In a corner of the Hall of Plenty

All in all, Christmas on our side of the shop floor was quite tranquil. Well, apart from those customers that crush your enthusiasm for life in general.
'What's in the box?' is a phrase that now drives Miss Marple over the edge, after a ten minute encounter with a lady from Singapore who assumed the empty display box was a prize for shopping with us.
'Do you do any deals?' is possibly likely to fetch you a mental slap, in the form of twisted lips and a slightly raised eyebrow from Miss White.
And, if 'She who Must be Obeyed' comes thundering toward you , nostrils flared, abandon any hope of asking for samples, otherwise, quite a pleasant run up to Christmas.
Not so across the floor, where some of the more flamboyant characters dwell. Apparently the day before Christmas Eve saw battle lines drawn over a great mystery, a customer had phoned to order some products and was not best pleased with the manners of the person at the end of the telephone, so she asked for the consultants name. Calling back, with a strongly worded complaint to one of the overwrought Minions of the Overseer, the customer insisted on satisfaction.
Now here comes the mystery, the consultant who was supposed to have answered the phone was actually some distance away, on her island of box sets rallying the Christmas temps, when the order was taken. So vigorously defending herself against the accusation, she left the Minions baffled. If it was not her on Angel Island, then who could it be?
An hour, one distraught temp, a tearful Minion and lots of misdirection later, the finger of doom was pointed at the feisty figure of one consultant. We shall call her Mussolini. Yes, short, manly, lots to say for herself but can't decide which side she's on, was eventually hung out to dry from a metaphorical lamppost, when the Minions finally worked it out.
Who knows what the consequences of breaking the Consultants Code are, but New Year promises to be interesting.

Merry Xmas to you all!

It's finally Christmas Eve and this week has seen Miss Pankhurst retire from the fray with swine flu, the ''Tiny Hands'' trade fisticuffs over whether Father Christmas actually exists or not and profit in the face of recession.
I can gladly say to all the cosmetics consultants out there, well done!
We did it!
We made it to the one important day of the year, the last  sacred day left in the retail calendar that shopping is not allowed.
Merry Christmas and a Happy Sale season to you all.
Enjoy your day off.
XXXXXXX
The Mole.

Santa and the Socially Challenged.

If you cannot pass people in a crowded shop, without, huffing. Shoving past. Performing, the emotionally crippled two step (see previous posts) or grinding your teeth.
Then, you, are Socially Challenged.
If you cannot wait to be served for more than 30 seconds without tapping your fingers, shoving yourself in between a customer and a consultant who are already interacting at this point, or interrupting a sale by saying,
'Err excuse me, yes, yes! I just wanted to know...'
Then, you, are Socially Challenged.
If you cannot acknowledge a consultant who asks you, nicely, if you need anything or you stick your hand up in their face and snap NO!
Then apart from being Socially Challenged, you need a good punching.
If you are crippled by your ego and find it hard to get past consultants that are opening drawers without tutting loudly.
Then most assuredly, you are Socially Challenged.
So now you know what you need for Christmas.
A big bag of life skills and some emotional maturity. Happy Holidays!

Ho! Ho! HO!

You know when customers talk too much they have something to hide. Certain sentences make your arse twitch like a flute players lip and you just know they are trouble.
'I'm not a shop lifter you know.'
'I didn't steal it, so why do I need a receipt?' Are two of my favourite light bulb statements. This week we heard a cracker to top those,
'You must remember me. Everyone remembers me.'
Well, my darling loud punter, we remember Princess Diana, but that is not proof of purchase is it!
Three weeks ago Miss Pankhurst got a '' Ohh I'm so wacky, I bet you have never had a customer as fun as me'' type customer. Wanted product , got product but wished to pay for it else where, yet still wanted Miss Pankhurst to wrap it. So she wraps it. The customer then went to the store restaurant, got drunk and forgot to pick up her stuff.
Three weeks later we get a ''You must remember me,'' phone call, where she kicks off about the fact that we forgot to put her products in her bag.
Well, we did remember her, but just for the record and for all of you Consultants out there, we gave her the run around of a lifetime, for a good twenty minutes.
Joy and festive cheer-a-roony!!
We couldn't find her stuff ! She had to fax over her receipt to prove she had bought it. We couldn't just defy security procedures could we? After her constant waffle, a lot of whingeing and more,
 ''But, but everyone remembers me, so why can't you send it?''
We finally, got Miss Pankhurst to phone her back so she could defend herself against the scurrilous rumour of inadequacy.
Slow torture for someone who really likes themselves and lies a lot. If only we had speaker phone. So after admitting she had lied to the first person who dealt with the query, she then fessed up to getting drunk and forgetting. By the time Miss Pankhurst relented and condescended to send it out free of charge, as a gesture of our goodwill, we like to think we had thoroughly shredded her ego. I doubt it , but we can dream.
Ho HO HO!!!!
Our big book has a black mark by that customers name.

In a Festive Mood?

 I toddled into work yesterday, in a cloud of festive cheer. The 'Tiny Hands' have Christmas Fever, there are a few squabbles over the Chocolate advent calendar, but on the whole listening to 'she child' and 'the boy' sing carols when they should be cleaning their teeth really does give me that warm glow. Well, in a matter of about five minutes, there was more Grinch than Elf in the Hall of Plenty, I can tell you.
Firstly, and I really don't know where people get off doing this, somebody put a half eaten sandwich and a very old, fly ridden, cup of coffee from some over priced coffee boutique, in my locker.
1) The lock on my locker should be enough to signify MINE , not anyone's for the taking.
2) Are the bins, that are conveniently situated five feet away from the lockers, too far to reach? Because that coffee had been sat for days. Given that I was in the day before and had used my locker, I can only assume some part time tit, had left it, come back to their locker days later and thought,
'Oh dear, I left my coffee and eeeew, look, there are flies on it. I know, I will put it somebody else's locker rather than shift my fat stupid arse and put it in the bin over there !!!!!'
Yeah you did!!
Revolted, I put the offending articles in the walkway so everyone could see them, step over them or throw them away at their leisure.
After, Manky Coffee- Dirty Sandwich Gate,  I ascended to the shop floor where the till decided to freak out. After a brief tussle with our unhelpful communications department, I called Poland to see what they could do. Yes, Poland! Apparently when your till doesn't work you call Poland, where abouts and who, I do not know but they don't answer the phones.Nobodyfrom any department can give you a straight answer as to what to do.
 I can only assume this is some bizarre way to expand the work skills of people who already have to remember over 100 product prices, every ingredient in every product, open store cards, fetch their own stock from basements the army would have trouble assaulting, provide great service, stand up all day, gift wrap incredibly small items, do paper work, deal with customer complaints, make over customers , advise on skincare, listen to whingey weirdo's, clean the ridiculously impractical sharp, shinny, crevice ridden counters and smile. So, using my very small knowledge of technical things I gave it a bloody good banging. Funny thing is, it worked straight after.
Just to top off the frustration, some daft bird waved an empty lip gloss container in my face and demanded,
'What's this?'
She had the cheek to roll her eyes when I told her, it was just that, an empty lip gloss. And then said,
'Yeah, I know that, what colour is it?'
'I don't know, it's empty.'
Wave, wave, thrust, some where about my nose and she said,
'Well, what number is it?'
'I DON'T KNOW YOU ARE WAVING IT ABOUT AND HOLDING THE END WITH THE NUMBER ONNNNNNN!!!!!!'
'Oh.'
Yeah , OH!
Problem soon solved, she was followed by an army of nut jobs; people that wanted foundations but wouldn't try them on their cheeks. Men who faffed about constantly checking, even as we were wrapping their stuff, that we had really given them what they asked for. Silly sample hunters and several people with too much to say and not buying. Favourite amongst them, was the stressed out customer who dashed around demanding lots of attention, asking the price and poking everything, telling us Xmas was a rip off and our prices were too high, only to come back and sheepishly buy the things she had looked at so disdainfully hours earlier.
I hate you all , bollocks to Xmas!

Awkward!

I've known some awkward moments, a boyfriends mother once handed me a pair of knickers over a crowded Sunday lunch table, 'Oh, you left these,' she said in a smug effort to rid her son of me.
'Actually, those are not mine,' I answered and carried on passing veg to her guilt riddled son.
That was awkward  (and a long time ago I hasten to add) but of late, I have noticed a crippling sense of awkwardness every time I need to get in a lift. Not amongst Cosmetics staff , for us even lifts are a place to create a drama, but the staff from other floors are the most angry looking, ignorant, awkward people one could ever wish not to meet.
If you have your hands full and ask them to push a button, they ignore you. If you are in the lift and try to get out, they just push past you to get in. And worst of all, if they are in the lift and you ask them to 'Hold the doors,' they simply watch you running toward it.
Yesterday however, I managed to reach the doors to a very full lift and in a fit of insanity, stuck my hands on either side of the very nearly shut doors. Doing a very good impression of Alien, I pushed the doors apart and marched into the centre of the lift staring at the opened mouthed fashion staff.
Four floors later, since I had not turned round and refused to look away from any of them, I left them cowering in the corners.
Awkward ? Yes. Could I back down without looking like a complete tosser ??? No. Did I enjoy it? Yes, I bloody well did and I got straight to the front of the cash office queue. Next week, I think I will push every button and fart loudly!

Slipper Mouth Rides Again!

Oh, you just cannot make this stuff up!
Poor old Slipper Mouth, out on the town you'd think she would be safe from social gaffyness, but No. During a trip to the theatre, she and a friend rose to dance to a very popular and well known part of the show, when she noticed the people in the rows behind were still seated.
'What a load of miserable buggers they are.' she gasped, as she leapt to the right.
'Yeah fancy sitting there when you have paid to see this.' replied her friend as they took a step to the left.
'Do you mind!' Came an indignant voice from behind.
When the lights came up row upon row of wheelchairs glinted in the house lights.

Give us a Clue.

This may not strictly be a post from events in the Hall of Plenty, but I have been known to stray from the beaten path now and again, so bear with me, it does involve some of us.
Now I drive, many people do , but we as team have noticed a certain lack of indication from the greater driving public of late. These days, you need to be Sally Morgan to know which lane drivers intend to be in and we think, using shield technology would be invaluable, if your anywhere near a taxi driver.
So when a number of us where nearly run over, by a chap in a very expensive car, just outside the Hall of Plenty the other day. I was mightily impressed when Miss Marple sauntered over , knocked on the window and said,
'Nice car, was it expensive.'
'Yeah.' he answered aggressively.
'Pity you couldn't afford the one with indicators then , eh?' she replied.
The window went back up a lot faster than it came down. And do you know what, he didn't even indicate as he pulled round us and drove off at a highly inappropriate speed for such a small road.

Rant-O-Rama at the Hall of Plenty.

You know it's weird, this time of year can bring out the best and the worst in people, staff especially. We don't have a bad job really. Yes, the public can be weird, transparently manipulative and just plain awkward. The lady last night, that had indulged in quite a large glass of champagne, then decided that the lipstick Miss White had put on her not an hour before, was making her teeth yellow and insisted she try another more 'blue' bright red, was a very good example of a pissed punter trying to get a free makeover with some tricksy explanation. Unfortunately, she was seen right through and encouraged to leave with two very obvious stripes of bright pink blusher that she was assured would fix her tooth issue.
( I have said it before, there are children dying in Africa and stupid women are bothered about their teeth being yellow, go figure!)
Anyway, it is hard enough with figures, managers and stalkers, but being mean to each other when we are all on the same side is just ridiculous. The Onion, like ogres she has layers, did just that the other day. We have a lovely 'Dippy Peacock' that works in the 'Hall of Plenty' and like everyone, sometimes he forgets things. But last week, the Onion made a decidedly mean attack on him. Apparently the Onion came to open a till in the morning and 'horror upon horror', there were no pound coins, the Bean Counters had not received instructions to supply more and there were only a multitude of fifty pence pieces in there. That being the crime of the century, she complained. Poor 'Dippy Peacock', obviously the victim of a hormone induced , Christmas fuelled, rant- o- rama!
Well, the rift has been brushed over, but I don't think it will be forgotten. And that leads us to my point nicely, come on fellow Tut pushers, as if the stupid nylon outfits and motivational pep talks are not bad enough, we don't need to start hating each other.
Let's simply be professional, a quiet word would have been more effective , don't you think?

Hell in a handcart.

Despite my seeming obsession with Dr. Who, I really am more impressed with Derren Brown, sometimes using manipulation is the easy way to get children to obey. Not that this isn't a democratic home,or that the 'Tiny Hands ' are easy to out manoeuvre, but Derren's techniques have sometimes helped.
No, I have never made them play Russian Roulette...... 'thinking'.......no, that would never happen, but the overwhelming subconscious messages you can stick up around the home are sometimes worth the effort on your day off.
What has this got to do with a cosmetics counter?
No, I do not too hypnotise my customers, before you ask.
I did however use some unconscious signals the other day.
Imagine if you can, two bottles of nail polish that are similar but to the trained eye completely different, then imagine one arsey woman at five minutes to closing.
Got that?
Right, five to closing is not the best time to start accusing the company I work for of simply making the same thing twice. So I explained,
'Actually, they are very different.'
'No, they are not, those are exactly the same colour.' she said.
'Yes that is an easy mistake to make, but in actual fact this one is red with black added and that one is black with a red tone added.'
'No, they are exactly the same.' she insisted.
'Yes , well to the untrained eye that would appear so.'
'Prove it.' she challenged.
I painted my index finger and my middle finger with the colours in question. (Enter Derren and his unconscious signals!) Then I said,
'Well , its very difficult to see under these lights, maybe if I hold them like this...' Both fingers together. ' Or if you look at the individually like this....' One finger, then the middle one. 'You can see what I mean.'
She did.

'She who must be Obeyed' worked it out simply from the fingers in question the next day. That is a well trained eye.

One handcart to hell please!

She has arrived !

Much to our delight, or terror if you were the customer at the counter that was caught up in the squealing and the jumping and the clapping of hands, that greeted the great news, she has arrived. Mother and baby are both safe and very healthy, unlike the dolphins off the coast of Scotland, that 'She who must be Obeyed' swears must have been deafened by the sonic disturbance.
We are grateful for the swift arrival of Sid and very proud of Sunday Girl!

X

It's the Most Wonderful time of Year!

So a box arrives you could fit the entire counter in, it's full of Xmas stock and after about ten minutes it is full of Miss Marple and the Mole.
Yes, on lifting out gift boxes, ensure another member of staff has you by the feet or you will drop in and as the whole thing is made of cardboard, you can be utterly assured that court shoes are designed to go right through it.
In a few weeks time getting trapped in a massive cardboard box will seem like paradise!

The first customer of the day.

'Good morning, those are lovely aren't they, would you like to try one on?'
'No! Leave me alone.'

Long silence, in which one goes back to sharpening eye pencils.

'Err hello, am I going to have to wait here all day?'
'I'm sorry?'
'I've been looking at these lipsticks for ages and I want to buy this, get it.'
'What number is that please?'
'I don't know, that's your job.'

The lipstick is identified and taken to the till.

'Would you like to follow me to the till please?'
'Oh for gods sake! I'm in a hurry.'
'The till is just here madam.'
'Yes well, get a move on, I'm in  a hurry.'
'We won't keep you any longer than necessary madam.'

The lipstick is put through the till.

'Would you enter your pin number please madam?'
'All right, don't rush me!'

The item is bought.

'Would you like a bag with this?'
'Give it here! Oh, do you have any samples?'
'No, I am afraid not at the moment. Sorry, but you can have a spray of fragrance if you like.'
'What, no samples of anything?'
'No, sorry.'
'Right, so your telling me, I just paid twenty quid for that and you don't have any samples?'
No madam, I'm sorry, we haven't got anything in.'
None of those little travel sizes, no foundation?'
'Sorry no, we don't always get them and we do run out.'
'No, little mascara's for my hand bag?'
'I'm sorry, we haven't had those for ages.'
'Yeah, right. I bet you do.'
'We don't. I am terribly sorry, but you may have a top up of fragrance.'
'Yeah, like I am going to do that when it is free already.'
'Thank you madam.'

Madam strides over and squirts herself with fragrance.

The first customer of the day.

Tears and fears.

There have been a few tears this week, mostly hysterical tears of laughter amongst the troops. Waiting for a baby isn't only hard on the Mother you know, colleagues desperate to get the first look, whip themselves into quite a frenzy too. But this week, we have had no less than three emotional moments on the counter.
The first one we got by proxy, a lady on her way to a meeting had fallen over, up the steps to the store. Luckily, one of our crack team of store detectives, picked her up and brought her to us. We patched her up, but the shock was too much, in the face of our kindness, weeping ensued. You will be glad to know that we restored her dignity, mascara and confidence, sending her fragrant and beautiful back into the world like the little cosmetic angels we are.
Our second affair was strangely beautiful. Miss Pankhurst had shored up a bad tempered, soon to be bride, whose mother declared she no longer looked like a 'washed out dishcloth', leaving them both in tears. Personally, the beauty for me, was in the rebellion I saw in the daughters eyes. Whilst they bought everything, I don't believe the 'dishcloth' will be wearing it.
Finally, I was very disturbed when a lady trying on foundation, told me about an experience she had in another store. Apparently, she had nipped in to buy something for a friend. As she browsed, a tangerine dream , fluttering her falsie's popped up to inform her that,
'These aren't for you.'
Now, she was statuesque and by her own admission a little older than the brand was aimed at, but the humiliation showed itself in the tears that slid down her face. What is the world coming to when some snotty little teenager can humiliate a woman like that?
Surely, anyone can buy anything they want, whenever they want, especially when it's make up. Because after all, it's only bloody make up!
We swear by the god of cosmetics, that such a thing will never happen at our counter. Not while 'She Who Must be Obeyed' rules anyway

The Stork Come'th.

I think I've mentioned before, my love of Sunday trading. The short day, the relaxed atmosphere. But mostly, because the people I work with are a delight on Sunday. Not that the raucous weekdays are a chore, yet I think we smile more, when we get paid a full day for the inconvenience.
 Anyway, my regular and so far unmentioned, Sunday partner in crime, has left to bring forth a girl child. After spending the last couple of months resembling a snake that has swallowed a deer, (The lack of extra weight was quite annoying when compared with the, ' Ate the Pie Shop' look, I sport during breeding.) and with only a week to go, she has finally gone on maternity leave.With much sadness and a little relief on both sides, we bid her farewell.
The final month of any pregnancy is a hard going, but even more so, when your colleagues keep sticking things on your bump and calling it 'Sid'. Highly strung and excitable, we really worked ourselves into a frenzy, especially Miss Marple. Who, last week, threw a customers entire choice of purchases back at her, when our soon to be Mum squealed excitedly. As it turned out, she had found bin bags in the cupboard.
 Ah, the things that make you happy when you are pregnant!
So, whilst we mark the hours until the results of the 'Guess the Weight' sweep stake, texting her with alternative and deeply inappropriate names for her new arrival, we wish her well.
Good luck and our deepest love. X

You wouldn't believe.......

Days off are a struggle, my first instinct after taking the'Tiny Hands' to school is to creep back under the duvet, deliberately avoiding the washing, cleaning and the rest of the stuff, your average overworked 21st century gal tries to do. The last thing on my mind is work, however yesterday, as I sat down to my breakfast I received a text from work that made me miss my mouth with porridge. With a handful of hot oats, I learnt that our Hall of Plenty was a right old Sodom and Gomorrah.
Never mind perfume in your lady garden, apparently, somebody was escorted out of the place for indulging in a touch of the 'Colombian Marching Powder' in the toilets. Apart from the obvious, it is illegal and very bad for you.
What the hell!
The place is already like an episode of 'Are You Being Served' on Acid and that, is with out chemical enhancement. Unfortunately, it did not enhance the person in questions selling ability, had they opened a few store cards, I guess it would have been rehab rather than the dole today.
In the same day, the store discovered a wonderful website, (I will not be adding a link!) that declared our 'Hall of Plenty' and its toilets, as a rather swanky place to cottage. And, I do not mean pick out floral curtains for your little place in the country.
Call me naive, but is a shop that doesn't have blacked out windows and a licence to ''massage'' the place to pop in for an anonymous liaison, between the self service cafe and luggage?
 I don't think so.
Whatever next!

Broken toes and Spider Bites.

'She who must be Obeyed', had a week off. A week, that was all!
In a series of bizarre events, that do not include customers, Miss Marple retired from the cut and thrust of daily activity, with a spider bite that had gone septic and we managed to break Miss Pankhurst foot. We don't know how, but we did.
Those of us that survived last weeks retail carnage, will be wafting  figures about in an effort avoid explaining how we broke Miss Pankhurst and what exactly, we were doing with a bottle of alcohol and Miss Marple's tights on counter.
Here's hoping Miss Marple has super powers when she gets back, the ability to climb the walls will be very handy at Christmas!

Manner's Please!

It's official, a new report out has concluded that customers are 74% ruder than they were in the 1990's.
That leads me to wonder why, I still work in cosmetics, when there are jobs out there that require you to state the bloody obvious for a living. But it is reassuring to know that customer rudeness is now a statistical fact. Weighed and measured , you have been found wanting customers!
(Well, all accept our very nice, reasonable and extremely polite customers.)
However, the rest of you should pull your fingers out!
It doesn't hurt to say, please. It certainly never killed anyone to say, excuse me. It may have hurt that customers toe the other day, when she tried to force her way into the lift, before she allowed me out. (Cosmetics consultants have lead lined court shoes for just such occasions.) But on the whole, politeness never hurt anyone.
And it was a certain lack of manners over the telephone that lead to this subject. People call us on the phone all the time. Mostly it is people just trying to talk to someone, occasionally it is a lascivious consultant angling for an alibi, but a good percentage are just patience shredding, time wasters. So when a customer calls with more than just a random....,
'You know your pink nail polish, how pink is it?'
.........and actually wants to order. You would think that they would treat us with the same courtesy, as they would if they were in the store. Not so.
Apparently, we don't answer the phone quick enough. Apparently, it is alright to tut repeatedly at the consultant because they have to check if an item is actually in and apparently, it is alright to throw down the telephone when asked to wait for a second  .
Well, when we called the lady in question back, that shocked her, she didn't think we could do that.
So, if you think rude customers are the ones you see face to face, think again.

Waxing Lyrical.

It's not often we are helpless with laughter, but if you had been there when Miss Marple was explaining why she couldn't reach the bottom drawers, you would have been too.
Life for a woman is an endless series of scrubbing, plucking, tweaking, reining it in, tanning and moisturising. When Miss Marple went to tidy 'the garden' recently, she thought,
'No. To hell with Salon prices, I'll do it myself.'
Picture then, our heroine in her immaculate new bathroom and it's wonderful tiled floor, wax strips at the ready. After the first toe curling epilation, she had to put on her i pod to drown the noise of hair tearing from flesh. Now with sweaty palms, she continued. But the hair, it pulls back you know !
With shaky, wet hands she struggled with the hedge, till an ear phone fell out. Sticking it back in, she got wax in her ear, then hair stuck to the wax, then her fingers attached to that.  Head hair drama over, Miss Marple started again. This time, she ripped out an in growing hair that started to bleed. She tried to blot it with cotton wool, that got stuck to her hand, causing her to drop the used wax strip in the other. She trod on it.
Poor Miss Marple, slipped from her perch on the edge of the bath. To be discovered on the bathroom floor, bare arsed, a heap of hair, wax, bloody cotton wool, with a wax strip stuck to her foot, by her boyfriend who heard the thump. To add insult to injury, the wax proved to be quite stubborn, sticking some toilet roll to her foot as she tried to escape.
Beauty is a dangerous business, especially to ones dignity.
Apparently, he didn't laugh as much as we did.


                

A Small Malfunction.

Somebody finally snapped.
The endless months of flinching, watching people ramming fragrance bottles up their noses, in an effort to look sophisticated and knowledgeable. The grumbling, as we resentfully shimmy over and wipe the bottles clean of stray fluids, from up the nose of some idiot with attitude. The sighs, as we march away. Only to have the next pompous cash bearer, fumble with the easily sprayable, non lid wearing bottle. Covering their complete inadequacy by then resorting to, yeah, sticking it up their snot box.

'No, no, no, don't do that. That is revolting. What do you think those paper things are for? Sorry, sorry don't mumble. You can stick a bottle up your nose, but you can't answer a question? Yes, you had better put that down, mmmmm hmm the exit is there, thank you.'

Nameless, you are my hero!
But, there will be Prozac therapy, it is inevitable.

The September Issue.

It's September! Sep, bloody , tember!
On Friday, we had our first Christmas shopper. Causing 'She Who Must Be Obeyed' to develop her November eye twitch, for a second. Gasps of disbelief echoed across the Hall of Plenty and we, were ignored all afternoon, because one of our customers had dared to say it!!!!
We go through weeks, of listening to people banging on about how Christmas gets earlier and earlier each year. When actually, it doesn't. I don't know if anyone else has noticed, but it stays right there in December just after Halloween and Bonfire Night, where it always was.
Easter, on the other hand, roams all over the place.
But it is a ring of retail hell, you can never truly appreciate, until you have tried cramming your Christmas stock in any available orifice.
Now, we are doomed to watch the horizon, as 'She..' beats the drums of the slave ship faster. All because, one smug punter likes to tell the world, she has nothing better to do for the next 3 months.

A Poke in the Eye with a Sharp Stick, or 'I don't take kindly to abuse!'

Okay then, for the Cliff Richards' fan who stumbled across this blog, then abused both my grammar and myself, what I actually meant was a flippant, topical, joke.
No, I did not mean to be cruel, although I can and most certainly will be in the next couple of lines.
Possibly the thing to have written was, 'high maintenance ' in reference to Cliff and that photo. You see being a grown up, I can spot blusher and spanx, both of which he is wearing in the said picture.
I understand he is a hero to many, I also understand he has a very good sense of humour too, so I guess he probably won't be as offended as you were about my comment.
As for me dying a horrible death, Cliff is a christian and would most likely forgive me, or turn a tightened, highlighted and well groomed, geriatric cheek. So as a fan, I would advise you emulate your hero and rise above such earthly concerns as my 'grubby blog' and 'badly written nonsense'.
Now here is a metaphorical and fairly typical, 'poke in the eye with a sharpened stick', comment from me.
'You sat and read it!'

The Nail Polish Saga.

You know how, 40 is the new 21 and because of Cliff Richards' hideously touched up picture, 70 looks dreadful. Well, nail polish is the new must have. Having spent the last six months saying,
'No, I'm sorry , it sold out before it came in.'
Can you imagine actually, having to say that to some of the women that 'NEED', this seasons must have colour. It's like waving a baby under a Pit Bull's nose.
One Christmas, our company launched  a nail polish that sold out worldwide within twenty four hours.We spent weeks getting poked, shouted at, cried at (and that was just the boyfriends in fear of their lives.) pleaded with, all to no avail. There was no more. So shot were our nerves, we bundled Miss Marple to the ground, tied her up with ribbon and with a ransom note clutched in her paws , shoved her in a cupboard and took photos. Then sent them in our annual Christmas card to Mount Olympus (Head office.) and to Zeus himself, just to prove what kind of stress we were under.
It's not easy in retail!

Miss White and the Birthday Biscuit.

 When working with other women, there are always conversations you are duty bound to have.
Shoes, well yeah! Hair, children, sex, all a given.  Johnny Depp, what exactly does he have that makes him so damn sexy as a pirate? Arm pit cleavage and would you kiss Angelina Jolie if you had too? Those are just the everyday conversations.
One random day about a year ago, whilst considering the Passion of the Christ and precisely how mad is Mel Gibson, Miss White posed a knotty problem.
Would you go back to Vanilla pods, if you had made custard with Cardamons?
This lead to a whole day of Cardamon substituted ideas for cooking, none of which we would follow through, but they were good whilst we suggested them.
Imagine my surprise then, struggling with my  store cupboards as I made some biscuits for the family, I accidentally created a taste sensation with Cardamon.  I decided to take some of  them in for the girls to try. Named in honour of Miss White, these went down a treat, only, she wasn't in work. So I had to promise to make her some for her birthday the next week.
With the mixture all prepared the night before, I was not aware of the Tiny Hands and He Who Pays the Mortgage, pilfering of the white chocolate chunks in my biscuit dough and what was supposed to be a great birthday gift, turned out to be an average biscuit.
This year, under tight security I created an enormous batch of biscuits, several plates full in fact, to throw the Tribe of the scent. After smuggling them out of the house and past security into the Hall of Plenty, Miss White finally got the taste she was waiting for. However getting caught with a mouthful of biscuit, making noises like Meg Ryan, meant we had to bribe the Floor Manager with the bloody things.
Next year, she is getting a candle.

Silly Questions.

'I know this is probably a silly question..... but do you have a lipgloss that is not too sticky and isn't too shinny?'
2.35pm Wednesday.
And everyone wonders why I think the exams are getting easier.

'Slipper Mouth.'

In the Hall of Plenty , it's not just the customers who can say the wrong thing.
No, it is not.
We have a wonderful member of staff, that can not only say the wrong thing , but keep on saying it. The most well intentioned clangers fall from her innocent lips and when her brain catches up, it just gets worse.
For instance, when a customer complained about us not having her foundation in stock and insisted on seeing someone higher up. Along came Slipper Mouth and innocently replied to the woman's desperate, heartfelt cries of,
'Do you even know what it is like to not have your makeup and be forced to go outside without foundation?'
With,
'No madam, I'm not that vain, but I can make sure they call you when it does come in.'
The woman stomped off dragging her red faced husband behind her leaving Slipper Mouth gasping,
'How rude, do you think it was something we said?'
Being a particular favourite of some of the older customers, then brings pitfalls in itself. Especially, when she saw the wife of an elderly couple she had known for years. Thinking the husband was simply taking his time, she bounded over and bawled,
'Come on where is he then? Taking his time isn't he?'
The lady's daughter explained,
'I'm afraid my father has died.'
'Oh err, well it's nice to see you out then.' She replied. Feeling some what awkward, when she later saw them buying shoes she decided to rectify her mistake and said,
'Oh, that will cheer you up.'
'Cheer her up?' asked the daughter.
'Yes? Buying shoes always cheers me up. Wearing them somewhere nice are we?'
'They are for the funeral ' said her daughter through gritted teeth.
'Great,' Slipper Mouth said without meaning too, but her mouth got the better of her. 'You...always ....need ...a....pair of black shoes for a funeral........I guess. Bye.'
And she ran

So why do we call her Slipper Mouth? Possibly, because she spends so much time with her foot in her mouth, she should wear slippers to stop her toes shrinking!

Just for fun.

On your right there is a poll , it's just for fun. Let's see what we do and don't know about slap!

Just for the Record.

Nobody, no company , no independent brand, no one, would ever make the fragrance in a tester stronger than the fragrance in a bottle, just to get customers to buy it.
Is there some bizarre conspiracy theory floating about the world, along with J.F.K,  Diana  and U.F.O's?
Because frankly, I will throw a well worn court shoe at the next smart arsed customer who spouts this particular bit of lateral thinking at me.
I'm so glad that the lady who set me off , considers herself savvy enough not to be drawn in by the big companies and 'knows' what we are like.
Obviously, she is as UNAWARE of the laws that govern sales, as she is of her dreadful roots and badly dried out large feet , nestled in the manky sandals that all people who think they are ''different'' wear!!!
What I really wanted to say was, (Forgive me here.)
'Don't be stupid you gullible old fool. We would be ruined by the consumer scandal. What idiot told you that!'
But I didn't, however I do believe I feel better now.

In search of Billy Liar!

I'm fascinated by liars.
 You would think that our profession is top of the pile for out and out whopper mongers, but in sales it doesn't pay to tell an untruth. There is that pesky thing called false advertising, so you can't just say,
'Yes madam, the gilding off this Fairy wing we have specifically packaged in magic pumpkin gloop , will make you twenty years younger, stop you from ever ageing and give you impeccable taste in all things.'
It is not true and we would get sued.
So, if everyone is so aware of that, then why do people talk such steaming great piles of pooh when they are not selling.
Sat amongst the troops in the staff restaurant the other day, I heard such a load of high opinionated codswallop I was stunned. Many years ago before the Tiny Hands made an appearance and I worked the tut full time, I thought I met the ultimate liar of liar's
On Fantasy Island, she had a twin sister, that had died from a failed kidney transplant. Guess who provided the kidney, yes that match of D.N.A matches our Walter Mitty, herself. When she bent over and exposed her entire scar free torso, I asked casually,
'How long was the operation?'
Hours apparently! Over the months I knew her, the adventures on Fantasy Island became more impossible than ever. It was when I found out years later that she cared for elderly parents, that things added up and my fascination began.
Billy Liar, Walter Mitty, all of these fictional (snort ! laugh at the irony!!) characters touch on that subject with fondness and indulgence. But you know, in the opinion of the hard headed realist's I work with now, it is possibly a very dangerous path to follow.
In fact, one that we might be trading on. If people are fantasists, then are they simply buying things to aid that lie? Judging by some of the stuff I've heard recently, on Fantasy Island there are cupboards full of cosmetics that can reshape your life, tone your attitude and matify your outlook. False eyelashes , flutter over false lives.
I've always found, five minutes in the Hall of Plenty more exciting than anything I could make up.
Maybe I have a limited imagination!

Around and about the Hall of Plenty.

As it is summer and the punters become a bit thin on the ground during the summer break, it is time for us to explore the wilds of the Hall of Plenty. Like the great plains of Africa, there are strange and colourful beasts that populate the many corners of our own savannah.
In the centre of the floor, the designer water holes filled by the preening cranes. Immaculately turned out in plumage, specifically set down in the grooming guidelines, ( In fact if those things get any stricter non coordinating underwear will be a sack-able offence.) wafting the air with gentle squirts of exotic fragrance and tantalising the tourists with exquisite eye makeup.
To the North, lie the steamy rain forests of the independent make up brand. Tribal music booms across the counter as these spectacular individuals show off their tans and tattoos with scantily clad gusto, saving their piercings and modesty under opaque tights.
West of the water holes, lie an organic region whose demure consultants are as easily seen as a bush baby on a dark night. Often shifting with the sped of a sloth when confronted with a customer complaint.
Too the south, we find the shifting marsh lands whose inhabitants lie in wait ready to snap.Eyes peeping just below the surface of the water, these predators wait with great patience until the herds of roaming shoppers pass, reaching greedily out of the water, they swallow them whole opening account cards as they go.
Across the floor, prides of skincare lionesses mingle freely with the other big cats, bringing down shoppers swiftly whenever they see the sick or old straggling along at the back of the pack.
And on the odd occaision, the Overseer will bring a truck full of management tourist on a sight seeing jaunt across the floor. Gaily they snap away , very pleased with themselves and the wildlife, never noticing the eyes that are sizing them up. We could eat them whole, including their company cars, given half a chance.
Quick call David Attenborough!

Freak O' Clock.

There is a day of the week and an hour during that day, which we have named 'Freak O'Clock. It is truly bizarre. All the badly put together outfits, avant-garde individuals and really strange folk come together at a cross roads in the Hall of Plenty. All we can do is hold on to the fixtures and fittings and look frightened.
Last week, one lady taking inspiration from the current retrospective flora edition of an Armitage shanks toilet, collided with a man in a full Samurai outfit, whilst a whole gaggle of what may have been Cheerleaders shimmed past.
It doesn't happen any other day.

Discretion required.

Now here's a thing, we have a book we write stuff down in. Just for each other, you know day to day comments, things we need to save for customers, reminders to each other to fill in holiday forms and viciously worded messages from 'She who must be Obeyed' about not lending out the tippex.
Sometimes it gets a bit heated in there, sometimes a bit rude. On occasion we have had to rip out pages of open warfare, in foul mouthed four letter rantings that have gone on for almost a week with everyone getting involved in different coloured pens. Oh yes we have!
Last week I inadvertently left it open on a particularly colourful page, (I won't say what was written, but somebody had admitted to a lewd act of debauchery that her nylon underwear could only have inhibited at the time, in response to an interestingly worded query.) and a customers husband read it. From the grin on his face and the slightly raised eyebrow, I can only assume it was taken in the spirit it was meant, because he hasn't been back.
More discretion required I think!

Bad Service ? Maybe you have Bad Manners!

It is not well known, but I am a great fan of Radio 2. So this afternoon, as I took some of the 'Tiny Hands' used books to a local charity shop, I inevitably tuned in and was appalled to listen to a whinge-y phone in. Some bird from the Daily Telegraph was banging on about bad service in shops and restaurants. And the floodgates opened with a load of 'Oooh , Oooh I once had bad service' stories.
It wasn't that I was shocked by the stories, let's face it who hasn't had to interrupt staff. It was just that nobody pointed out many of the reasons for bad service, are the attitude of the customers. When somebody with a Smacked-arse face comes and demands you dance like a monkey for them, you can bet they are not going to get a smile as they leave.
Honestly, not one of these ''callers'' took responsibility for their own actions. Now, with my great experience in the field, I can safely say that the Great British public are masters of self delusion.
For instance, red headed women who dye themselves tangerine thinking they look like they have a Hollywood glow. Deluded! ReadyBrek not Hollywood is the overall effect when even your eyebrows are orange.
Old men that wear jeans and dye their hair that weird purple-red in an  effort to stay young. Deluded! We can see your roots and your jeans should be lower. Sockage and plugs is just nasty.
Thinking that we are not going to notice your prolific and lengthy nasal hair.
 Absolutely Deluded! I have eyes like a shit house rat, I notice these things.

And their conclusions on this ground breaking subject? Apparently, we are just not that good at complaining!

Really? I mean, REALLY?

Given that I have managed to keep a blog going for almost 6 months on that very subject, I beg (Let it be known, I never actually beg.) to differ.

You can bet your sweet ass we can complain, and moan, and stand there gormlessly flailing a product at staff that are busy. And, poke people as they are applying mascara to a customer and, my particular favourite, come to the counter complain about something then not actually say what it is they are complaining about. For all I know it could be shoes, the weather, something blocking up your bowels or cheese. If you don't give me a clue, I can't help you.

And here's my point. (It's all right, not long now.) What we are not good at in this country, is constructive complaints where you state your issue including appropriate proof, we deal with it to the best of our ability.Or even tell you how and you do it.
 No, what people actually want is a big bag of free goodies and a snivelling apology that completely out weighs the original problem.
Well it's not going to happen!
Oh, and for the people that come to our Hall of Plenty and say with a cheeky wink,
'What are you going to give me for free, if I buy this?'
NOTHING!!!!! You want it, I don't ! It won't be going off anytime soon and I wasn't forcing you to buy it.

So Britain, think twice. If you are receiving bad service, ask yourself this. Is that poorly paid, put upon staff member actually having an attitude with me? Or, am I just an impatient, bad mannered, spoilt brat that can't wait in line for more than two seconds without throwing a strop because I'm ever so terribly important?
Enough said.

Doh!

Call me old fashioned, but I thought that people were taught to think before they speak. I do, so do the rest of my colleagues, because if we didn't, we would get fired. However it would seem that perfectly rational human beings, that are allowed out without supervision and have competent motor skills, don't have to.
Just today, a lady didn't think about interrupting a make up to ask her very important question.
'Oi you, have you got any of that nail polish?'
When she was ignored, because as far as we know there is nobody with the first name 'Oi' or the surname 'You'  working on our counter, she decided to carry on regardless. Giving it no thought at all, she shouted,
'I said, have you got any of that nail polish in.'
Had she even added thought to observation, she would have noticed if we did. Our counter is not like an episode of Bulls Eye, there is no 'here's what you could have won', we do not leave things out if  they are not in stock.
So when I said, 'What nail polish?' and received the reply, ' You know, that new one everyone is wearing.'
I think I was justified in saying, and it took only a seconds thought,  'Do  I look psychic?'
'No.'
'Can you see it?'
'No.'
'Then we don't have it, do we?'

Tugging at the Tigers Tail!

Someone once told me, when you have a tiger by the tail, don't keep tugging. Put it down and back away slowly. There has been a situation brewing on our counter for sometime now,concerning one of our many 'friends', or as we know them, stalkers. Yes, we do actually have them. You wouldn't think so, as none of us are actually famous but we do.
 For instance, I have my nemesis the sample hunting, Helmet Head. Miss Pankhurst has the Artful Dodger, a well known local ne'r do well with a drippy nose and a tendency to spit as he speaks. 'She who must be Obeyed' has a number of 'fans' who stop by. Tanya/Stan we are not sure, but he/she wears mini skirts and spits as well. Grubby Hairdresser man, never buys aftershave, but uses heaps of ours. Serious Rasta, he knows more about our products than we do. He never feels he can just stop by for a chat as weirdly, 'time is money' so he always asks about the ingredients in everything. Strange Dumpy woman, this one sprays her elbows with perfume for about ten minutes and the Fruit Man who has problems with his feet.
Amongst this social whirl emerges, probably our scariest 'friend', The Cook. After initially seeming like a nice old lady, she started bombarding Miss Marple with requests, livid green celebration cakes and other confectionery, baked by her. Now, as an expert conspiracy theorist and a friend to the extended train of thought, Miss Marple was deeply suspicious of these treats. Whilst remaining gracious in the face of this cake based worship, she always remembered that even Snow White was caught out by an old lady bearing gifts. So when The Cook started demanding things like, a Taxi ordering service and help carrying her many purchases, she knew it would end in tears.
Attempting to disassociate herself from The Cook, she was caught out a few times. The Cook called the Hall of Plenty to find out when she was working. Insisted that Miss Marple bring lipsticks for her to view whilst she was on a different floor having her hair done and even demanded that she look about the store for various items of clothing The Cook needed.
So our little Tiger began to feel liberties were being taken with her tail. When The Cook called us recently for a little chat with Miss Marple, the look on her face said it all. Apparently The Cook had lost a bag of purchases, luckily they were insured on the credit card, but she needed someone to say they had seen her with the bag in our Hall of Plenty. Miss Marple declined, The Cook insisted. (Tug) Miss Marple excused herself, the Cook got drunk and called back.(Tug) Miss Marple explained that would be fraud. The Cook got angry and slammed down the phone. (Tug)   The Cook phoned back and wheedled. (Tuggity -Tug) Miss Marple declined and put their association into perspective for The Cook. Thinking this the end of the matter Miss Marple moved on.
A week later 'She who must be Obeyed' received a rambling rant from the Cook about Miss Marple. Assuming the sozzled old gin sack had finished assaulting our counter with pastries we all relaxed. But No! Determined to have the last word in she came when Miss Marple was alone, ten minutes before the close of the Hall of Plenty, demanded Miss Marple fetch her a seat.(Tug) Sat silently staring at her for five minutes, (Tug) then insisted she look after her umbrella whilst the Cook explored the store. (Tug)
Always polite Miss Marple refused, so when The Cook simply abandoned her umbrella on the counter, Miss Marple sellotaped it together and stuck to the front of the till, called security and left them to deal with the matter.
Hear her Roar, old woman!
We haven't seen The Cook since.

One more time!

Some days in the Hall of Plenty are like Groundhog Day;

'No, we don't do that anymore.'
'I realise it was your favourite colour.'
'No we don't make anything exactly the same.'
'This is a similar shade and would be really nice....,oh you want exactly the same?'
'Well, yes I realise you loved it but fashion changes and this would be similar....'
'No, I am not just trying to sell you anything....'
'Well I guess if you mix these two together then it would be....no, I am not trying to rip you off.'
'I know but we don't do it anymore.'
'No, I cannot tell them where they make it, that they shouldn't change the colours.'
'No we wouldn't have it in another store because we don't do it anymore.'
'Yes, I'm sorry too.'
'No we didn't do that just to upset you.'
'I don't think it is my personal responsibility to make sure we stock every lipstick we have ever made.'
'No I didn't do it on purpose because I sell them , yes if it was up to me I would too.'
'Yes it came as a surprise to me as well that we do not stock that colour any more.'
'I know, yes they do it all they time.'
'Yes ,of course they are going to hell.'
'And you have had that particular colour..... for the last ten years. Yes, I see your problem.'
'No we don't have any samples, but I could try this on you....'
'Yes of course I understand , you don't have the time.'

For Louisa.

Louisa, it is not her name but it's as good as any.
Louisa is a doctor, an educated woman, a mother, a twenty first century girl. Louisa met Tom at University. They had a lot in common, sense of humour, good looking, the power couple. When they graduated he went into I.T., she into medicine and eventually they married. Two children later, Tom decided to work at home. It made financial sense, she was the major bread winner and the children would benefit from more time with them.
One afternoon the school called Louisa, Tom hadn't picked up the children. Nobody could get him on the phone. Louisa worried. Picking up the children, she rushed to their dream home to find Tom had taken his own life.
No letter, no reasons why. She could have understood if there was an affair, or if he had started gambling. But there was nothing.
Yesterday, Louisa sent a letter complimenting the counter, thanking the girls and I for our kindness, our manners and our service.
 Today I send this message. Thank You, for your courage, grace and strength. For taking the time to do that when you have so much else on your plate.
Sometimes, the little things, do, matter.

The Grand Announcment.

When you hear the sound of cheering at the morning meeting on other floors, you just know it is going to be bad. However recently The Overseer himself, left his lofty perch and came amongst us with a great announcement, something that had raised a mighty cheer of ecstasy in menswear.
Because of the football we were to close an hour earlier.
If only I had a camera!
His munificent smile was met with blank stares and the swish of the occasional false eyelash as we tried to process this information in our perfume addled brains. With the uncomfortable scrape of the odd stiletto filling the void, we watched as his jaunty smile slid slowly off his face to lie quivering under the nearest counter until, someone in the highly fragranced  gathering  finally got it and said,
'Ooooh time off!'
Suspicious rustling of nylon followed. With an awkward , 'Yeay.' we returned to our various stations mildly puzzled.
Don't get me wrong, there are a few football fans amongst the Hall of Plenty, but so far we have been more concerned with the various cake based souvenirs than the game itself, which has turned out to be more of an anticlimax than vibrating mascaras.
So yeah, England!
 Good luck and play well, more time off means another opportunity to strut our fake tans, eat more cake and watch the Overseer struggle against a tide of deeply uninterested consultants.

Samples with a Twist.

Just when I thought life couldn't get anymore interesting, this week has proved me wrong.
 Lily bugs have invaded our lovely memorial lilies in the garden. At first 'man child' was delighted by the bright red bugs that were shagging on the family tribute to our favourite hamster, now deceased. When he discovered via the RHS website that these jewel like nympho-manics, actually gave birth to creatures that dwell within their own feaces, we had to set up Bug Watch!
Yes, 'He who pays the Mortgage' and I have spent hours ''humanely'' removing the scarlet sex fiends in jars and wiping away the small pooh nymphs, anxiously watched by our own David Attenborough.
(Should I discover in years to come, my son attached to a tree, in hessian sandals I will not be shocked.)
After that, I thought work would be a doddle.
 Unfortunately not, like the Lily bug we have witnessed the return of the Greater Stalking Sample Hunter. A most determined couple of characters, that we thought we had seen the back of.
One of them with doll like curls and timid manner, draws you in. Simpering away and full of  family sob stories, she buys things only to return them next day to another member of staff. The really clever thing is how she tries to work everyone off each other, to get her money back and a bag full of apology samples. Unhappily for her she wore out 'She who must be Obeyed's' patience and was ''discouraged to avail herself our services'' sometime last summer.
The other, is my own personal Nemesis. Wrapped in her beige mac, with a hairdo you could bounce rocks off, she stalks the Hall of Plenty interrupting make ups and consultations, demanding samples. Once, when I refused her, she went to the sample drawer and opened it. Between her hand in the drawer and my knee jamming it shut, I did think she had got the message.
Imagine my surprise, to spot her scurrying our way through the Hall of Plenty, especially given the long and dynamic history of our acquaintance. A simple change of hairstyle is enough to lure this woman to you, in the hope that you are new and don't know her. Like a moth to the flame she came.
And this time it was special!
Apparently, we don't like her on this counter and we are rude to her. We never let her try any of our samples even though she buys loads of things from our company. So when I said, 'No I'm sorry we don't have any samples for you.' She freaked out, I was rude, everybody on the counter was rude, she didn't even know why she shopped at this Hall of Plenty.
It has become apparent to us, that these two are the operatives of some geriatric Fagin. A criminal mastermind, who runs a team of old women sample hunters from the run down premises of a former hair dressers. Living off the profits of eBay sales, by photographing the samples too close up and selling them as full size. Whilst he indulges his passion for back combing and tonged curls upon them, under the influence of a very serious hairspray addiction.
What other explanation could there be!

On not having Air Con!

When you wear nylon on your lower arrangements, it pays to have air cooling device available  in your working environment.
Having children that know about global warming and the impact Air Con has on the world, only serves to create tension at home.
So, with a gusset the temperature of a small tropical island and a headache from the arguments with my politically correct minors, I have learnt a valuable lesson.
Colleagues are the right people to moan with about work related issues !

Approachability

The Gods see fit every year, to haul us out of the Hall of Plenty for some training, ego massaging and a Cosmetics based treat. Ours is always fun, if not slightly hypnotic and there is, as ever, something to be learnt.
This year it was Approachability. We are in a recession , so being approachable has never been more important.
After lots of interesting fun and games, some news and a good lunch, we all returned to the Hall of Plenty fired up with brand enthusiasm and determined to be approachable.
Yes, determination combined with approachability.
'She who must be obeyed', led her troops in a soul destroying series of events, that left us an empty desert island amongst the sea of customers in the Hall of Plenty
Popping up enthusiastically and offering a deaf old lady a tissue, is actually guaranteed to make her scream with shock and be taken away with a suspected heart attack. Not endear her to you.
Creeping up to women browsing the makeup bar, like the Child Catcher in Chitty-Chitty Bang Bang with shinny lip gloss in hand , only makes them flee else where.
Saying you admire someones coat, jewellery or outfit,  makes them suspicious and then leave slowly, so you won't just randomly talk to them as they go.
And when a regular customer says,
'Okay, you lot can stop smiling now, its actually very disturbing.'
One can only assume our natural, slightly grumpy, irreverant humoured approach is the way to go.
Let them try to rebrand that!

Lamb Chops.

Ah, Mutton Season.
The sun has emerged bringing with it that rarest of customers, Mutton and not just the desperate divorcee in her teenage daughters clothes. We are talking hard core, sinewy Mutton, the aged gold digger gone to seed.
 Stick thin pensioner's that force new hips into skinny jeans, teetering carefully on expensive designer platforms, false nails clattering in delight at the Cruise wear Corals arrayed across the counters.Fluttering ancient blue lids at the almost dead Sugar Daddy, to obtain the latest trendy lipstick they smear haphazardly across augmented lips.
False breasts strain against delicate grey skin, like bowling balls in 10 denier tights, as they peruse the skincare, hoping that cellulite creams will support the flappy buttocks years of dedicated anorexia has left.
With carefully constructed hair, they totter from counter to counter catching up with the latest trends, veneers glinting in the store lights, manipulated snouts sniffing out the most extreme , most expensive items, dead Daddy can buy.
These women will grip on to youth harder than Ranulph Fiennes in crampons.
A secret pleasure for us is to bleat as they pass by, alerting our colleagues to whip out the most expensive or garish of items at the Fountain of Youth in the Hall of Plenty.

Limited Edition.

Miss White has a message she would like the world to share.
The phrase Limited Edition, means just that.
Apparently, she does not have a spare 'whatever it is', under the counter, in a drawer or clutched between nylon clad buttocks just waiting for you.
Pulling out your bottom lip, batting your eyelashes or telling her, your wife will never forgive you, will not work because it is gone. No more.

Limited - restricted, confined, without scope; narrow.
Edition - form in which something is published.

Limited Edition, restricted amount of product.

It is not difficult, when it is gone, it is really gone. So having said that, why are we always hearing the same things?

'Oh , but I really liked it. It was a lovely , pinky, reddy orange and it really made my lips look nice. It was about three years ago. Are you sure you don't do it anymore?'

'I'm sorry, but you know that Limited Edition that was out this Christmas, have you  still got any?'

'So does that mean you don't have anymore?'

'Are you sure you're not getting anymore in?'

'Oh, does that mean they will never, ever make it again?'

Yes it does. They will never, ever, ever make it again, nor do we have something that looks just like it, now go away stupid!

The Rottweiler.

Whilst discussing the last post, Miss Marple reminded us of 4 glorious weeks one Christmas, when we were blessed with the temporary presence of 'The Rottweiler.'
Just to prove that not everyone is suited to life in Retail, we shall take a trip down memory lane.
A few years ago, a Christmas temp came to work with us. A Solicitor in the making, she was pleasant company and a very efficient temp, willing to jump through all the hoops needed to work with the public, except when roused.
Without explaining every situation, as they are to complex and lengthy, here are some of her best quotes.

'Do I look like your f******g psychiatrist, I'm not here to chat. Buy something or go.'
'If you poke me again I will break your finger, madam.'
'Forget it , shall I do us both a favour and get the manager so you can complain about me and I can get you banned?'
'So, you used all the lipstick and then you brought it back because it didn't last long enough? Does this sound as stupid to you, as it did to me, when you said it?'
'Sorry you want to return that present, because? ........ Oh yeah you're ungrateful, no I get it! Fine.'
'What, you think I am intimidated because you can read my name badge, get out!'
'Please, you say please when you ask for something.'

Sadly, she was asked to leave when she told a customer in a fur coat  it was disgusting. We remember her fondly and like to imagine her eating murder's and rapists  for breakfast.

Serious Thoughts.

It has always been my intention to write a blog that is a light hearted look at life on a Beauty Counter from the Consultants point of view, but with the very sad recent events in Manchester, the mood has turned sombre in the Hall of Plenty.
When not serving our customers, talk has turned to the subject of how vulnerable we in the service industry are. It is well documented that nurses, firemen, police are often attacked when performing their duty, however less well reported are the abuses upon those of us who pedal our wares to the public.
 To many this is irrelevant, we are the face of big brands, not public servants dedicated to saving lives. Yet in the last 10 years alone, three shop workers have been murdered on the shop floor. In comparison to national statistics this is not a huge amount when you look at the numbers of people killed crossing the road, but for those of us that work in retail it is three too many.
Often unreported are the small attacks, the verbal, the physical and the mental. In 2010 we face a more and more the aggressive customer who feels it is their right to get what they want in spite of the consequences.
'She who must be Obeyed' experienced just that on Thursday night.
Whilst serving one customer, another arrived. Rather than wait till the first customer was finished the newcomer stomped to another counter and demanded someone serve her with our products. The unfortunate consultant explained that she was not familiar with our product but she would do her best. This was received with a volley of foul mouthed insults best suited to a touretts suffering, professional swear word creator for the Oxford English Dictionary.
 'She who must be Obeyed'  was lucky enough to have completed her sale and meet the pair heading back to our counter. After five minutes of abuse, the woman actually ordered what she wanted insisting she be served. She did not let up through out the entire time.
Approached by our valiant floor manager, the customer was informed that we did not have to serve her at all and that swearing was not the ideal way to receive first class service. Apparently the customer didn't care and left with her items in a cloud of abuse.
This is just one story amongst the hundreds we have to deal with day in day out and it is getting more frequent.
 One theory is that consumer programmes give people a false sense of their own rights, not the ones where someone is clearly being ripped off or abused, but the ones that say, 'You can bargain over the price.'
Because you see, white goods do have a negotiable profit margin but mascara doesn't.
Another theory is that the 'Gimme more' type customer is not used to hearing , no.
On our counter, we have decided that some people are just rude.
However, until the industry itself recognises that  it's representatives are not consumer punching bags to be undermined as soon as a customer shouts loud enough, I fear we will always be abused in some way.

Fun and games at the Hall of Plenty.

Since the Scandal that rocked the Hall of Plenty, security have been almost demonic about, well, security.
So when one of them spotted some peculiar behaviour a couple of weeks ago, they began stalking people around our skincare.
Apparently there is a new scam in town. Walk up to a counter, refuse help by saying your just browsing and then scrape out the entire contents of a jar of moisturiser into your hand and walk away.
Like it is worth the hassle!
Anyway, yesterday after a lengthy sting operation that included several  plain clothes security guards , who were putting customers off by lurking in an apparently 'casual manner.' There was nothing casual about it in our opinion. Mrs X arrives and is there a single security guard to be found? No!
So Miss Pankhurst takes matters into her own hands. Just as the entire contents of anti wrinkle cream is removed, Miss Pankhurst offers Mrs X a tissue.
I cannot truly describe everything that happened, but she decided to pursue the woman about the shop floor asking her loudly, if she would like to buy what she had in her hand. Offering to gift wrap it in the jar it came in and if she didn't then she could wipe her hands on these tissues.
It is a large Hall of Plenty and took quite awhile for Mrs X to get through it.
Miss Pankhurst was victorious. I don't think Mrs X will be coming back. We managed to get most of the cream out of Miss Pankhurst hair before she left and apparently there is some very good footage on the security cameras!

Take the mint!

The Overseer has finally appointed a new Guardian of the Shop Floor in the Hall of Plenty. With a grin like Gordon Brown he sailed through the counters introducing his new protegee. Poor thing, there is a sweep stake on how long it will take to get tears from her. I hope she holds out, I've got her at two months.

Meanwhile, we have been surprised again by just how revolting our customers can be.
 Miss Pankhurst our politically aware consultant, was horrified to approach a customer browsing at the makeup only to be handed her false teeth in a plastic bag. The woman demanded Miss Pankhurst put them into her handbag for her because, she had been to the dentist and was too woozy to do it herself. How she managed to get across the main road  into our store and what she was doing with a full set of teeth in her head already , nobody knows.
 She Who Must be Obeyed declared it to be 'One of those days' and by lunch time she was right.
Countless people, despite the obvious 'none smell' of the actual bottle and the bloody obvious paper tester strips in front , are still stuffing the fragrance bottles up their noses.
Given the who -ha people make over hygiene, why do women still try on lipsticks straight from the counter?  We might clean them, but if we offer you the opportunity to try it with a brush and a new one from out of the drawer, surely you would take it instead of saying 'no' then sticking it on anyway. You wouldn't go and lick a MRSA patients wounds, just because you can't see the last person who did that doesn't mean they did not have Herpes!
The lady who farted in a Carol Thatcher moment whilst discussing foundations with Miss Marple, need never come back either.
And take note , it is only polite to take the mint offered to you by the nice Make up lady, she has her reasons.

Why don't I look like her?

Yesterday somebody asked me an interesting question,
Why don't I look like her?
She was speaking of the model on one of our adverts. Now I don't know why she didn't genetics, location, colouring all of these could have been a factor, but then a woman browsing amongst our lipsticks said,
'Look, even she doesn't look like that in real life.'
And it's true, non of them really look that way.
Fact, lots of publicity pictures are done on their back so everything hangs the right way.
Another fact, inner beauty, bollocks! The models are chosen for their look and their ability to be a good canvas to present an image, image not reality.
Fact, it takes at least four people and a good couple of hours to do that.
Super Fact, I have seen prettier women walking down the street everyday.
Super duper fact, just because you photograph well doesn't mean you are bright, happy, really that thin.

We should stop comparing and start putting make up in it's place. It is there to make you look the best you, you can be. And if that means tangerine with fake eye lashes, fine. If it means simply using skin care and never, ever using any of that crap that Satan's Nylon Devils shove at you, fine! Let's not treat it as a crime not to be perfect, because the fact is non of us are and it is okay. We can enhance what we have, deal with what we don't like or cover it up and not worry.

To groom or not to groom, that is the question. whether it is nobler to grow out the armpit hair, or take up the epilator against the tide of the natural beauty and by grooming end it. To wax , to dye, to tan no more.....

Miss Pankhurst pointed out, Egypt would look a lot different if the Pharaohs were spotty, air brushing is not a modern phenomenon nor is idealism.

Rushing naked into a bears den!

Now, I don't know about you but I thought in 2010 we were grown up and sophisticated, savvy, astute humans who would avoid the arse-achingly obvious, stupid remark. But I was WRONG.
During a bout of extreme make up, one late April afternoon ( last week). Miss Marple approached a lovely woman at the fragrance bar. Assured that she could browse in peace, the woman explained she was waiting for her husband to arrive so she could buy her favourite fragrance. Miss Marple left her to browse away and we merrily carried on making up our ladies.
When the gentleman in question did arrive, he waved Miss Marple over and the following conversation was had,
Miss Marple, 'Ah hello sir, so what can we do for you?'
Sir, 'What can you do for me? What can you do with that.' He pointed, AT HIS WIFE!
Brushes clattered to the floor, women in all states of repair gasped and the poor lady blushed.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Miss Marple gave the situation some thought. This was highlighted by Miss White ducking behind the counter and removing the ribbon scissors from her reach.
Miss Marple replied, 'Well sir, there doesn't appear to be much we can do for that as she appears pretty perfect to me, but you on the other hand..... (women in their seats leaned forward) .... we can take you over there and bang your head repeatedly in a drawer until you don't say things like that again.'
Sir blushed. 'I'm sorry,'he mumbled to Miss Marple. She pointed to his wife.
(The woman on the other side of the make up table stood for a better look, despite having only one eyebrow penciled on.)
'I'm sorry,' he said to his hugely embarrassed wife.
Miss Marple, 'Right, so how much are you going to spend to make that up then?'
'Err I suppose I'd better get the big one.'
And he did.
Then next hour after they left, was one of unbridled feminism and our conclusion was, never in the history of the Hall of Plenty has any man, ever said anything as stupid as that. As Miss White astutely said, it was like covering yourself in honey and rushing naked in to a bears den.

Deeply Unpleasant!

I love working on Sundays.The 'tiny hands' get a chance to bond with 'he who pays the mortgage'. We have dinner with my parents and the Sunday Crew in the Hall of Plenty are always relaxed. So when something deeply unpleasant happens, we all get a bit miffed.
Late afternoon and a couple turn up on a counter, not saying which, but it was not ours.They wish to return products bought from the company the counter represents, however they have no receipt, the products are not in the right boxes and whilst saying they were a present they insist they were from our particular Hall of Plenty.
It has happened to us all, but what made this so odious, yes ODIOUS was that in an effort to get what they wanted, they reduced a Cosmetics Consultant to tears. Bad move! Whilst more laid back on Sundays, we are no pushovers.
Unfortunately, the nasty little man who insisted he knew someone, who was someone high up, in something to do with our Hall of Plenty, got his knickers in a bit of a twist when confronted by several nylon clad consultants. Smiling and reassuring sir that,
'There was nothing anyone in this store could do without proof of purchase.'
It is amazing what customers will say.
'Do you know who I am?'
'I am a very good customer here,'
'I will complain to your superior.'
'It is in your stores bag.'
'Don't patronise me.'
'Of course you can do something for me, I know you can, there is a lot you can do for me to make up for this bad service.'
'I know I don't have a receipt but this was bought from your store and this counter, I know because it was a gift to us.'
 So okay,
 A) No we don't know who you are , but we do know you are shouting so you must be unsure of your story. Real and genuine returns are not accompanied by shouty, sweaty top lips.
B) If you were a good customer, we would know who you were. You would be that really nice man who buys loads of stuff and we would get a floor manager to ring you in the week, to talk to you about the particular company's returns policy.
C) Complain away , we will not get into trouble because we are doing what the 'Hall of Plenty' requires us to do, refusing to take a return without proof of purchase!
D) It could be lodged in the front bumper of the Overseers car and parked neatly in the front door, but if you don't have a receipt it is not coming back. Oh yes, the bag in question did not belong to our floor and the store hadn't used those since Christmas and it is APRIL.
E) Patronise - assume a air of superiority toward, condescend. - Simply explaining store policy and apologising is not patronising. Attempting to get your own way by saying you know someone high up in the company is.
F) If you know so much, then surely you know it is not bad service you are receiving but a no and you don't like it. Shouting is rude, saying I'm sorry but there is nothing we can do, isn't.
G) If it was a gift, how do you know where it was bought from and if you know somebody well enough to buy you two hundred pounds worth of cosmetics then surely you can ask for the gift receipt that is supplied with every gift that is gift wrapped from our store.

Dear Sir, we are aware of most of the tricks and scams out there . From buying stuff on E-bay, not being happy then trying to get the full price back from a retailer, to customers purchasing stuff, realising they have spent too much and taking it back. Once being the recipient of a return that was used then refilled with baby lotion, I can tell you NO means NO!
We have been screamed at, had stuff thrown at us. Watched customers flip out and blame us for not having the stock they wanted. Been poked, had people click their fingers at us for service. Tell us we are inadequate because we informed them that the product they were describing was made by another company and been threatened many times, by many customers that in our opinion need chemical help.
Yet, to reduce a grown Cosmetics Consultant to tears because you were not getting what you wanted was deeply unpleasant.
You sir and your overmade up, tangerine wife are DEEPLY UNPLEASANT.

My worst nightmare.

We all have likes and dislikes, some of us have phobias. Snakes, spiders, I know someone who even has a phobia of sliced tomatoes.
Mine sadly is Dwarfs.
I know, I am a horrid person.  I wish I didn't but I do. For that reason I have never seen, read or touched The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings is safe from my prying eyes.  I go out of my way not to infect my children with my phobia and am completely aware it is some bigoted ism' but I just can't help myself, I hate em. It is all I can do to stop my self bashing them with shoes.
Over the years my shame has spread across the Hall of Plenty much to the amusement of my colleagues I have endured the jokes and even one particular day when Miss Marple had stuck an entire collection of Trolls in the drawers.
They have however always made sure I do not embarrass myself or insult any of our smaller customers with great sympathy.
So imagine my confusion when I arrived back after lunch to the anxious faces of an entire shop floor. My two o'clock make over had arrived. And yes, she was.
Not small, TINY, hairy with a hump and a glass eye.
Under such circumstances it has long been my way to think of Saint Princess of Diana. If she can shake a stump, I can make over a dwarf. So with gritted teeth and a box of tissues on hand, I made her beautiful.
A very lovely person, with a lot to say.  In her tiny high pitched voice.
After 45 minutes I had never been so drained. Leaving her to arrange her purchases with my colleagues, I made my way to the beauty rooms in the store. On finding an empty one I let rip to the full force of my emotions. Congratulating myself on how well I had done, I rearranged myself to exit the room, only to discover my little friend had followed me to thank me for being so nice.
Thank god for sound proofing.
The irony is not lost on me or this bottle of wine I am half way through!

Election Special.

It's happened, Politics has entered the Hall of Plenty. And I don't mean, who gets priority in the Stock Room, politics either. Actually, if you carry a lot of stock then you are pretty much guaranteed a good space in the hell that is the basement. So applying beauty counter logic to Downing Street, John Prescott would be Prime Minister for ever.
No, the paralysis in the skies was just too short a subject for Friday morning and I don't know who said it, but,
'David Cameron was a bit dehydrated, his fake tan looked patchy.'
The gloves were off!
Never mind the manifesto's, in the Hall of Plenty this election will be decided by skin tone, hydration, matification. Nice hands, good nail grooming, too much - to little make up. What lip colour the wives choose and hair.
You know, the strange thing is, we decided Nick Clegg had good skin and just look at the poles.
 Check out Barack Obama if you don't believe. Great skin, perfectly hydrated but not too shiny. Great hands, well moisturised. Michelle, obviously immaculate.
The speculation over whether David Cameron will get more Um-pa Lumpa as they go on, is rife. And it is a fine tipping point, should Nick Clegg's wife disappoint it could all go horribly wrong. Just like a pink lipstick matched with a coral blusher. No!
Our resident Peter Snow, very in touch with her Pankhurst side thinks that as long as Dr. Who still has a ginger companion, then Gordon actually has a chance.
So be warned boys, this season it's all about B.B.C. Blend, Balance and Co-ordinate.

Our Top Ten!

It's been a bit of tumble-weed week, with the sun shinning and the Easter holidays stretching on endlessly. Can you believe it's only another two terms till Summer slump time?
Between you and me, that is the time we play silly buggers. You know, flick rubber bands across the shop floor at each other with pinpoint accuracy. Stuff citrus fruits down our bra's to see exactly what a boob job would look like and have 'How many Skittles can you get in your mouth' Competitions. Actually that one ended quite badly when the phone rang and Miss White - face of an angel very large mouth - automatically answered the phone with three quarters of a packet in her mouth and breathed in.
Anyway, in between dusting the shelves. Cleaning the fragrance bottles, that are still being rammed up peoples noses and numerically ordering the lipsticks, we compiled our top ten customer comments.

10) 'These lipsticks, what do they do?
  9) Of the Sold Out stickers we put on items - 'This eye shadow, Sold Out do you have any?'
 8) ' Hi, I'm going away next week and I wondered, as I have a travel restriction on weight do you have any of those sample's things I could take with me?'- Didn't you say that last week?- 'Err no.'
 7) 'Do you sell make up here?'
 6) 'Do you know where I could find - the lifts-men-the stairs-the doors-anywhere that sells make up?
 5) 'Do you sell eyelids?'
 4) 'Do all those perfumes smell different?'
 3)Does your hand cream come in a smaller size than that?' -No madam- ' No it's too big, it's for my friends handbag, she is dead.'
 2) 'Where is your make up?' - Just there.- 'No that's no good!'- Why ? - 'I can't see it.' - But madam the display is six foot long- 'But I can't see it!' (And she was not blind.)
1) On the phone - 'Great your bronze's have arrived , now what colour do you recommend for me?' - ON THE PHONE!
All true and honest comments made to us by the Great British Public.

All change.

After a few days bonding with 'the Tiny hands', we have been down mines, had a pub lunch, watched films at the cinema and eaten far too much chocolate whilst discussing Jesus and planting flowers. My children are starting to get as bolshy as those kids on Outnumbered. I arrived back at work to discover that Our Glorious Leader is leaving the store.
Not 'She who must be obeyed' but he who runs the store. Sad for us because he's a jolly chap who has his head screwed on. That leaves us with the' Great Overseer'. Now not wishing to be cruel but when ever he sets foot on the shop floor quite a number of people hum the Darth Vader theme tune and a couple of the girls from another brand have named him Voldemort.
I predict that in the future this blog will involve a few internal rants.
It's not that he is awful, just very intense. My first encounter with him was not great, he strode up, invaded my personal space and asked, 'What's wrong with you lot then?' 
For some reason he was not impressed when I put my finger to my temples and said,
'Sorry nothing is coming through , you'll have to give me a clue.'

Well, we will just have to wait and see who comes forward to lift the sword of  Destiny at the 'Hall of Plenty' next.

Good Friday?

There are days and then there are those days, yesterday for example.
Angry shouty woman at 10.30 am, bought fragrance and body lotion on Thur. Brought it back on Fri, because she had 'a reaction'. Couldn't show us the dreadful rash, stuck down the packaging with sellotape, insisted she hadn't used it and shouted a lot about us accusing her of lying.
So how do you get a reaction from something you haven't used?

12.20 pm Miss Marple answered the phone to a customer. This lady wanted to know the difference between the bottles of a particular fragrance in Edt and Edp. Only half way through the conversation did she say, 'I'm blind'. Then, 'it's the peach fragrance' and then said, 'I haven't seen the Edt bottle yet.' Even more bizarre was, 'well I don't have it with me.'
Miss Marple was not amused at having to state the obvious.
Now, we have a lot of disabled customers and we relish the opportunity to push ourselves when describing the smell, texture, colour or effects of our products. So please forgive us for sniffing out a bank holiday fake.

2pm and the Hall of Plenty's first aider was called to administer to a couple who had fallen over breaking a finger, losing their teeth and displacing a wig under the Spray Tester Stand.

About 4pm 'She who must be obeyed' nearly died when she handed a customer's husband a tissue. Busy using one of our cotton buds to clean out his ears, he smartly handed them back once he'd finished.
Nice!

Rounded off by the customer who's child wee'd all over the floor because she was too busy buying fake eyelashes to take him to the toilet, I was not surprised to find myself waiting for 'He who pays the Mortgage and the tiny hands' to pick me , stood next to a former Doctor Who.

Just one day in the world of cosmetics!

Sharing the Easter Love.

Easter is nearly here and the 'tiny hands ' are almost as excited as they were at Christmas. Half term has arrived, for the sake of my sanity and the safety of our hamster, I should have booked some holidays. Its hard to confess, but the sense of relief to drop them off at my parents and go into work was massive, it really does come to something when the Hall of Plenty is an ocean of tranquility compared to home.

And do you know, I'm not the only one, sometimes our counter has more in common with a therapist's. Having worked with some of my colleagues for a good while, we have noticed that there are times when a customer will confess their fears to us, share a story or confide in us when they probably wouldn't else where. There is a moment of trust when somebody strips you of your make up and reapplies what they feel you should wear. For us, that is a very precious thing.
Over the years I have had the privilege to meet some wonderful inspirational people, I say people, because they are not always women. Plenty of men purchase from us and they too share. Its easy in Cosmetics and Fragrance to only talk about the people who complain, return stuff or are just plain rude to us for no reason. But there is whole world of customers for whom we are a  support system. A bit of good advice, a shoulder to cry on, we have even reviewed cv's and boosted confidence before big interviews.
So while I won't be painting eggs or making handmade chocolate lollies, that's what Mum has planned to wear them out, I won't be feeling guilty.
We may not be saving lives out there but at least we can share a bit of Easter love.

Spray Testing.

There is new meat in the Hall of Plenty.
The bright eager faces of the spray tester girls on the promotional stand, bring new life to the Spring Season, filling the hall with fragranced enthusiasm. Bless them, like lambs to the slaughter.
The shine had definitely worn off by tea time, in fact one of them had had a minor melt down and rushed off the shop floor in tears.
You have to be tough in this business and spray testing is the toughest gig of all. On display by a door in the freezing cold, or at the heart of a shop floor in front of expensive shiny surfaces, you can't be too pushy or too shy. It's a fine balance between offering someone a spray of fragrance to try and badgering the living daylights out of them.

Watching the 'New Meat' the girls and I were reminded of just how hard it is. You step forward, smile in place, bottle at the ready, opening statement on the tip of your tongue and you get the brush off. It could be the open handed, 'No!' Or the , 'I can't hear you' shuffle. That is when the customer hastily tries to get past slower shoppers without acknowledging you, forcing them to perform an erratic forward, stop, side step. Which is, more often than not, followed by shoving past some elderly woman in a fleecy.

It's not easy , so please spare them a smile even if you say 'No thanks.'

Why?

My burning feet and  your one ridiculous question,
 'What colour  do you think I am?'
What does that even mean? I can see what colour you are. So you mean, what colour do I think you should wear.
The funny thing is that if I say brown, you won't like brown . If I say pink, believe me, pink won't be the colour for you because you think pink looks cheap. Red  then, 'no dear I don't do red, too tarty.'
So why do you ask?
 Is it some sort of bizarre quiz, or test? Do you go home and tell the family that they wouldn't believe what some girl at the beauty counter said,
'I'm autumnal, me winter colours, ridiculous!' And then you and your colour co-ordinated family laugh in a superior, contrasted and slightly charming way.
It's just make up

Scandalous!

Scandal has rocked the Hall of Plenty. I wouldn't have thought it possible but we have not, seen and heard everything in the beauty business, not until today that is.
Our own counter's resident Miss Marple overheard the fuss but got the details over a sandwich and tea up in the canteen.
Security  has always been strict, given the glories each floor can provide to them that have. It would seem that the Chaps have been hunting down a mystery thief who manages to pilfer no matter what, so imagine our surprise when one of the staff from another floor is caught red handed with stock. I say red handed......
Apparently and she swears it to be true, that the lady in question was caught with a bottle of fragrance, in her knickers.
Now I don't have much sympathy with the girl, but I would truly be mortified if I was ever searched, only to produce a bottle of scent from my Lady Garden.
'She who must be obeyed'  needed more eyeliner and a lie down after that one. There is truly, 'nowt as queer as folk.'

When vanity becomes insanity.

There has been little time to update the blog this week, in between the domestic drama's and Spring promotions at the Hall of Plenty, I was lucky to emerge from under the giant pile of washing generated by one very messy girl and two mud covered boys. (One of them pays the mortgage and should know better!) 
 Now, there are few things that can strike fear into the heart of a beauty consultant. The mention of Store Cards and the phrase, 'Stock Take' being two examples of things that definitely do leave us quaking in our court shoes, however usually we are pretty impervious to most things. (Those nylon outfits can repel almost any customer related overspill, fluid or otherwise.) Yet the customer that arrives fifteen minutes before closing at the end of a really busy day, wishing to try on lipstick's with no definite idea of what they are looking for, is every self - respecting tut' pushers nightmare.
 When the well-veneered lady that arrived at the counter last night,  first approached . I knew it was to good to be true. 'No!' she didn't need any help. Then she said,
'Well actually, could you tell me what lipsticks don't make your teeth look yellow.'
It's a little known fact that coral coloured lipsticks make discoloured teeth look yellow. Coral being a shade of orange and not, as one exasperated colleague told over six customers last week, pink. Okay, NOT PINK!
Anyway, as I sighed and any thoughts of getting out of work on time vanished, little did I know just how odd my evening would get.
She didn't agree, nor did she agree with the seven shades I tried on her. When I pointed out that absolutely nothing would make her teeth look yellow because,
 'They are white veneers.'
She didn't agree with that either. Well, misses who ever you where, I think the giveaway was the luminous day glo white and the fact that you looked as if you mugged a racehorse on the way into the store. Thank you for making me late for my sons bedtime, thank you for making me sit in traffic going to some concert and thank you very much, for making me realise that sometimes vanity is only a couple of messed up letters away from insanity.  

Sniffing the Bottle

What a weekend!
'He who pays the mortgage' rallied the troops and this Mothers Day was exceptional. The tiny hands prepared a breakfast and it was lovely, although I think he may need some time to recover from the experience. I had a wonderful day.
Meanwhile, back at the 'Hall of Plenty', 'she who must be obeyed' has spotted some very disturbing trends.
First being the current fashion amongst customers for testing fragrances by shoving the bottle up their noses. Now, I don't know about you but I always thought the pieces of paper provided for the customer, neatly displayed before the bottles were for that, I could be wrong. I could even be wrong to point out that as a spray does just that, spray, surely people are just sniffing what is on somebody else's hands? And what about Swine Flu? M.R.S.A ? Other stuff that comes from up the general public and their many noses?
With 'she who must be obeyed' in a hygiene frenzy, we spent our Monday morning removing stray nose hair off the fragrance bottles.
Just after Operation Deep Clean, she was amazed to witness another event, leaving our glorious leader in need of tea and a bit of a sit down. Several people testing our newly clean bottles of fragrances by enthusiastically spraying themselves in the face.
Now, we are used to people grabbing the odd lipstick, that may or may not have been tested on the back of a hand that hasn't been washed and using it straight off the stand.
But for goodness sake people! Surely that blinding ability of a neat fragrance right in the eye is enough to warn anyone off.
Mind you I suppose it would always kill off the Swine Flu.