistant went off to the back and was gone for about 2 minutes. He then returned with a man who was clearly his boss, this man was in his late 30s, was also French and looked like he was marching out to reprimand me for daring to ask for the classic Kelly Bag.

I adjusted my body language from, someone who wanted to be helped, to someone who was used to having things done for him.

Part of this transformation, involved, turning away from the approaching salesmen and pretending I hadn't seen them coming. This allowed me to take a second or two longer than the social norm, before answering the manager when he came over.

Sales Manager
Can I help you sir?

I knew this wasn't going to be easy, he had clearly been told what I wanted, but he felt he had to gain control by asking me again. I tried to reestablish the upper hand that I had gained with his junior. So I turned slowly towards him, and whilst making a small gesture with my hand, towards his colleague, I replied.

Cg
It's just as your colleague here said, I'm looking to buy the classic Kelly Bag.

The unspoken battle between us escalated, the manager raised his chin slightly and straightened his back, his eyes narrowed slightly as he spoke.

Sales Manager
And whom is sir purchasing the bag for?

As he asked this question, he wore an expression on his face that said he thought I was a bullshitter; in hindsight, I should have started the sentence with; "Not that it's any of your business..."

Cg
It's for my Mother In Law, she's up State, and doesn't get to Manhattan much these days, so I said I'd pick her up a Kelly Bag when I was in London.

The manager seemed to back off slightly and we spent the next minute or so, talking about my fictional Mother in law, her bad leg and the cold winters in Upstate New York. At the end of the minute the manager smiled at me, as if satisfied with my answers and said that he was going into the back to get the bag.

Success! I would make £850 for this, and then maybe they would go with my fake Sheik idea.

After about another minute or so, the manager came walking back, I could tell by the look on his face, and his empty hands, that he wasn't going to sell me a Kelly Bag.

Sales Manager
I'm sorry sir, we do not have the classic in stock, perhaps sir might look at some of our other bags; we have the crocodile skin Kelly, in stock. That retails for £2000 less at £6450.

I gave him a withering look as he delivered this line.

Cg
Money isn't a problem, my Mom-in-law, isn't really a crocodile skin type of lady; you're sure you don't have the classic?

Sales Manager
I'm sorry sir.

Cg
So am I

I turned and left the shop, he was clearly lying to me; they had the bag, but he had decided that I wasn't worthy of buying the famous Kelly Bag. I found the whole episode surreal, having to be interviewed when you wanted to give someone a ludicrous amount of money for a couple of stitched together pieces of leather.

That was the last time I went shopping for the Triads, my face was too recognisable, and I had purchased at least one item from all of the staff in Sloane St. and Harrods.

Also in truth, the strain of being so arrogant and rude all the time was beginning to tell; it is not my default position and I was starting to feel a little jaded from being so horrible all the time.

It also depressed me that you had to be rude and arrogant, just to get these people to sell you something, I had even tried being myself a couple of times, just to see if it made any difference. Unfortunately it did make a difference, when I was myself, nobody would sell me anything that cost more than about £150.

Farewell

So there ended my relationship with the Triads, I often think back on that time with fondness; in real life, I am not such a fashion victim that I would practically beg a shop to sell me their product, just because a celebrity wore it. However it gave me a glimpse into a world that I would have otherwise been, completely unaware of, so apart from anything else, I'm happy about that.

I also learned a lot about body language and social dynamics; I was fascinated how politeness, was interpreted by the salespeople as weakness and how they all carried a certain air of superiority, because of where they worked.

Most of all, I learned a lot about myself, I learned that deep down; I'm a polite and agreeable person, treating people with disdain just doesn't come naturally to me. However, I have the capacity to be rude, arrogant and obnoxious.

Possibly the best thing about the whole experience, was I got to play a couple of roles, in my own private movie, where I was the star and everyone else I met was a supporting role or extra.

I have no idea if those Chinese people were ever gangsters; but for the purposes of fueling my childish joy and any future retelling of the story, they were definitely, 100%, Triads.

Cryptogee