Merry Christmas X

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

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

Merry Christmas X

Ho, Ho, Ho.....

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

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

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

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

Still laughing!

Stop....think.

Just think for a minute.

Then stop;

Interrupting us when we are talking to other customers.

STICKING PERFUME BOTTLES UP YOUR NOSES!!

Complaining about stuff we don't make anymore.

Complaining about things we don't have in stock.

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

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

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

Putting the wrong numbers into  the chip and pin machine.

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

Now think again.

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

What is the problem......?

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

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

 

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

The Cat Crap Chronicles Volume II - The Curtain Witch

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

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

This may have been my downfall.


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A warm welcome back....

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

Welcome back!!!

Wigging out and other specialities.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh my.....

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

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

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

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

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

And what are we changing exactly?

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

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

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

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

Away and Back again.

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

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

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

And why do certain nations push at theme parks?

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

2 out of 2 and some personal space...

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

However they did.

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

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

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

People please!

You have a place - IN FRONT OF THE TILL.

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

Some people.....

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

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

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

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

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

Rude and stupid!

1 in 3

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

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

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

Filthy Young Things....

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

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

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

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

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

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

Other things for sale......

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let there be light......

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

Smooth as a botoxed forehead!

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

Bad advice from experts......

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

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

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

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

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

 Get your facts right money man !

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reccession what reccession?

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

So why are the customers still being rude?

Just a thought.