Open for business
Just that one today?
It wasn’t the sentence alone that killed my shopping experience. (Read – chain store, overcrowded, slippery tiled shopping centre experience.) The simple string of words when pronounced politely and properly can really be quite nice. No, it wasn’t the sentence. It was the attitude and arrogance behind it that left me rolling my eyes and despising what now stood in front of me behind the counter.
After abruptly repeating the ‘sales approach’ in order to snap me out of my day dream, a quick hand snatched the item from me and strutted around to the better side of the register.
It was obvious that I was in the wrong here. How dare I walk into a store and try to purchase something. What on God’s green earth gave me the assumption that I had the right to give someone my money in exchange for some piece of shit that was for sale in a shop, of all places?
It left me wondering when places like this had become too cool. The entire surroundings seemed the same as the last time I had entered, but this time there was no friendly ‘hey how you going?’
No, this time I was welcomed with a forceful glare from the tip of each hair follicle to the last freckle on my disgusting little toe.
Not to give the wrong opinion here, I’m not one for a chatty Chelsea shadowing me around. Nor am I enlightened by the ten sales steps that most chain stores use these days. I generally don’t even want/need assistance. I’m simply not one to cruise into a store and be looked at as if someone might ask me “Do you wanna take this outside?’.
I’ve been on the other side of the counter. I’ve personally dealt with the hierarchy of consumers. I may not have always been cheery and bubbly, but ever since then, I’m always polite to the sales assistants.
I’m not asking for much here. Basically, please don’t lean your heinous little body over the till, roll your eyes and repeat the lyrics ‘nobody likes the records that I play’ over and over at me while you unwillingly run through my sale as though your controlling my air supply.
No. Nobody likes the records that you play. No one cares that you have memorised the one line lyrics to the song. You aren’t a DJ. You’re not even responsible for the music blaring through the speakers into the store. No one is impressed. Not even your drunken Saturday night alter- ego.
I thought this picture would be appropriate. I’m going to hang this in my store. That way people would get the drift as soon as they entered. I’m just kidding…I don’t own a store.
Words by Tennille Paterson