Slipper Mouth Rides Again!

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

Give us a Clue.

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

Rant-O-Rama at the Hall of Plenty.

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

Hell in a handcart.

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

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

One handcart to hell please!

She has arrived !

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

X

It's the Most Wonderful time of Year!

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

The first customer of the day.

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

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

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

The lipstick is identified and taken to the till.

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

The lipstick is put through the till.

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

The item is bought.

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

Madam strides over and squirts herself with fragrance.

The first customer of the day.

Tears and fears.

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

The Stork Come'th.

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

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

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

Broken toes and Spider Bites.

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

Manner's Please!

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

Waxing Lyrical.

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


                

A Small Malfunction.

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

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

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

The September Issue.

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

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

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

The Nail Polish Saga.

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

Miss White and the Birthday Biscuit.

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

Silly Questions.

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

'Slipper Mouth.'

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

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