The Customer is Always Wrong

Currnet mood: aggitated

"Come into my life!" says the old woman in the corner, with a flouncey wave of the hand, as a blur of catweasel and underage hairdressers accelerate past the window. A hunched Mr. Smirny (the legendary arsonist) pads through the door, a cacophony of chiming bells and stifled screams trailing in his wake. Many meaningless questions are asked, no conclusions are drawn. A whiff of spices and the King is here, waiting to be waited on, hands and feet are no object. Lies are suppressed, truths are not believed. The tiny ones emerge blinking from the darkness, slowly exchanging plastic and reams of paper for sticky treats. Time passes, dreams die, there is no happy ending.
There is no ending.

--------------------yes, I can be deranged too--------------------

And now for a rant on the state of customer service in this great country of ours. My first and most important point is this: You've only got yourselves to blame. It would be a hell of a lot easier not to treat most of our booze-constituency with contempt if they didn't all bloody deserve it.

There are three main schools of customers, the first and most annoying are the one's that treat our liquor-emporium like it's their own personal olde worlde corner shoppe, barging past a line of law abiding shoppers to demand you go and get something from the other side of the store that they have just walked straight past. When you explain you are busy tending to the whims of the nice queue-friendly people they proceed to rip your head off and eat your innards with the tip of a fish slice.
The next group of our patrons will happily go and get things off the shelf, but will then start loading it up on the counter, getting in everybody's way, as they shuffle round and round the floor for the next hour and a half.
The rest of our clientele are shabby looking individuals with the alco-shakes, paying for their one lonely can of tramp-juice with nothing but grubby coppers.
We have other people entering the shop from time to time, these are designated 'the browsers', aimlessly wandering, chatting on their mobile phones, but never passing close enough to the counter or a member of staff to be ensnared into buying anything. Maybe they feel that actually shopping in a shop is beneath them.

Perhaps it's a peculiarity of the off-licence, but people think they can get away with behaviour they would dream of perpetrating in a supermarket. Smoking, dogs, shouty swearing, kicking doors when we're closed, chronic thieving, being alcoholic, existing.


currently listening: Tales From Turnpike House by Saint Etienne