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?