The ramblings of Mrs. Hoolihan

My rants on life and everything in between. Desperately trying to remind myself that it's just not worth the jail time.


Customer Service

Why I should never work in Customer Services.

I’m not a people’s person if you catch my drift. I like who I like (and that’s a lot of people to be fair), but equally, there’s a lot of people I don’t like.

You see in my opinion, the average Joe is a gigantic whack off pain in the arse.

Take my weekly shop to Asda; I dread it. Why? Because of all the dim wits shopping at the same time as me. If they’re not blocking the aisle, they’re ramming their trolley into your ankles and if it’s not either of these actions, then their letting their kids eat half of the contents of their trolley and you’ve to weave in and out of a trail of food that the little sod has left behind – Hansel and Gretel eat your hearts out. Then there’s those scratters who’re busy nicking stuff, don’t get me started on this lot of no brainers shoving baby food into their handbags, whilst sporting their latest expensive PINK trackie.

Then you’ve got old people. I love old people, I do, but sometimes they’re a menace. I mean this in a nice way. They always want to pet my 1 year old son and then that’s it, he’s off wanting to explore with them. FML I want to scream – you’re not at the petting zoo, carry on and this Mother will bite you, never mind her off spring.

I just couldn’t deal with this set of imbeciles on a day to day basis (and remain sane). I genuinely think I’d end up stabbing some obnoxious fucktard and then that would be it, I’d leave my child Mother less and my husband to be back in the dating pond.

I once worked in a shop, a long, long time ago as a student. This ladies high street shop, Oasis, was in the heart of Leeds and one busy Saturday afternoon I was assigned to the fitting room. Easy enough job, apart from having to lie through your teeth to middle aged women who were hell-bent on shoving their arse into a size 8 pair of shorts – “It was never gonna happen 10 years ago love, it certainly ain’t happening now”  is what I thought on many, many occasion, but of course never said it out loud.

This one time, I chased a lady out of the shop and up the street to hand her over £20 she’d dropped in the changing room; did I get a thanks? Did I bollocks. Instead she snapped the money from my hand, gave me the once over and marched off without so much as a thank you. Up yours I shouted to the jumped up no body.

Having to be nice to people everyday would literally kill me. Don’t get me wrong, I am nice, it’s just that I couldn’t be nice to obnoxious people, without losing my job or being punched in the ovaries.

That’s why I’ll never apply to work with the general public in Customer Services; as much as they’re loose cannons, I’m a nightmare with my mouth and I genuinely think I’d end up in jail or put rather simply, dead.

The crappest of crap customer service.

A bit like food poisoning, I’ll dare bet you’ve also stumbled across crap customer service. Yep, I guessed it.

I’m used to crap service; people doing jobs they hate and generally hating life, I get you. But the thing is, you’re there, you took the job, so get on with it.

Today I encountered the crappest of crap service. In Next. I explained (nicely) to the cashier that I wanted to exchange the 8 items of boys’ clothing like for like, however, I could only find 5 of the said 8 on the shop floor.  Well instead of actually listening to me, she was all too arsed with the woman being served next to me who was off to Marbella (I refuse to call it Marbs) this weekend. So of course, she messed my request up. When I politely (agitated, given) asked her to focus on my request, she looked at me like I was a turd.

A turd. A poo. A plop. That’s how she looked at me. For f*ck sake I thought, how hard is it to listen? That’s all I’m after all isn’t it? For her to listen and carry out what I’m asking. For a moment I nearly went all Drita D’avanzo a la Mob Wives on her and punched her in the tit  but decided at the last moment i’d probably just come across as a dick.

So there you have it. Crap service at its’ finest all because the cashier couldn’t be arsed to listen.  I couldn’t work in customer services as I’m just not a people person. And neither was she.

And another thing, I’ll dare bet as I walked off she gave me the V’s – well right back at you. Mofo.

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