28 July 2008
Well, another utterly thrilling day at Focus ‘for diy and gardening’ has ensued. I am now officially ready to give the noose that’s hung loosely around my neck for the past two months a nice firm tug.
The general public have long been the bane of my life. I do not enjoy queuing alongside them in supermarkets, driving amongst them, or indeed sitting next to the plump, perspiring variety on planes. Needless to say, I enjoy even less serving them for nine hours a day to earn a pittance at my mundane part time job at a failing DIY store.
Old people are the worst, in every respect. Rude, ignorant, painfully slow and utterly moronic. They scowl as they edge towards the checkouts, using the trolley as a substitute zimmer frame on which to lean their entire weight. When they eventually arrive within earshot, the friendly ‘Good afternoon’ I have mastered so impeccably is immediately silenced with a suspicious glare. If purchasing any item heavier than a pack of nails, they stare incredulously as you try a cheery wave goodbye, before spitting ‘Well clearly I’m going to need some help to my car.’ (That’ll be the Volvo parked illegally on the double yellows two feet from the entrance, then). That’s another thing about pensioners, they get away with everything.
29 July 2008
The roof has fallen in. The entire store has flooded, several drownings have occurred and Focus, along with all its socially rejected staff, is no more.
Well, they say imagination is healthy. The fact of the matter is, the spot of rain we incurred yesterday was evidently a spot too much for the roof in the foyer to cope with, resulting in a leak lasting a full 24 hours. A most curious affair, considering the shower itself only lasted about 24 seconds. Naturally though, being a DIY store, we had no products at our disposal suitable for fixing such a problem, so decided the best option would be to just watch it drip all over the floor and keep letting the customers in. Hazardous and irresponsible? Steady on. There was a bucket positioned three feet away from the leak ready to catch any back-splash, after all.
The powers that be eventually decided shutting the entrance might be a wise idea when the area between the two sets of automatic doors began to resemble a fish tank. Much bafflement and confusion ensued as those customers unable to follow the instruction ‘use other doors’ stood pitifully, peering through the locked glass, occasionally giving it a shove with their trolley to see if that would do the trick.
Having finally negotiated their way into the store, it seemed a couple of befuddled customers had trouble finding their way out again. In the end, they were forced to exit through the emergency doors at the back of the shop, completely forgetting to pay for their purchases! Silly sausages. Still, I’m sure the minute they realise their mistake they’ll be back, all purses and apologies.
30 July 2008
Today it rained. Again. And I was given the highly important task of sticking reduced labels on all of the dead plants in the garden centre. Honoured, I’m sure. When I tried to protest that such filthy weather doesn’t agree with my straightened hair, the manager’s face resembled that of someone who found my point utterly trivial. Unbelievable.
Still, the upside of being dumped out there (without so much as one of Focus's ultra-fashionable high visibility waterproof cagoules) is that people tend not to bother you. Mainly because nobody else is stupid enough to be out in the pissing rain, but also because the moment a marker pen and some price change labels are produced, customers assume a major operation must be underway and back off. (Seeing a member of staff actually doing some work is a very rare, astonishing sight that’s always short-lived, you see. Rather like the witnessing of an eclipse.)
As I skulked about trying to look productive, a rising wisp of smoke coming from the other side of the yard caught my eye. Upon further investigation, I discovered the manager wedged between two pallets, inconspicuously puffing away on a Benson and Hedges. The calibre of the man. Still, at least it wasn’t a Lambert and Butler.
As the day wore on, the weather improved and the customers started to crawl out of the woodwork. My efforts to look impossibly busy failed to fool one woman, who midway through browsing the conifers, launched into a lengthy rigmarole about her next door neighbour from hell. I stood awkwardly, attempting to chuckle in the right places whilst edging away as discreetly as possible. She didn’t seem to notice my discomfort however, and proceeded to follow me around the garden centre blazing on about what a ‘lazy little bitch’ her neighbour was for letting her garden overgrow, and the ongoing dispute between them over a garden gate.
Sometimes I wonder if my life isn’t a little empty for failing to engage in such dramatic rifts with those living two doors down.
