Unfiltered Story #137055

(I worked in a Notting Hill menswear shop in 1981, long gone now. One day, to my delight and astonishment, John Cleese walked in)

Me: H-how can I help you, sir?

JC: Ah, yes. I was wondering if you sell thermal underwear

Me: Um, yes. Let me get the ladder to bring it down

(I take down the thermals drawer, JC rummages through it for the longest pair and holds them in front of his legs, looking in the mirror behind me)

JC: Hmm yes, these look rather silly. I’ll take these thank you.

Me (catching on): Oh, do you want them for an Amnesty International sketch?

JC: That’s right! You are a clever lad.

(JC buys the thermals, and I make out a receipt. He thanks me)

Me: Mr Cleese, I’m a huge fan. Can I have your autograph please?

JC: Certainly. What’s your name?

(I tell him, ripping off a till receipt for him. He writes: Dear [my name], thanks for the panties! John Cleese. Then he exits and I turn to my co-worker, who is wide-eyed and slack-jawed!)