In search of Billy Liar!

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

Around and about the Hall of Plenty.

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

Freak O' Clock.

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

Discretion required.

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

Bad Service ? Maybe you have Bad Manners!

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

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

Really? I mean, REALLY?

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

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

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

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

Doh!

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

Tugging at the Tigers Tail!

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

One more time!

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

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

For Louisa.

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

The Grand Announcment.

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

Samples with a Twist.

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

On not having Air Con!

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

Approachability

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

Lamb Chops.

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

Limited Edition.

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

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

Limited Edition, restricted amount of product.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Rottweiler.

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

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

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

Serious Thoughts.

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

Fun and games at the Hall of Plenty.

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

Take the mint!

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

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

Why don't I look like her?

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

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

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

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