I'm a big fan of modified cars, and today I saw an absolute classic. It had a great paint job, tinted windows, a fantastic set of rims and a cool spoiler. The best bit however is the model of car that had been tricked out, a Renault Espace. Thats right a crappy MPV riced up to the nines. i wish I had the enough disposable income to frivolously jazz up a people carrier.
While at work I ran into a customer that was very keen on rice pudding. Picked up quite a few tips for how to prepare a shoddy desert from a can, none of which were even slightly appetizing. Basically In order to make rice pudding even vaguely appealing you have to add a tonne of other stuff. I wanted to ask her why she didn't just make a pudding out of the extra ingredients, but customer service decorum prevented me Thats the same rule that stops me shouting "I DON'T CARE, PISS OFF BACK TO THE HOLE YOU CRAWLED FROM!" every five minutes. Unfortunatly politeness has been ingrained into me through good parenting. Why couldn't I of had shitty parents? Then I could lay into the fucktards without conscience.
Yesterday I dealt with an irate mother upset that we didnt stock "FIFA '08" on the Nintendo DS. This is a valid complaint, the DS is a hugely popular console and the latest addition to EA's football series is a guaranteed best seller. However continually telling me that we should stock it isnt going to change anything. I have about as much control over what games are offered for sale as I have control over the passage of time. Ironically time was something I was wasting arguing with her, all several tonnes of her (if you put this girl in space she'd have enough gravitational pull for several moons, really big moons too).
Thinking I was done with her I moved on to more important duties, such as talking to my buddy Will (who's not on SG, but should be cos hes ace). Anyway I get a call over the tannoy that my services are needed at customer services. Usually this means they can't find a CD/DVD/GAME for a customer because the system we use is so fucking hard (theres a number on the back of the box, these correspond to a numbered cardboard sleeves that are kept behind customer services in numerical order. Its really not that difficult.) But anyway, I notice the behemoth is there and she's done something I fucking hate.
To elaborate, I work in a supermarket. If you stop me to ask a question I will do my best to answer it. Usually its "where do I find...." not a problem been there far to fucking long and i know were stuff is. If I don't I find someone who does.(btw this isn't cos I give a toss, its because I know how irritating it is when you cant find something). If you ask something about my department and I make it clear this is something I will know , and that no one else will know better than I, you better take that as the freakin' gospel truth. Basically my attitude to customer service is "what do I have to do to stop you bothering me?"
Back to the story, Mrs Creosote (points to anyone thats gets the reference) is still after FIFA. And shes ignored my explanation. Instead she's gone to moan to customer service. So they call me. To explain the same thing to her, the same thing I'd explained before. I'm pretty sure I'd explained to her why I'd know as well.
In the end she leaves with the threat that she'll go to Woolworths instead. Oh god no dont do that! Dont go to another store that sells something we don't! We won't loose any profit from you doing that! Hang on a sec I'll just magic you up a copy.
There was a point to all this. I think.
It might of had something to do with redheads. Most stuff I write is about redheads, and how I'd step over my own mothers dead corpse to touch one.
But thats a story for another day.
(Reminder to self, possible edits needed cos it was late when you wrote it. I'm not saying you were pissed, buts its not unlikely is it?)
Geoff Lloyd signing off.
While at work I ran into a customer that was very keen on rice pudding. Picked up quite a few tips for how to prepare a shoddy desert from a can, none of which were even slightly appetizing. Basically In order to make rice pudding even vaguely appealing you have to add a tonne of other stuff. I wanted to ask her why she didn't just make a pudding out of the extra ingredients, but customer service decorum prevented me Thats the same rule that stops me shouting "I DON'T CARE, PISS OFF BACK TO THE HOLE YOU CRAWLED FROM!" every five minutes. Unfortunatly politeness has been ingrained into me through good parenting. Why couldn't I of had shitty parents? Then I could lay into the fucktards without conscience.
Yesterday I dealt with an irate mother upset that we didnt stock "FIFA '08" on the Nintendo DS. This is a valid complaint, the DS is a hugely popular console and the latest addition to EA's football series is a guaranteed best seller. However continually telling me that we should stock it isnt going to change anything. I have about as much control over what games are offered for sale as I have control over the passage of time. Ironically time was something I was wasting arguing with her, all several tonnes of her (if you put this girl in space she'd have enough gravitational pull for several moons, really big moons too).
Thinking I was done with her I moved on to more important duties, such as talking to my buddy Will (who's not on SG, but should be cos hes ace). Anyway I get a call over the tannoy that my services are needed at customer services. Usually this means they can't find a CD/DVD/GAME for a customer because the system we use is so fucking hard (theres a number on the back of the box, these correspond to a numbered cardboard sleeves that are kept behind customer services in numerical order. Its really not that difficult.) But anyway, I notice the behemoth is there and she's done something I fucking hate.
To elaborate, I work in a supermarket. If you stop me to ask a question I will do my best to answer it. Usually its "where do I find...." not a problem been there far to fucking long and i know were stuff is. If I don't I find someone who does.(btw this isn't cos I give a toss, its because I know how irritating it is when you cant find something). If you ask something about my department and I make it clear this is something I will know , and that no one else will know better than I, you better take that as the freakin' gospel truth. Basically my attitude to customer service is "what do I have to do to stop you bothering me?"
Back to the story, Mrs Creosote (points to anyone thats gets the reference) is still after FIFA. And shes ignored my explanation. Instead she's gone to moan to customer service. So they call me. To explain the same thing to her, the same thing I'd explained before. I'm pretty sure I'd explained to her why I'd know as well.
In the end she leaves with the threat that she'll go to Woolworths instead. Oh god no dont do that! Dont go to another store that sells something we don't! We won't loose any profit from you doing that! Hang on a sec I'll just magic you up a copy.
There was a point to all this. I think.
It might of had something to do with redheads. Most stuff I write is about redheads, and how I'd step over my own mothers dead corpse to touch one.
But thats a story for another day.
(Reminder to self, possible edits needed cos it was late when you wrote it. I'm not saying you were pissed, buts its not unlikely is it?)
Geoff Lloyd signing off.
Snooker. Well, watching snooker is preferable to being shot in the head (depending on how miserable i am at the time though) but on just preferable. I do not like snooker. Still, each to thier own...
My birthday was quite good thanks, although i did fall asleep for half the afternoon...sign of age me thinks!