Merry Christmas X

Well that was fun!
Merry Christmas to all of us in retail slavery, may your feet recover quickly and let us hope we don't get too many returns for the New Year.
Constantly repeating the phrase,
'No, I'm afraid we can't accept that back without a receipt,' is really code for, 'I don't give a shit if you don't like it, you should be grateful you got it.'

Remember, there are children who's idea of joy is finding a bit of plastic they can sell on a huge heap of our recycling.

Merry Christmas X

Ho, Ho, Ho.....

Oh my, did I have to laugh this morning.
Along with the snappy shoppers that frequent the early days of December, there is also the beginning of  Car parking Hell. This is when people who don't get out much decide to bring enormous saloon cars to the Hall of Plenty and arse around in the car park, causing any consultants that have not added a extra 45 minutes to their day to be late.
Apparently the corner space on the first level, which anybody with a car larger than a match box avoids, is just crying out for someone in a saloon Crappola to fanny about with until a queue forms and nobody can get through the barrier. The horns start tooting, the Crappola driver gets all pink and sweaty, then the wife starts nagging until they give up and shoot off, only to bump a 4x4 badly parked at the top of the next ramp.
Do they go straight to the top of the building ? No, they keep messing with spaces till someone bullies them to tears and they park badly in a Disabled bay.
Well, today in anticipation of the nightmare that is the car park, I set off early and got quite a show from a business woman in her sporty 'Smug Mobile' (Audi) and a Silver Fox in his giant 'Cock Cart' (some sort of gigantic BMW thingy) The Cock Cart was so massive it took a three point turn to get it up the ramps. With a very angry business woman hot on his heels in her natty Smug Mobile, he started to get a bit flustered by the fourth floor with no sign of a bay large enough to receive his mighty vehicle. Positively leaping up and down in her car, the woman wound down her window and started hurling abuse. I just had to listen, so off went the radio in time to catch,

'.....ucking arse wipe , shift that shit car now you tosser. I bet you have a tiny cock!!!'

I don't know if the Silver Fox was aware but he scraped his car up the next ramp and almost threw it a 45 degree angle into a Disabled space. She drove up behind him and waited till he got out before she screamed,

'You complete dick, if you can't drive it you shouldn't fucking own it....'

Still laughing!

Stop....think.

Just think for a minute.

Then stop;

Interrupting us when we are talking to other customers.

STICKING PERFUME BOTTLES UP YOUR NOSES!!

Complaining about stuff we don't make anymore.

Complaining about things we don't have in stock.

Complaining about having to wait for two minutes to get what you want.

Pulling your face when we can't wrap things with the speed and the dexterity of a Dutch National wrapping a joint in one hand.

Acting confused when you are about to pay and keep checking the items we picked up, showed you, repeated to you and explained to you.

Putting the wrong numbers into  the chip and pin machine.

Forgetting your cards and leaving them in the chip and pin machine.

Now think again.

See it's easy, there are other people in the world and we too have busy lives.

What is the problem......?

Oh, people please! Let's get a grip shall we, it's only shopping. There is no need to tut, sigh or roll your eyes in despair.
We are people too and I think we have earned the right to be treated with respect.
What is the saying? Treat others the way you want them to treat you....

If yesterday was anything to go by, you all want to be patronised, belittled, snapped at and ignored. Now I don't work as a Dominatrix but if it gets you through the day,  'She Who Must be Obeyed' can arrange for us to get hold of some Gimp Masks and we'll spank you senseless whilst you choose your lipstick if you want.

 

DO YOU WANT GIFT WRAPPING!!!! DO YOU???

The Cat Crap Chronicles Volume II - The Curtain Witch

You know when they say, 'truth is stranger than fiction'...........?

Last night was probably one of the weirdest experiences of my entire life. 'He Who Pays the Mortgage' was out and about, so the 'Tiny Hands' and I got on with dinner. Whilst they were rowing over exactly which of them should set the table, I heard a knock at the front door.  Boy child was duly sent to answer it. As there was no one there, we assumed kids were just messing about and sat down to dinner. With the chatter that comes with your average family meal I thought I heard the door go a couple of times but simply ignored it.

This may have been my downfall.


Clearing away we (I) decided that we should all get together in the living room, never mind all the electronic rubbish,  and do a jigsaw puzzle. Halfway through the death mask of Tutankhamen a knock came from the front door. I answered it. Nobody there.
'Strange,' I said.
'Probably the curse of Tutankhamen,' said Girl child in a brave attempt to wind up her brother.
As we settled down again a strange scuffling came from around the door area. Now this is when you regret filling your children's head's full of nonsense, because we all leapt onto the sofa and freaked out. I opened the curtains but couldn't see anything between my bay trees, the kids were standing on a two seater sofa screaming,
'What is it! We are going to die, Arggggggghhhhhh!!!!'

And then between the pots I saw black booted feet waggling about. Wrenching open the front door I discovered an old woman on her knees trying to shove something in a black plastic bin bag through the letter box.
I shouted , 'What are you doing ?'
From her knees the woman looked up and smiled and said, 'I have your curtains.'

Now, correct me if I'm wrong but there is a certain amount of sinister intent in that statement,which made me go,
'Arggghhhh!!!!'

The woman unfolded herself from my doorstep to nearly six foot tall, wearing a headscarf, glasses and a pinny. At that point the 'Tiny Hands ' looked round the door, screamed and scarpered upstairs, leaving me stood in the hallway with a gigantic, stick thin pensioner, waving a bin liner at me on my doorstep.
'You're all very excitable aren't you?' she said pleasantly.
Unable to reach for anything heavy I coward slightly and said, 'What the hell are you doing?'
'I've brought your curtains.' she replied.

 And then, I, for some unexplained, bizarre reason said, (And I shit you not!) 'I don't need curtains I watch Delia Smith!.................'
Resembling a Preying Mantis in a pinny, she looked down at me curiously and said,
'But you ordered them.'
'From who?' I yelled.
In the embarrassed silence we stared at each other, then at the binbag, then back at each other.
( Or in my mind, I stared at the woman who was going to take over my house and make us her slaves, with a pair of net curtains.)
With the sound of a million pennies crashing to earth she said,
'You're not 125 are you?'
'No! Sorry!' I shouted then slammed the door, running upstairs we all hid for ten minutes in Boy child's wardrobe until somebody said,
'You know this probably wouldn't have happened if you had let us use the X-box.'

Half an hour later and one minature whisky from last Christmas, I called my parents and related our hilairious story to my father who said,
'Oh yeah, that'll be the Curtain Witch.'

When 'He Who Pays the Mortagage' arrrived home we were still in the wardrobe.

A warm welcome back....

Yesterday saw the long awaited return of Sunday girl.
 Oh, what jolly fun we would have, catching up, comparing notes on motherhood, maybe sneak some cake onto the counter........
However after three hours we were both wondering just why she had returned, leaving behind the sturdy warm bodied baby that makes life worth living, to put up with the utter arseholes that peopled our Sunday trading.
We had a woman almost collapse on the counter with mystery stomach pains straight away, customers that kept telling us that we had to be quick because they needed to be somewhere. A horrid little man who saw his arse because his daughter had to wait, then interrupted me with a customer and said,
'Get me this!'
Lost the sick customer when her husband went to get Pepto-Bismal. Dealt with phone calls from the usual dimwits who ring up every Sunday to ask exactly the same questions. Found the sick customer in the disabled toilets. Defended ourselves in the face of the complaint made by Horrid Little Man, who went to another floor to complain that we forcefully shoved his daughter away from the lip glosses .
Like we actually had time to assault somebody over a makeup counter and I don't even know  when, 'Excuse me please, could I just get to those lipsticks...' has been the utter definition of 'forcefull shoving'.
With the complaints and returns from other counters, then constant demands and smacked-arsed-faces all round because we had products out of stock, I swear by five to five we were really considering our futures in retail with a jaundiced eye.

Welcome back!!!

Wigging out and other specialities.

What a confusing time for us in retail......

Either we are in a recession or we are not. What's all this ''double dip'' nonsense, why are companies on a plus if the economy is bobbing about like Anton Du Berke with an Italian Tart on his back?

Suddenly we have to cart people around the shop floor because, even though we have our own customers waiting, many are too stupid to follow clear instructions;
'The lifts are straight in front of you madam.'
'Where?'
'Just there...'
'Where?'
'Follow me.... (Shall I press the button for you madam? Maybe I should do your shopping for you as well, whilst you stand there looking vacant and confused by the overwhelming effort of SHOPPING!!!!!)

And now we have to be part of the security team as well???!!!
Sorry, like my job is not hard enough with women unable to make up their minds over which tangerine foundation they should pile on their face, idiots asking facile questions about their skin just to fill in twenty minutes of their day and grubby children sticking sweaty hands all over everything, now I have to hunt down shoplifter's and 'diffuse' the situation when some drug addled trollope wobbles up, with a bottle full of what looks like ethanol, grabs a bottle of perfume rams it up her nose, squirts herself in the minge, then starts rambling incoherently in a threatening manner.

No! It's not my job. If I wanted to be part of the 'Polyester Flying Squad' I would have joined a security firm. As it is the people who provide our security guards appear to be running a care in the community programme, three of them can't speak English, one is over sixty and one has a gammy leg. It's already like an episode of 'Allo, Allo' without us making citizens arrests in heels and ill fitting trouser's. I mean have you ever tried wrestling someone to the ground in a pussycat bow, false eyelashes and a pencil skirt?
Frankly, it would be like being mobbed by drag queens.

I don't believe it.......

It's that time of year again, New Uniform and all the trimmings. One would think that with the amount of money spent on the damn things that they could get it right.
In the past we have had skirts that were the wrong size, badly cut tops, suit jackets in the summer , thin cardigans for winter. Trousers that are too wide at the bottom , too tight around the crotch, buttons that fall off and zips that haven't been sewn in, but golly, even I was shocked when one of us received a pair of winter trousers with one leg a size 10 and the other a size 12........

Oh my.....

I speak to a lot of women in my line of work and some are nice, some have their own elusive charm, some are downright horrible. However there is a woman above all women, and I include the 'Twiddle Blink' in this, that grates upon my soul.
The Soprano of all women, the High Pitched Warbler....
Do you know why?
Because it's fake! Fake! Fake! Fake!
I am not an expert in linguistics or anything , but in my very unscientific way I tested this theory on several breathy bimbos by saying,
'No sorry can't hear you? Speak up , sorry you want what....?'
Until each and everyone one drops their voice and talks to me in a reasonable timbre, or just gives up the ghost and pisses off.

Like the camp sissy 's', it is an affectation of what a woman should be.
Stop it ladies!
We are not breathy, we are not squeaky, we were not born with a constricted larynx. Speak properly and stop squealing.... it is annoying!

And NO I don't like Joe Pasquale either!!!!

Cha...Cha..Changes....

So, the kids were packed back off to school, Autumn's clothing dragged from the back of the wardrobe and Winter coats dry cleaned and donned, then the counter was thrust into a whirlwind of training.  And the overall theme?
Change. Yes, things have got to change.
But into what?
We still sell stuff, we still put stuff on peoples faces, gift wrap, bring up stock, do the figures, acknowledge customers within a nano second of them arriving, link sell, colour combine, explain the facts, provide choice, guidance, be gaily witty, put up with arseholes, clean grubby finger marks from acres of black resin  and walk the elderly to the toilets, whilst retaining the known ingredients, function and availability of each and every product we sell to the public at the fore front of our carefully powdered brains.

And what are we changing exactly?

Because throughout all the retraining, nobody has actually pointed to anything we don't already do. We have had shinny things waved at us, been shown digital flickerings of great importance, dallied with online musings and been patronised, feted, cajoled and bribed.

Naively, I had hoped to come out of at least one of these sessions with wings or as a semi-qualified neuro surgeon, but I have actually arrived back on counter with the feeling that a big box of sweets and a, 'thank you for all your hard work' would have been a lot cheaper for everyone.

Now Retail Christmas is coming with new shinny smiles, we embrace any change that will stop someone on Christmas Eve saying,

'Oh, no, your not closing now are you???'

Away and Back again.

Just back fresh from the holidays with the family and on the long journey home I had some chance to reflect on some things.

Why in a foreign country do we seek out anything British?
For us the only thing we could salvage was the newspaper and it happened to be that one that reads like a hysterical 1950's house wife.

Why can't we work out that bakers in Europe stay in business by baking bread that goes off by tea time?

And why do certain nations push at theme parks?

I know we are queue-aholics in Britain but there are some nationalities that think pushing into line is a right. So beware customers when I finally do return to the counter I have perfected my tut and huffy stance at the sharp end for two whole weeks.

2 out of 2 and some personal space...

It doesn't seem possible on the same day that two people could do the same thing.

However they did.

A very nice lady decided to follow me around the counter as I served her.
 Harmless you may think, but when you move to fetch a tissue and suddenly they are right there, all up in your personal space, it is a bit disconcerting. You move to the drawer for their items, they are right behind you. But oh, one of the items is over the other side of the counter. You trot over to get it. They follow as closely as possible. So you have to bend to the bottom drawer and whoohoo! they have moved even closer.
At this point you have two choices, leap over the fragrance counter in front of you with the athleticism of Red Rum. Or, swing round thrusting the item forcefully at them. Mild harassment over, we are off to the till.

The very nice lady not only followed me to the till but right behind the counter, over to the bag drawer and back to the business part of the till utterly unfazed.

Thinking that this was as weird as it got I left for lunch, only to return an hour later to discover Miss Marple and a family of four in the same place. Mum, two kids and Dad all in a line behind the till!

People please!

You have a place - IN FRONT OF THE TILL.

Our space, your space. We like our space, so stay in yours.
 The last thing I want is to bend down for a foundation and find a family of five trying to use my tights with me!

Some people.....

So, it's Sunday and things are going fine, slow, but fine. And then the phone rings. Who could it be? Who could wish to speak to us on a Sunday? What delightful things do they want to know?

I will tell you, it was some bloody woman whose phone kept breaking up, so much so that I could hardly hear her. When I said,
'I'm sorry your phone is breaking up, I can't hear you properly.'
'Yo......shhh....aaarkk....'
'No I didn't catch that madam.'
'Haa.....my...and...'
'Pardon? I'm sorry maybe you should call back , this is a very bad line.'
Then loud and clear down the line came one sentence.
'Well, you will just have to listen carefully then, won't you.'

Yes, my finger did twitch over the reciever. Yes, I did think, 'fuck you you arrogant cow', but you know what I did, I sucked it up and replied,

'Of course I will listen carefully, that is my job, to listen attentively to your needs madam.What else can I do for you?'
She wanted me to check what colour face powder she would need.
Now how in the name of Barbara Daly am I supposed to do that, over a phone, on a bad line with the customer presumably hurtling down the motorway and she didn't even know what colour her foundation was?
On a daily basis customers point at orange lipsticks and say,
'Oh I love that pink,'

So Madam was told that she would be a mid-tone. She never thanked me.

Rude and stupid!

1 in 3

Since posting about customers following me to the till, we have been watching for the tell tale body movements that give away the moment when a customer realises we don't actually mean, follow us behind the counter. The sudden little jerk as they keep following you into the small 50cm space between the counter and a massive display that faces forward. That unconscious realignment of  brain function and the quick scurry back to opposite side of the counter where they spot, and ignore, the chip and pin machine and wave their credit card at you in embarrassment.

The current statistic is 1 in 3 customers. That is pretty high don't you think? But what does this mean?

Well, I guess it means that 1in 3 people are really not engaged with what they are doing at that moment and I find that pretty darn scary. Just think what could happen if they were driving a car, or your solicitor, or even your doctor.
 I know it seems trivial but as a student of human behaviour I find it fascinating that 1 in 3 people will just blindly follow you anywhere if you happen to be wearing a uniform.

Filthy Young Things....

I'm not analy retentive, nor do I have O.C.D. I believe, like all non-freaky mums, that a certain amount of dirt is good for us, building antibodies and creating resistance to the outside world. I wouldn't go so far as to encourage my children to eat their own boggies but I don't carry antispectic wipes in my back pack. Yet I do insist that they wash their hands and that they don't pick up things off the floor.

However, if you have spent anytime watching reallity T.V in the past ten years, you should be more than aware that there are people out there who don't clean, themselves, their homes or their hands. In fact if you read my blog, G strings and Jazz Hands, you will be more than aware of the unconcious grubby probings we witness.

So WHY- I ask in capital letters that should alert the reader to the strength of my feelings - WHY , do women come along to makeup counters and refuse help from a consultant, then just pick up a lipstick and stick it on their lips?

Not having laser eyes that burn off bacteria on lipsticks I cannot, nor can my colleagues, stop customers catching Herpes, E-Coli, that nasty bottom bug that went around, Noro Virus?

There are people in this world that do not wash their hands after using a public toilet. If they come to our counter and try a lipstick on their hand, then you try it on your mouth you have those germs around your lips. What happens if you kiss your boyfriend with that on, or god forbid your baby.

' It's okay, I am just trying this on.' is not the answer to my forceful , 'Can I help you?' which is actually Consultant speak for,
'Put that lipstick down ya dirty tart!'

Other things for sale......

It is not often with two children, that I get to watch the news first thing in the morning. In between small animals that live in a digital world and weird pre-teens that live in and out of a digital world, I got to flicker between news stations today and do you know, there appears to be something else on sale out there in the world;

Billions! Terror!Fear Old Age! Cuts, terror! Taxes!Cheryl Cole! Review, terror! Billions or terror! Fear Billions! Tax Billions! Billions of old people in terror! New Hair Cole! Debt Terror! Let us know your view! Terror! Sausage reunion Cole Terror! Fear Olympic ticket terror! Shopping fear for billions!

Suddenly we have stopped talking and started shouting. Even the culture bits of the news are LOOK AT THIS, not enough culture terror!!!!!

No wonder people are traumatised by everything. They scurry through the Hall of Plenty diving at counters like their life depends on it and I can sort of understand why. If the first thing I saw every morning was this over-hyped, dramatic news I would be scared too.
And since when did we start talking in Billions? I'm pretty sure when first quoted the Olympic Games were costing Millions, if I changed the price when a customer got to the till from twenty quid to two hundred there would be hell to pay, so somebody needs to get a grip of that.

But I suppose if this is the new way of the world then who am I not to join in.

You will die without that blusher!Mascara terror! Mattify! Old skin terror!!!!! Fragrance Fear, terror!

Let there be light......

Hu-bloody-rrah!
When customers behave as they should, nobody asks for free stuff or treats you like a second class citizen and your corn plaster stays stuck in place, that is a day to remember.

Smooth as a botoxed forehead!

All praise yesterdays customers and their cash...... Amen.

Bad advice from experts......

As a responsible consultant I was perusing a magazine about the latest trends in wedding makeup, been a busy year for natural faces thank you Kate and Wills, anyway I came across a really interesting little article.
Martin - I can get anything cheaper - Lewis says that to save money on your wedding you should get your makeup done on counter for free.

Okay, Umbridge taken there and I don't mean a fictitious village from Midsummer Murders.

 Firstly all companies on the high street charge a redeemable booking fee for makeup appointments. Why?
Because their highly trained makeup consultants are there to make money. We work in shops, not museums, charities or bargain give aways. To spend the money it takes to make an artist responsible for the most important day of a brides life, means that the company needs to recompense that money by selling the products.
If you are going to spend between £500 and £5000 on a dress then why are you skimping on your face, and frankly I find it quite insulting on behalf of all qualified makeup artists, that their services and abilities should be so trivialised.

I've said it before and I will say it again, you cannot bargain for a blow dry so why should you be able to bargain for makeup that lasts you all day and will last a lifetime in the photographs - if you stay married!

This will explain the upsurge of women that are shocked when we tell them the price of our booking fee, because that is not what they were expecting.

 Get your facts right money man !

Enter T**t of the year.......

You would think that after all this time blogging we would have reached a place where the weirdness of shoppers can no longer shock, outrage and generally freak us out. But NO......

Enter the Hall of Plenty one young man who beats all of the others. A man to whom the word 'no' is not simply a red rag but a pair of firm toreadors buttocks in brocade knickerbockers, to a bull. In a spectacular show of ignorance he flipped out over.....wait for it........a deodorant. Yes, a deodorant, one that didn't even belong to us. Miss White had the audacity to explain that he needed to return his purchase to the company who made it. A company that employ people to make sure their logo is displayed worldwide, a company who trains its own consultants to take a return of it's products, a company six yards away, who know if their product has been used by a customer. Not to us who are limited to the products our company make, all one hundred different lines that we are experts in.

Apparently, we all need retraining because rather than lift sir up and carry him on a solid gold platter about the Hall of Plenty, throwing rose petals in his wake, we simply pointed him in the right direction to deal with his problem.

There is an etiquette across the shop floor concerning returns - we don't just take other peoples stock back without getting them to check it. We don't know what other peoples stock looks like brand new. If it is sealed in plastic, no problem, however it is only fair to inform the particular counter if someone has brought something back because they may have no good reason for it and that stock goes back on to the system thus changing the sales figures.

Unfortunately, sir did not like any of the advice he was given, flipping out all over the counter and various other members of staff, some of whom were just staring innocently at the scene he was causing. Ranting about  verbally 'agressive' staff, 'awkward' behaviour and 'antagonistic attitudes', one did have to swallow the question of why he could not have used any complaints that didn't start with the letter A, as it would probably have made his head explode.

It turned out, he was parked on double yellow lines - our fault of course. He spends loads of money in our store - funny we had never seen him before. He knew his rights - pity he doesn't know ours, and he was going to complain to EVERY ONE in the chain of command above us. Mrs Pankhurst was pointed out as particularly 'antagonistic' for not giving him the home phone number of the Overseer, something that could have left her unemployed if she had.

Oh, go boil your head sir! It was a deodorant! Walk the twelve feet back to where you bought it and return it yourself. We are not here to listen to your elaborate bullshit about why you don't want the thing, just to save you some embarrassment over returning it. You said it yourself, you are 'Parked on double yellow lines....' Well, if you are too cheap to pay for parking , then don't buy designer deodorants!

 The whole rehearsed nature of his complaint and the fact that he knew what the structure of command  in a department store was, smells of somebody who does this to get recompense from major brands and snivelling apologies.
I know some people don't believe it, but they are out there, professional complainers who get hundreds of pounds in apology gift cards by causing fights with staff.

We have a word for them .... ARSEHOLES.... that starts with A as well.

Reccession what reccession?

Stop the press!!!!!
The luxury goods market in the UK is due to improve by 53%. A certain handbag company has had pre-tax profits of £35 million......

So why are the customers still being rude?

Just a thought.

The customer is always........

When you work in retail, you get used to the quiet times, the constant nagging to get more money into the tills, frequent squeals of 'How much!!!!' Yes, mostly from husbands when they realise that lip gloss is the price of the debt Greece is currently experiencing.

But I don't think I will ever get used to the strangeness of people. Mrs Pankhurst approached a customer looking at the makeup stand, with a tissue for the customer to clean off her hand. From the amount of vigorous scrubbing at the makeup, she assumed the woman would be covered in eyeshadow or blusher. Strangely she wasn't. So Mrs Pankhurst asked her if she was looking for something in particular...... and the woman replied thus........

'No I don't normally use your makeup but I like this.'
'Err this?'
'This pink colour here.'
'Which?'
'This blusher... look it's lovely,'
'What blusher?'
'This here...'

Point, rub on counter, rub on back of hand, wave in Mrs Pankhurst's face.

'It's gorgeous.'
'But....that... there isn't..... I'm sorry madam that isn't a colour it is the plastic of the counter display.'
'No it's just what I need, something that light.'
' No ....It is a plastic patch....... it isn't.......Madam would like to take one?'

Who are we to argue with the customer?
 After all, they are always right.

Oh, you really have got to laugh........

Very short blog this one. Let us just reflect with a wry smile.......

 For the past two weeks I have been saying , 'Would you like to follow me to the till,' when the customer and I have finished the niceties and we get to the grubby business of money.
And, do you know what ?
So far six people have actually tried to walk behind the till with me.... !

Ten little things.....

1) If somebody is telling you about a product you asked about, do not speak everytime they say something.
'This foundat....
'Yes, ahhmmm'
'ion has...'
'yes has ahmmm,'
' a matt...'
'I like a shinny..'
'OkayI'amstillspeakingwhydon'tyouwaittill.....'
'Foundation but not too heavy,'
'I'
'Yes ahmmm.'
'Have'
'What do think my colour is?'
'Finished.'

2) We have said it before, but obviously not loudly enough. DON'T sniff fragrance bottle tops! They are a vacum and all you can smell is what was sprayed before. But the person before you who stuck it up their nose may have.....ANYTHING... that can be passed from nasal membrane to nasal membrane. And for the man who said , 'Well it's  alcohol.' NO stupid, the alcohol is on the inside of the bottle, the nose rotting disease is now on the outside.

3) We do not care if your friend is bed-ridden and can't get to us. We don't just give samples away.

4) How can we put make -up on your face if you won't lift up your chin? When Miss Marple has to squat to put make up on your face, you have some serious confidence issues.

5) When a company stops doing a product don't wait two years and then come to a counter and ask staff if they have some old stock. All cosmetic's have a sell by date, but a punch in the face when you winge about the product not being made anymore - that image does not have a sell by date, that is fresh everday!

6) Saying 'Sorry to interupt' when staff are standing about waiting for you does not make us feel guilty, as if we are standing gossiping, it makes you look needy. Man Up Shoppers.

7) When you have bought a product and then use it. You cannot get your money back if it is not in saleable condition. Yes, you could come back and say you have a reaction but you cannot just bring it back all messed up for no reason. We will stand and stare back at your angry little face and the more angry you get, the more reasonable we get. Because even though you threaten to write an angry letter about bad service, we don't care. NO, we really don't, because we are following store policy and you are a tosser.

8) Shops are not nursery or school playgrounds so when your  rampant toddler runs straight into a sharp corner, Tough! Since when did we start a creche? Get a grip of your children or even better, leave them at home.

9) We don't like it when your teenagers stick their fingers in products and smear them all over the counter. Why, because somebody has to clean it up and clearly you are a crap parent because you don't make them aware of that. So good luck when they stick you in a home with specific instructions to hold that pillow down till you stop kicking. You made your own bed....

10) We are not servant's. I know it is tricky, and that many people have weak wrists from all that shopping, but you can put your own credit card into the chip and pin machine. Waving it at me or shoving it across the counter, with a talon like claw in crimson, is no good, why? Because the machine is on your side of the till. You are looking round it to brandish your plastic at me, and, nobody cares when you do the ,
'Oh I am so ditsy...., ' routine, getting out two different note books, dropping them, putting your number in the machine wrong so many times , we have to start again. We despise you, all of us, everyone in the queue, the customers, consultants, cleaners , security staff. It is only four numbers, learn it.

A gift.....from a Scatology Major.

Over at the Hall of Plenty we now feel that we have heard it all, not just on our counter but the other purveryors of face altering goodies too. At a meeting to improve our customer service skills we did what all good cosmetics consultants do, exchange information.
(DON'T even think we were gossiping whilst a pasty trainee manager donned a hat and sparkly waistcoat in an attempt to get us 'on board' with positive, customer friendly body language. See the Portas factor is simply making good people humilate themselves, whilst we look on in a manner that can only be described as jaded.)

Apparently, and it did NOT happen in our store, somebody opened a new treatment room in a store and a disgruntled employee left them a special present when they had leave to make way for a new beautician...... Keep thinking......., yes. Only they hid it and it wasn't immediately found.

Now  I have seen and heard a few things; the image of a dwarf with a hoover attached to his knob was probably the worst image burnt into my memory, but to actually be that pissed off that you would drop your pants, curl one up, tuck it in a tissue and hide it in a crevice that is just WRONG!

And not very customer friendly.

Highwayman and super-injunctions......

The news has been deadly boring this weekend, mostly because of the 'old news' about another cheating footballer, and really nobody cared till he tried to protect his image. Except for his wife, that is.

Now here in the Hall of Plenty we see a lot of this type of thing. It isn't unusual for a man to come up with some elaborate bullshit about not being able to remember what fragrance his wife (Mistress!) wears. The sweaty top lip is a good indication of an 'infidelity shopping spree.' An even bigger giveaway is the embarrassed silence as he is told the price of his 'Lovers' discretion, you see his wife would never expect anything so expensive out of the family coffers, not with bills to pay!

All this puts me in mind of one Christmas when we met the Champion of all Cheaters at the counter. Up rocks a cheeky chappie with a wad of cash and a cocky mate with attitude. Now my feet had pre- Christmas court shoe fatigue - if you have never experienced Christmas retail in the boom years, this feels like running the London Marathon in stilettos over marbles- so I was not in the best of moods. Off they started with their flirty banter that I was supposed giggle at, however, like the stony- faced bitch from their nightmares, I was not playing ball. The more they tried, the higher the eyebrow rose and the more extravagant the purchase became, until in a final attempt to impress me, cheeky chappies friend blurted out,

'He wants something for his girlfriend as well as his wife,'

I may have had sore feet but my balls still worked,

'Well sir, I suggest you buy them both the same fragrance or you will get caught when you come home and believe me, if you don't buy your girlfriend something as big as your wife, you will get caught anyway.'

Suddenly I had their respect. I was a woman to fear, I knew the secrets of the ultimate cheater and had passed that wisdom on. Still, his hands shook as he passed over seven hundred pounds in cash......

I keep my mask and guns under the till, the horse you will find round the back of the building!

WHY ?????

Why exactly, are customers so arse-achingly stupid?

From - 'Do you work here?'
'Yes madam I work here, I don't usually stand around in a uniform with a company logo on it , wearing a badge that states my name quite clearly next to my company's badge, under a great big sign with the companies logo on it, unless I am working. Otherwise I would dress like a clown just to make sure nobody could mistake me for a shop worker and shop for over sized shoes in peace.'
To -' Where are your lipsticks?'
'Right there on the great big black makeup stand that is approximately six foot long and full of makeup  that you just walked past. And whilst we are on the subject of things you are unaware of, you just butted in whilst I am serving another customer and you are standing behind the counter.'

 I cannot understand how people who are intelligent enough to earn money to spend, get themselves dressed in the morning, drive, feed themselves and move with relative coordination of limbs, can be so thick. And they really are!

'Where are the lifts?'
'Right there, under the sign that say's lifts with the big slide'y doors.'
'Where are the doors?
'Over there, the big silver swing'y things other people are using to enter and exit the building.'
'Do you sell cards?'
'No, I sell makeup, that is why I look like a drag queen in an ill fitting uniform.'
'Are all these fragrances different?'
'What do you think? They all have different names and they are all different colours. Could it be possible that we would just put the same smell in all of them?'
'What do these lipsticks do?'
'Well, mine do the dish washing and sometimes they hoover up, but mostly they work as a lap dancer because they don't have any qualifications and they got pregnant at 14, so whilst they study to be a nurse they strip. What do you think they do?'
'Do you think I will like the coffee shop?'
'What! How the fuck would I know? Do I look psychic? Is the name Sally Morgan written on my badge?'
'Which one of these lipsticks would suit my friend?'
'What friend, oh, she is not here. Well, considering I can not see her and the only person in this conversation that knows what she looks like is you, why don't you tell me what you think your friend would like and I will just stand here and keep patronising you.'

We have decided that should one of us win the lottery, we would come into work and just say all of those things until we got fired then divide up the money.

On trying to be a smartarse....

Some people are not cut out to perform practical jokes, I am one of them.

 My Father, the inspiration behind my latest escapade, on the other hand is a master at it. From hiding in the airing cupboard when my sister and I were children - we had been really naughty and were not taking discipline at all seriously so he said he would flush himself down the toilet. We got hysterical until we found him twenty minutes later on a shelf in the cupboard. (No, he is not a dwarf but he is the reason I am traumatised by them!) - To putting small light bulbs up his nose and pretending he had sneezed. Hiding in the ivy by the kitchen window was a great favourite, this works especially well if you have eyes that get wider like Gonzo on the Muppet Show and a handy bare bit off window through which you can protrude those eyes at your rowing daughters fighting over the washing up. Oh and enough patience to wait until they turn round and see you, resulting in much broken crockery and screaming.
A lifetime of being leapt out at and quizzed by lateral thinking games, luckily has not left either one of us a gibbering wreck but we are prone to pushing people inside duvet covers  and thinking this is hilarious.
So when I discovered, on the one weekend I had my parents round for Sunday lunch, my father had escaped  I was thinking to find a picture of him ( another great favourite- slipping small passport sized photos of himself into the corner of picture frames, that don't get discovered for ages) but no. That night, after I had steamed up the bathroom having a shower, a message appeared on the mirror in the steam. From it's content I can only assume it was meant for my son, anyway it got me thinking, how very clever......hmmm...

Maybe I would get Miss Pankhurst back for her recent indiscretion. She had bought dried cherries and put them in the drawer at work, maliciously leading me into thinking there was something sweet behind there and when I stole one, it was no pleasure at all because it tasted like dehydrated rabbit pooh!

So I concocted a cunning plan. Only, there is no steam in work and when you run back and forth breathing on the makeup mirror it un-steams just as quickly. Apart from looking like a retriever with asthma, I also banged my nose on the mirror thus changing the message and had to explain my behaviour to a bemused floor manager.

That shall be filed away along with the time I thought I heard 'She Who Must Be Obeyed'  and Miss Marple in the service lift, so I stuck a carrier bag on my head and did a tap dance when the doors opened, only to see a lift full of unamused fashion staff who stayed there for a full thirty seconds until the doors closed.

Chaos at the tills!!!!

Sometimes the Hall of Plenty is awash with utter chaos. Like yesterday....

Watching Dippy Peacock struggle with a bunch of metallic balloons shaped as lips was a guilty pleasure for us all. Like an extremely camp version of the balloon seller in Mary Poppins, the poor lamb had to attach them to his display stand and was only saved from drifting three floors to ladies wear by the timely intervention of a colleague.

Somebody on one of the counters perforated their own eardrum with a cotton bud in a freak accident that even I, with my varied imagination, cannot quite comprehend. Apparently, she had it in her hand as she emptied a bin bag and it managed to go down her ear canal as she stood back up.....?

 What are the chances of that happening, like EVER?

Slipper Mouth managed to insult one of the new consultants in a gaffe I have yet to get to the bottom of.

A woman tried to bring back an eye pencil to us that had clearly been used, I could kind of tell by the way it had no point and a cat hair stuck to it, but she insisted that it hadn't. Even if I was to believe her, the fact that she was wearing it as she was talking to Miss Marple and I made me just a tiny bit Captain Peacock and we sent her away.

A rambling idiot entertained (frightened) us all for a brief while at lunch time. She was beeping and walking backwards, staring at people then smiling for longer than was strictly necessary. Yes, she may have been autistic but from the size of her pupils I think it was more chemical than genetic.

 And where were security at this time?
They were pushing water bottles stuck on a stick to customers trapped for forty minutes in one of the lifts!

Our till then decided to act like something from Poltergeist by randomly displaying the number 2 over and over again until it gave up and crashed, and two customers wanted to try on lipsticks at five minutes to closing, then complained because we hurried them even though the store was closed.

After being trapped behind the counter by an overexcited Twiddle Blink,  who wanted to check she still had an appointment for her prom and cross questioned me about who was going to do her make up, and having bronzer shoved in my face by a woman with a silly high pitched voice, I was ready to lie down on the floor and just wait till Monday.

It has been known for the cleaners to discover the dried out carcasses of Consultants that have crawled under the counters to die.

Osama, Obama, Oh Boy!

Well, thank you very much Barrack Obama. Not only have I spent my entire week telling the kids why a Royal wedding, which was beautiful by the way, is important to our country but I have now had my parenting skills stretched to the limit explaining why it is okay to shoot someone who is responsible for the deaths of thousands, yet it is not okay to get Navy Seals to shoot someone who bullies 'boy childs' sister at school!!
As if that is not enough, there was furious debate in the Hall of Plenty as to whether it was moral, necessary etc, etc....that led up a curious winding conversational path to a remark about the graphic treatment of Saddam Hussein in comparison to the Nazis at Nuremberg. And I quote,
'Let's have a bit of dignity, you didn't see Harry Allen throwing shoes at the Nazis before he hung them!'

The real result of all of this is a heightening of the security status in the Hall of Plenty from 'General Indiference' to 'Check out that Burberry Bag!' Which actually involves our crack team of security guards, or as they like to be known , the 'Polyester Flying Squad' checking in our drawers for water, sweets or cake. Those well known threats to National Security!

In the meantime, we have decided getting L & R and your postcode tattooed on our feet is probably the only constructive thing we can do in the face of a terrorist attack. It is a strange old world!

For the want of fresh air!

I am by nature a revolutionary, yet in reality you will mostly find me watching a conflict from my armchair. In our family we are armchair athletes, religiously watching the Olympics and experts in all disciplines. Armchair tennis players,watching Wimbledon with the dedication and discipline of Andy Murray (There are always strawberries.) and confirmed armchair Generals. There is no war anywhere in the world my father has not settled down in fatigues to watch on Sky News moment to moment.

So when a whisper of revolution circulated the Hall of Plenty, I surprised myself. Trapped in an atmosphere of over heated consultants, tormented by the current heatwave and bound by the polyester that ties us to our counter, the thought of storming the boiler room on mass was pretty attractive, I can tell you.

The heat is killing us even with the doors open.

Unfortunately, somebody pointed out that if qualified workers could not get more than an unenthusiastic waft out of the air-con, we with our experience in face tweaking, nail painting and excessive knowledge of colour combining were highly unlikely to improve the situation.
So we must bear up, not move too fast in case our outfits flare up in the heat and use a lot of store stationary to fashion make shift fans.

Customers, drifting through in their maxi dresses dragging along their husbands with fallen arches who insist on wearing flip flops (UGLY. Men's feet, especially pale ones, look like a massive arse in a g-string when they wear flip flops.)could do more to help.
Mainly by not saying,'Oooh your not closing are you?' on a sunny Bank Holiday, at the end of a long shift, almost causing the consultants to faint with dehydrated rage.

Seen as it's Easter and quite a time for all religious peoples, hows about some one performing a miracle on our air conditioning?

The Cat-Crap Chronicles and 'What's that supposed to mean...?'

WARNING ! PLENTY OF SCATALOGICAL REFERENCES IF YOU ARE SQUEAMISH STOP READING!
This morning the 'Tiny Hands' and I watched in a horrified breakfast stupor as one of our neighbours cats curled up a massive one and wrecked our beetroot seedlings by covering it up. As I had a day off from the Hall of Plenty and being the very bitter gardener that lost a lot of edible crops last year to cat pooh, I decided to take affirmative action. I wrote a note that I posted through every letterbox on both sides of our alleyway to the cats owner. The cats owner has just gripped me in spectacular fashion by my compost heap,I think I may have caught her coming out to clean up the pooh I had flung into the alley. Anyway she waved my letter at me and demanded,
'Did you write this.'
'Yeah,' I said.
'Well what is this supposed to mean?' She pointed to a sentence in the letter.

"....and so when I discover which cat belongs to whom, the owner will receive it's cats crap back in a lovely plastic bag on their doorstep."

Now, I am pretty sure that is about as transparent as a sentence can get. So when I told her, she called me,' arrogant'
When I said, 'Tell me something I don't know!' She called me a 'cat hater'
Which I think is absolutely out of order, anyone who knows me knows that I greatly admire anything so arrogant, independent of spirit, cruel, hunts for pleasure and that plays with it's prey before killing it.I simply dislike the wholesale crapping on my raised beds.

Which brings me to my point since when has, 'What's that supposed to mean?', been such a conversation get out clause. Recently everyone has been saying it. The cat owner, customers as you tell them that their skin is actually dry not oily and the woman on the shop floor who was having an affair for 18 months, then moaned about her husband getting suspicious. When a colleague said,
'Don't you think he has cause to be, you have been shagging someone else!'
Said..... and I quote,
'WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?'

If you are already stating the bleeding obvious what else needs interpretation? Is it a statement people make while their brains absorb the
information. Is it something they randomly say because they can't quite believe anyone would say anything so obvious to them, or are they really that stupid?

It means what it say's and it doesn't mean anything else!

The Twiddle Blink

Well , well,wellll.... there is a new creature in town.
The Prom Queen.
And now , like the Lamb Chops (see posting in archive 02/06/10),they have their own season in our retail calendar. Just after Mother's day and before the Mutton emerges on the shop floor.
Blinky, orange, teenage girls with blobby backcombed hair and very odd mascara.How do we know when they are around? Because they arrive in a squawky flock,twiddling their split ends and enquiring about make overs.

Poor old Mrs. Pankhurst driven to distraction by the question,
Giggle - twiddle - blink. 'Do you do make ups?' Twiddle-blink - blink.
When she explains there is redeemable booking fee of £25, it is almost universally received like so,
Blink-twiddle- blink-consult rest of flock- blink,'It's for a prom...'Blink - blink.
'Okay, when would you like to book it?'
Blink - blink,'On the day of the prom...' Twiddle - blink.
'Right and when would you like to pay your deposit?'
Blink - blink, 'It's for a prom...' Long stare.
'Yes, but it is still twenty five pounds.'
Twiddle - blink - blink - gather strength from flock who are now twiddling with extreme blinkiness. 'Never mind...' Angry ballet pumps stamp away like ponies with hessian sacks on their feet.

It may seem trivial but around the seventh time in one afternoon, you kind of get miffed.And so we started to ask whether other retailers get this type of thing. Do people go into a hairdressers with wet hair and ask for a free blow dry? Do they go into a cake shop and take a big bite out of a cake and decided later whether they should pay or not? Would they go into a restaurant and order food then refuse to pay because they only eat a starter?

No they wouldn't. So what makes them think that the services of a qualified make up artist are free? Bloody television retail advisors that's who... Damn you Mary Portas! You and the Twiddle Blinks!!!!

White Lines.....

No, I don't mean Colombian marching powder.

Poor Miss White reached snapping point recently. I have mentioned before that we have a customer (stalker?) who never buys anything yet comes into the Hall of Plenty and sprays herself to saturation point with our fragrances on a regular basis. Yes, she is the woman who sprays her elbows, recently she moved on to armpits, cleavage, under the plasticated mac and the back of the neck. She never acknowledges us, even though we have tried, 'Hello'.
She Who Must Be Obeyed has tried, ' I think you have plenty on there.'
I have tried, 'You know you can buy it'
Miss Marple has tried, 'Don't you think that is a touch excessive?'
All we have ever received was a grunt and a small pool on the floor where the fragrance has dripped down.

It has always annoyed Miss White who, like the rest of us, gets miffed by the blatant nature of the woman. So, on a day when a shifty vagabond cornered her, coughed into his hand then proceeded to maul the fragrance bar, a haughty piece called to complain about something irrelevant and then there was further confusion about our returns policy (NO RECIEPT NO RETURN OKAY!!!!) it was not surprising that Miss White should explode. Confronting Hairy Elbow Sprayer at the fragrances she said,
'No, no , no, you have used enough of that....please put it down.'
Hairy Elbow Sprayer simply carried on.
'I said that is enough now put it down.'
'I'm only trying it, ' was the reply. But she carried on spraying.
'Well, you have tried it now put it down.'
Turning away Hairy Elbow Sprayer carried on.
'Right that is it, hand me the bottle,' Miss White held out her hand over the counter.
Hairy Elbow Sprayer refused, an ever increasing fragrance stain spread over her grubby T-shirt.
'I said hand me that bottle!'

By now we were amused but slightly worried, Miss White is not one for confrontation on a grand scale and Hairy Elbow Sprayer is very large in comparison. So when Miss White rushed around the counter with a cry of,
'Right! That is it! You have crossed the line....'

We took cover behind the lipsticks, obviously with a supervisory eye on our colleague should it get ugly.

'Give that to me,' Miss White demanded.
'MMmno,' Hairy Elbow Sprayer tried to absorb the bottle.
Miss White grabbed the bottle but got stuck in a pulling match. I should at this point explain Hairy Elbow Sprayer is a woman of about twenty stone, who sports socks with sandals and probably has some needs that require special attention. Miss White on the other hand is a delicate slip of a thing. After much to'ing and fro'ing Miss White emerged victorious, with a cry of,
'Don't come back!' she returned the almost empty tester to the counter. At this point we sent her for a coffee.

Tougher than she looks that one.

Just blurt it out......why don't cha!

They say, 'the Lord give'th and the Lord take'th away' ( I don't actually know who, they, are...) but he certainly does in spades.
For instance yesterday; the Lord gave'th sunshine and I got my mountain of washing out and drying before the school run. But then he ripped all the light out of my day in a spectacular taketh-y away moment, in the shape of a dwarf with bad skin. I say dwarf, she was borderline but had a weird voice so despite her unofficial small person status she went straight into the 'Freaking me out' department on planet Mole.
I did my usual self conscious impression of a giraffe accepting sweets off a small child, ( splayed legs to make me shorter but trying to look casual and accepting) whilst she explained her predicament and explained and explained, then said
'The doctor gave me antibiotics but I couldn't swallow them....'
(No, because you have a squeaky toy lodged there, was my first thought .)
We discussed this and I found her a solution to her problem, as we concluded our transaction she also said,
'At this point I would do anything to make my skin better.'
'Obviously not or you would have taken the antibiotics.' I blurted out with a smile, then suddenly realised I had said it out loud. 'Or not..........'
That was my last word on the subject and as we awkwardly exchanged smiles and the bag of cosmetics, I was praying inside that the squeaky toy comment had stayed in my head.

If you have got this far without being offended by my casual anti-dwarfism, let it be known that I do hate myself for it and I know that small people are human and have rights. I do however , also suspect they live in Gingerbread Houses and keep fishing poles in their handbags!

Beautiful Angels or Monstrous Regiment?

This week I popped round to 'Sunday Girl's' to see her baby and keep her up to date on the gossip that wafts through the Hall of Plenty. And what a lot of gossip there is, who's doing what, who has done what and even, who has done whom. Cleansed of all salaciousness, I got to thinking on the way home about the women I work with and how I have never, on this blog, expressed how much fun it is to work with them.
 Yes, I know this is all about horrid customers and what it's like to work in a store, but some of that has got to be why one keeps going back. A large part of that, apart from the money that I earn that is quickly siphoned off me and turned into stuff for the kids, is the little band of ship mates that sail the fraught seas of retail under the watchful eye of She who Must Be Obeyed.
We as a team have been through so much together,births, deaths, marriages (obviously not to each other) aspirations, crisis, disasters, betrayal, illness, it has all been there. And throughout that we have supported one another like family,yep squabbles, tears, laughter and the big slipper when we are naughty. (We are  naughty quite a lot!)

Today I would like to dedicate this blog to my sisters of the rough sea's that make each day a little brighter.

To you, ya whingey bunch of  bottle sniffers I say this, we are not a nylon encased, over made up Monstrous Regiment of tut pushing devils sent from Hades to rip your money out of your innocent pockets. We are real women, Beautiful Angels capable of grace and compassion. Alright we are blessed with the rather special ability to turn a Bulldog in a Beauty Queen ( That's a whole different blog) but we are women of courage and shall remain so even in the face of a ten percent sale.

X

The Winning Entry. - 'What a W****R

So my friends the time has come. I know you have been waiting with baited breath to see which story has won my competition and I assure you it was tough decision to make, but finally we decided on our winner.
Please let me introduce ''Doris'' and her story;

'I am not a Cosmetics Consultant but I do work in retail and have a lot stories of about abusive customers, however this story was told to me by a dear friend who worked in a Perfume Department for many years before she retired.
On a busy Saturday sometime ago my friend was working at her counter. A nice looking, mature, couple came to her and enquired about the fragrances. When they had decided on one, the lady left her husband to pay and wait for the bottle to be gift wrapped while she went to buy herself face cream. My friend was busy wrapping when the gentleman started to talk to her about how long she had worked in the store and asked if she enjoyed her job. Everything was normal until the gentleman told her he had noticed her around in the store a few times before. She laughed and said that it was very possible because she had worked there for a long time. Then he told her that he thought she was a very good looking woman. My friend thanked him for the compliment and tried to hand over the bag with his perfume in. Suddenly he took her hand and told her he would think about her that night whilst he was having a wank. Furious, my friend removed her hand and marched over to his wife at another counter, handing her the fragrance and asked her if her husband often told people that. The wife asked what he had said, my friend told her and left the poor woman to deal with it. We do not know what happened after that because my friend did not look back and went on her break. But before she retired they still came into the store only they stayed well away from her counter.'

I'm sure you will agree a worthy winner!

Oh dreary me!

That was two bottles of wine, one strange moustache and an a rant we regretted in the morning, wasn't it!
Under the circumstances I think somebody was right to send Le P45 to the frock creating genius.

 I don't work for the company involved but I can see their counter in The Hall of Plenty. I guarantee that when their sales drop like a bomb, the Gate Keeper will whisk in wanting to know why. And you know what? It won't be anything to do with events in France, it will be the consultants fault. It always is. When the customers verbally attack them for the recent headlines, that will also be the consultants fault. Like a character from a Soap Opera, people find it hard separate us from the House that owns the brand. They think we have hot lines to the folks that run the companies we work for and that direct feed back is welcome. On some level it is, 'Don't you just love your new uniform?' is a question we are always asked. And the direct feed back is, 'Yes of course.' Because it really doesn't make any difference if we do or we don't love those nylon, thrush-creating tight pants. Or if that weirdly cut jacket and top combo makes the generous of mammary gland look like the have mono-boob.

The money we earn goes into the pot to hire these highly strung darlings of the fashion world. And frankly some of them are utter gob-shites. Who can forget one designers sneering at shapely woman? That cost a few bob at the tills. And when a model shows less than model habits, what happens? Mothers steer impressionable teenage girls in the opposite direction of the merchandise they represent on the high street.
Personally I think a smidge of the money earned should go into keeping the artistic types grounded. A little  touch of intervention may have avoided such a wine soaked rant, that looks pretty goaded, in the first place.

Now I feel I must justify the phrase, 'pretty goaded' before anyone accuses me of anything. (Cliff's fan scared me!) Firstly, when somebody chooses to show you something on camera you only see what they wish you to see. Nobody knows what went before that piece of footage to cause such an outburst, good or bad, but the people present. Some of the people present that is, I suspect the small one with the weird tash hasn't got a clue.
Secondly, as a person of certain interests, I suspect the personality involved is more than aware of the number of homosexuals, gypsies, Polish Nationals, Russians and mediums that were also lost in WW2. under the circumstances he was alluding to and given the nature of the genius, I am willing to bet it is not the most shocking thing he has ever said. None of what was said was excusable, drunk, alcoholic, baited whatever, but I do think somebody should have removed him from that situation.
Why? Because we do not have lots of money and what the 'faces' of our brands do affects our pay packets.

A little more care at the top and a little more understanding at the bottom, please.

Competition Winner.

We have a winner!
It is a story that takes the absolute biscuit of Consultant experiences. I shall say no more until we have edited it as suitable for this blog. In the meantime I would like to thank everyone who sent me their stories. We are simply astounded by  the variety of ways people can be horrid to those of us in the service industry.
For anyone who didn't get all the famous retailers at the side of the page, they are ; Arkwright and Granville (Open All Hours.)  The Shopkeeper at the Fancy Dress shop. (Mr.Benn) Mr. Rumbold (Are You Being Served.) Mrs. Lovett (Sweeney Todd.) Rita and Mavis (Coronation Street.) Willy Wonka (Charlie And The Chocolate Factory.)  Mr. Sainsbury (Sainsbury's) Mr. Humphrey's' (Are You Being Served.)

All personal favourites of mine, I revel in my eclectic taste.
Thank you and join us soon for our guest experience.

Mole X

Rude is just rude!

As I enter the zone that is Half -Term, I shall be rendered temporarily unavailable for posting. Frankly spending time with two very boisterous children, zooming from the cinema to laser quest only stopping to plonk He Who Pays the Mortgages' dinner on the table, leaves me so exhausted that I can hardly lift my painted fingers to gesture to the non-indicating drivers who cut me up. So pardon me, I have expanded my abilities on the blog spot and scheduled this.

This week we discovered , via Miss Marple and a night at the theatre, that customers everywhere, of all shapes and sizes can be just as rude to each other as they are to us. On a lovely trip to the theatre Miss Marple wore her new suede shoes. Gorgeous creamy suede untouched by weather, greasy fingers or anything that would mar the wonder of the elegant sitting-down shoes. The first act went well. During the interval Miss Marple and her date made it to the bar but with the queue so long her gallant beau offered to fetch her drink if she found some seats. Whilst scanning the crowd a large foot pressed heavily onto one of Miss Marple's feet. As anyone with manners would she apologised trying to attract the attention of the shoe crusher, whose foot remained firmly on top of the new suede shoe. Struggling like a pinned moth, Miss Marple only managed to free her foot by poking the foot crusher hard in the ribs. When she said,
'I'm terribly sorry but you were standing on my foot.'
A large woman in maroon elasticated pants simply gave her a dirty look. Decidedly miffed by the comfortable shoe mark on her suede , she gave the woman another poke and said,
'I believe it is at this point that you apologise to me as you were the one who stood on my new shoes.'
The woman replied haughtily,
'I am disabled,' and waved a cane.
' What?' cried Miss Marple. 'Disabled? I don't actually think that means your manners are f******g crippled! I don't think carrying a stick, inhibits the free use of apologies.'
The woman's' companion said,
'How dare you abuse a disabled woman!'
' Oi, she is the one who stood on me.....'   Miss Marple was cut short by the appearance of the date and swept back to the safety of the theatre.

And I think that just goes to show it doesn't matter where you are, who you are, what you are, if you are rude then your just plain rude!

Competition Time!

No we haven't created a dodge-ball team to take on other stores. Let's face it, we could probably raise a handbag throwing team or compete vigorously in an eyebrow plucking demonstration. In fact if there was a 'scathing remarks' tag team event, you could count us in!  Slipper-Mouth's chihuahua once won a 'Sassiest Walk' at a dog show, so we do have some competitive spirit on the shop floor.

Sadly that is not what I have to declare. No, because I am giving someone in Cosmetics, or other retail departments, the chance to relate their worst customer experience to the world.

Here is how it works, name me all of the famous retailers on this page in the comments box below and a brief description of your experience, along with your e-mail address and you will get to relate your story on this blog next month.
Molly doesn't count I'm afraid , so we can leave her out. Scroll down the page and you will find some obvious and some obscure retailers from the last 40 years on T.V and film. Fill in the comment form (these will be filtered and secure and not published) and get your chance to tell the world.

Good Luck
Mole X

!!!! Somebody has already sent me a comment to point out that one of these images is not from film or t.v. Well smart arse there has been a documentary about them in the last two years that appeared on T.V for a very significant anniversary, so NO I am not making it too hard!!!!!!!

Happy Valentines X

Kerrching!
 It's Valentines Day, second only in the retail calendar to Christmas. Good way to sort out all the near divorces Christmas brought. For all you lovers in retail out there, here is a link piece of retail gold captured on film.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3U4I1quv1rY

The Hall of Plenty is awash with pink, roses, cupcakes, love hearts. All with the exception of our little island. No, we are not allowed to display any frippery. It is with much envy that we are watching Dippy Peacock try to revive some very pretty but tired flowers he has been instructed to describe as 'antiqued'. Shop speak for nearly dying. However we have managed to snaffle a few passing cupcakes. The sugar rush should keep us on our toes whilst 'She who Must be Obeyed' gets to the bottom of a new policy concerning maintenance. Apparently, we are no longer allowed to call them directly,  any contact must be made through a floor manager.
So to get our lights that should turn on automatically, turned on; somebody rewired them not  to work with everyone else's, we must wait to find a floor manager and get them to call maintenance.

Ahhh retail mangement. Who loves ya baby!

Retail therapy?

There only a  few jobs where you get undermined and abused on a daily basis. Ours is one of them.
Sunday was a great example of that.

Enter probably the rudest woman on the face of the planet;
'Where is this lipstick?'
(Right between my eyes actually madam.) 'If I could just see which number it is....Ahh I am sorry, but we do not make that lipstick anymore...'
Tut. 'Which one is the nearest?'
'If I could just see the colour then I will try to match it up.'
'So you don't know what colour this is?'
'Well, it has been a while.....'
'No it hasn't.'
'I'm sorry?'
'I only bought this recently.'
'Err okay well, I am not familiar with that particular colour...'
'Here look.'  (Madam waves the indistinct colour from 2009 summer collection at my face again.)
'If you could just put some on the back of my hand, I will get a brush...'
'No.'
'Err,'
'I'm not wasting it on your hand.'
'Errr, right well we will just have to do our best with the colour then..... how about this?'
'No.'
'This one?'
'No. None of them are like my colour.'
'Well it is from a different collection....they are very sheer....'
'For goodness sake why do they do that?'
'?'
'Stop making an entire type of lipstick, that's just stupid.'
(Aha, I have an answer for this.) ' It is to keep in line with trends in fashion, the designers are working  about five years ahead so....'
'That was a rhetorical question, I don't want to hear your answer , you can go.'

If I had recorded that and made a documentary how different would peoples attitude to us be? Apparently since 'The Secret Shopper' aired earlier this month, complaints to our Hall of Plenty have risen by 70%.

Already we have received a cyber-complaint from a woman who couldn't understand her receipt was out of date and, as tax had gone up, she would have to pay the difference between any items she swapped. Twist and turn the debate as she might, she could not get past having to stump up the extra money which was grudgingly slapped down on the counter by her daughter - in - law. None of which was bad service,
because we agreed to change her item even though her receipt was out of date, we just had to charge her the difference. Why ? Because that is the policy in the Hall of Plenty. So she went and fired off an e-mail in response. I would love to scan it in and show you, but, you know anonymous and all that. The gist of it was , she had a hideous experience, was shocked and distressed and was only saved from the situation by her daughter- in - law.
No, we didn't try to murder her or hold her hostage but she was 'shocked and distressed'. It would take more than being charged two quid for a lipstick I hadn't bought in the first place to shock me, but there you go.

Now pin back your ears everybody!
 It is not bad service that you are receiving if you don't get your own way, there are some things that are just fact. We cannot just give you discount because you think you deserve it; we would get fired for stealing.  We cannot just change something that you don't like without a receipt; we would get disciplined for breaking store policy. We CANNOT just swap things for different colours, smells or textures just because they are the same brand without proof of purchase. WHY? Because, everything that is bought or sold has a unique code that belongs to the store that owns the stock, so WE WOULD GET IN TROUBLE with our store.
Crazy as it may seem  stores have these security policies to stop the whole sale swapping, nicking or frauding of luxury items, so that genuine brand loyal customers can receive an item worthy of their money.

Customers really need to understand that we will not put up with their stupidity, lies or bullying. I don't care what fantastical story they come up with, an out of date receipt is out of date. Shouting at me is not going to change that.
 A lipstick that we don't make anymore will not mysteriously appear from up my arse if you are rude to me.
The product you obviously kept for over six months, judging by the colour and the build up of dust on the lid, will not become faulty no matter how hard you stamp your feet, I am not your mother.

We go to work to earn money and hopefully have a nice day doing so. If the way you treat us is any indication of your personality then shame on you, you deserve everything coming to you.

Retail therapy? In my experience it should be, get some therapy.

O.M. G!!!!!

I hate text abbreviations, yet I am so gobsmacked that I shall indulge me-self.
I  L.O.L  about five minutes ago when I heard some utter idiot, browsing the tut, whingeing about having to cancel their holiday in Egypt.
W.T.F?
Apparently those 'selfish savages' have ruined  her holiday by their 'unreasonable' behaviour.
Now, it is not my place to re-educate the general public. (Thank god Mrs. Pankhurst is on honeymoon.) but I really do think someone who has reached approximately sixty years of age would appreciate that the people of Egypt are actually protesting for free and fair elections. When you chance getting shot in the head just to vote things must be pretty grim. Whilst I am sure that those same 'unreasonable savages' would be very pleased to have her grace their country with her plenty pounds and condescending manner, I am even more sure they would like to elect their own leaders.
Let it not be forgotten that once-upon-a-time, not everyone in Britain was able to vote and just last year a number of voters were turned away at polling stations. So, whilst madam is busy condemning a nation struggling for it's rights just because it buggered up her holiday, the less stupid of us should keep one eye on our own voting system and cast an admiring glance at people forcing change the way our great, great grandparents did.
So G.F.Y madam. Don't make me L.O.L at your selfish ignorance.

Handbags and hermaphrodites.

It's done, Miss Pankhurst is now a married woman. What a beautiful bride, what a lovely day and what a dignified man the Fiance, rather the Husband, is. We had an emotional roller-coaster of a day, tears of joy and quite a few of laughter. My heart went out to the staff at the venue though.
One unfortunate young man was subjected to snatches of conversation at our end of the dining table that included, a misunderstanding about one of us being a hermaphrodite and two of us swapping banter about farting in each others faces. All innocent lady like conversations when not taken out of context. However our credibility took a dive on discussing our handbags. Tit tape and gas powered curling tongs that resembled a marital aid emerged and the poor fella nearly dropped the sorbets. One could have cleared up the misunderstanding, but the mental image of chasing a waiter around a wedding breakfast waving gas powered curling tongs kept us sniggering in our seats.
It's back to reality now with only the memory of that wonderful day to keep us warm against the chill of the customer. Mind you, the arrogant young dandy that pushed past me on the escalator raised a wry smile yesterday. One of the handrails wasn't working in time with the steps and as he went for a well practised casual pose, designed to expose maximum tight buttocked-ness in his low slung tight black pants and his pointy shoes, he was spun around and clattered off the thing into mens wear with all the elegance of a wounded gazelle.

What's the problem with children?

I get chills when I read things like , 'Should children be banned from planes?' for one reason. Children are not the problem, parents are the problem. In the Hall of Plenty we get women so badly suited to motherhood that they will say of a six week old baby,
'Oh he/she is being naughty today.'
Really? I'm mean REALLY?
Explain to me how a six week old baby can be naughty exactly. Crying! Have you tried checking it's nappy?
Still crying! Have you fed it, burped it, brought it out at a deeply inappropriate time, kept it up when it wants to sleep or maybe, just maybe, it is aware that you are more interested in mascara and lipstick than your baby.
Vain women who have babies because it gets them attention, then act like the child has interrupted their very busy life ,when they really want to concentrate on buying more makeup, should leave their kids at home.
Case in point; the woman who was so busy with her fake eyelashes, ignored her son's desperate pleas to take him to the toilet and caused him to wee all over the floor, will never know what damage she did to his self esteem in the long term.

Yesterday a couple came to the counter  with a child in a pushchair, a lovely little boy who was quite obviously exhausted and even more obviously teething, and what was the first thing she said to me when I said hello to the child?
'Ignore him, he is being very naughty today.'
I may be an average consultant but I am a bloody good mother, and so I asked,
'How? How is he being naughty? Surely he can only be ''naughty'' by your adult judgement, given that he is, what, eighteen months old? I would suggest he is being tortured by his gums and is exhausted, and would probably benefit from some care and attention at home, he can't be naughty because he doesn't know what naughty is. Where you looking for any particular mascara?'
She did try to stare me out , whilst her addled brain worked out what I had said. The husband was a lot quicker and went red but utterly ignored the child.

And that, I am afraid, is typical of the chattering classes, they have a kid because it seems like a good idea and then they loose all compassion for it because it won't conform or behave in a way they think it should.
Children are not adults or playthings. They are unformed human beings who learn every good or bad thing from their parents, so let's face it, children are not the problem. We are!

G- strings and jazz hands.

There are days when getting into work can seem like a jog through a a scene from Inception, folding cities included. Public transport, children so mesmerised by whatever is in the bathroom they freeze, toothbrush in hand, making you late. Lost books and keys..... always the keys. Four trips back to pick up things somebody forgot off the sofa. Life is not easy for the working parent.
Yet, when it goes well and you sweep into work on time, perky, full of jolly banter , there is always something to trip one up. Apart from decree's sent from above that is. I have to say, the little thunder bolts sent down from Mount Olympus have been so sporadic and irrelevant recently, we are mostly immune to them now.

 I 'm rambling aren't I ?
 Sorry.

And so today's offender of the faith? A woman who inserted the spray button of a fragrance bottle up her nostril, TWICE.
 Anyone who reads this blog more than once will know about our mass hatred of bottle snorters. Why? Because it is dirty. Yes, dirty, nasty, ignorant people. 
Oh, swine flu ! I'm so scared!
Not bloody scared enough on approaching a counter, full of lovely bottles of beautifully blended  fragrance,  to stop shoving them up your nose.  When you leave a little bit of moisture and a  blobby grey sticky bit, do you know what we do? 
We chuck the whole thing in the bin. 
Ahhwww, could you have taken that? That lovely half full tester that is now wasted in a skip somewhere? Could you? It is a waste isn't it? Somebody should just clean it down shouldn't they? 

No, actually. My colleagues and I are not in the business of cleaning up human waste. So keep your secretions to yourselves and stop sticking bottles up your MRSA shaft. God, it is bad enough when women try lipstick on their fingers after they have dragged a bit of sweaty G- string from up their cracks.
Oh yes they do!
They don't notice themselves, but quite a lot of legging wearers give their minge attire a quick subconscious adjustment on a Saturday. Down go the bags, up comes the top, out of the butt-crack it comes and then,

'Oooh I love that colour'.
Jazz hands straight on the eye-shadows!

Nice thought eh?

Contrary Mary.

Well, well, well.  So there is a television series from Mary Portas focusing on bad service.
I know this is a normally lighthearted, sometimes scathing, blog from the Cosmetics Consultants point of view and that often I have pop at the customers expense, but I think there is a dilemma to be pondered here.

I have posted the link below that leads to an article reviewing the Secret Shopper episode one.
http://gu.com/p/2mgkn

I found it puzzling and not a little bit condescending, the review not the program. Surely, wherever we spend our money, we are entitled to some professional service and for two very good reasons.
Firstly because selling is a profession. You pay for your item and the sales person is paid for their time. I think a transaction that involves money defines the point, otherwise it would be charity and slave labour.
And secondly, high street business spends a fortune on training sales staff, so not providing good service is technically stealing from you boss.

Is Mary  doing a good job then?
Yes and No, in my opinion, programmes such as this expose companies to fundamental problems with staff training. But where can you find an exposee' of customer behaviour? For those of us that take our job seriously, there is precious little back up when a customer defies all training and is just plain rude.

 The backlash of know-it-all customers we received after 'Dom whats-his-face', bargained like a tourist at a Moroccan bazaar all over daytime television, was bad enough.
'What's your best price for this fragrance?'
'I'll tell you what the best price for that fragrance is mate, the one I just bloody told you!'  That is really what goes through a consultants mind as they smile sympathetically. When they say, 'Well you have to ask,'  what we really think is.'No you don't you cheap arse, it's not a fridge. Look how embarrassed your wife is!'
They do this because they cannot define between goods that you can bargain for, antiques, secondhand cars, etc; and goods you can't. LIPSTICK, FRAGRANCE, SKINCARE.

So what, I ask with a shudder that reaches to my nylon clad core, are we to expect from eager watchers of Mary Portas? Will they be telling us our job's? Probably. Will they be expecting discount if they have to wait for a consultant to finish with one customer before they are served? Absolutely!
Nobody has yet shown the kind of treatment, well trained, polite staff have to deal with from the everyday customer with issue's. And they do have issues. One only has to read this blog, full of anecdotal experiences, to see what those of us on the front line put up with everyday.
Yes, we have delightful customers! Interesting women and men that enrich our day with smiles and charm, whose transactions are flawless examples of good service. We have regular visitors, of sane mind and body, who never spit and don't freak us out. Good service very rarely gets acknowledgement and that is a huge problem.Where is the programme about that? Where are the letters complimenting us?   If the public got into the habit of complimenting a good service, then perhaps abrasive customers would not affect us quite so much.

 Maybe, Mary should focus on customer attitude in her series. Perhaps, we should secretly film bad customers. How would exposing the extreme behaviour of individual shoppers change peoples attitude toward staff in the retail and service industries?  When a customer can write a letter or complain, when in actual fact they are the problem , how do staff defend themselves?
Nothing, on any of the training courses I have been on, could have taught me how to deal with the woman who screamed and shouted about not being able to get a refund for something that she had used up completely, then decided to return.

Lesson one to any  customers reading this; we are not qualified mental health nurses.

I'm gonna get me a new hat!

Exciting news, the 'Overseer' is re-considering the hours at the Hall of Plenty. Despite being open for hours, customers simply don't come in at certain times. Apart from those really awkward people who, no matter what time you are open till, freak out at five minutes before closing and say,
'You're not closing right now are you?'
But we won't indulge ourselves in the negative today because we might, I say might, close for the Royal Wedding.
I was always fond of Prince William!
Here's hoping Saint Diana of Windsor is smiling down on us and I get to see the frock before the Tiny Hands get bored by my middle-aged show of  Royal-ism.
Most exciting of all, Miss Pankhurst will soon throw off the chains of feminist liberation and march into a partnership of equal rights and eternal happiness with the Fiancee.We will be there to witness the taming and will definitely shed a tear or two.
With babies, weddings and the odd hormonal moment, life amongst the cosmetic counters
is a beautiful thing.
I'm off to buy a new hat.

A very pertinent question.

Thank god the snow has gone!
Two children, six individual wellies, all the extra washing, the digging out of the car....... it was endless After three days of joy, the children sulked in their bedrooms complaining about having nothing to do because of the snow. Well it's gone now and is anything any different? No, it is not.
Next year they will receive a picture each, of disadvantaged children enjoying the Tiny Hands Christmas presents, in a lovely frame. That should teach them not to sulk in centrally heated bedrooms surrounded by tat.

And what has this to do with Cosmetics and the Hall of Plenty? Well, every year I get a holiday after the money flinging season. This year I decided to menace the washing pile and terrorise my dusty crevices. (Ooh - er madam!) Whilst doing so, I listened to lots of people on the radio and TV telling me that retail did better than predicted, with many companies making a bigger profit than expected.

Hmm!

My very pertinent question is......
If everything went up before Christmas, yet people still spent on luxury items and the companies still made a profit, why have the cosmetics companies frozen the consultants pay?

If  those of us who actually put the money in the till, stand up for eight hours at a time and deal with the public cannot keep our wages in line with inflation, where is our incentive to sell?

Is it my imagination or are we, the highly trained, well groomed representatives of  historic brands in cosmetics, being taken for granted? It is hard work learning  benefits and selling techniques. It's not easy  to apply make up to a customer with a face like a Brillo pad, whilst still inspiring her and making it a pleasant experience. Some of us are not trained to put large numbers into tiny boxes and fax it to people in offices, but we do it.
Listening to stupid questions  like, 'Why haven't you sold enough ?' They are not in the job description. But we soon learn to flatter the ego's of those who's job it is to ask, especially whilst standing in a deserted shopping hall with twelve inches of snow outside.

You know, if we are the people who make the sale, take the money and stick it in the till, then it is really not us that should take the hit. Maybe somebody else with a petrol allowance would be the place to start!!!!

Just a thought.

''No Returns, no need to buy.'' An Ode to the misguided customer.

No, no, no, you cannot bring that back,
You've used the thing, smashed the lid,
The cellophane's unwrapped.

Perhaps you misunderstand me,  I really cannot help,
With no receipt, you're knackered mate,
Stop shouting, it's a fact.

Now, here's the thing you're missing,
from our point of view,
manners, several brain cells and a jolly good slap or two.

It's not that we don't like you,
You have no proof of purchase.
So what's a girl to do ?

Don't be bloody ungrateful,
appreciate the gesture and,
So what if you have two?


It doesn't matter how much, Auntie Vera spent,
because I'll tell her next year,
just where her present went.

Back and forth across the till,
returned
and then refused.

You don't get off that lightly, being quite so vain.
You can't live without that mascara?
Madam, you know nothing real of pain !

Now bugger off, don't waste my time,
There's targets to be made.
Retail involves selling, not a service, it's a trade!

Happy New Year!!!

New Year has arrived, hurrah!
 In the spirit of renewal and consideration of the year past, I have decided to re-post my favourite blog from 2010, Lamb Chops. Strangely enough, New Years Eve brought a rush of  mutton based make overs at the make up counters.Shoring up a face lift that resembled Laura Ashley swags made me think of this and I would like to share my best of 2010 with you, Happy New Year and may 2011 be a prosperous one to you all XX


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 on the North Face.
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.