Bookshop...
There is a lady called Mrs Reay. She has quite an upper class voice and is certainly of the opinion that she is upper class; by that I mean she is always polite, but is more than capable of being extremely pushy and condescending. (I have had cause to mention this woman before: when Mark took over the shop, she was the one who demanded, "Mark? Who's he?")
She came in today in a very agitated mood. She had ordered a book from us some two months ago and she had yet to receive it. This book was a Concordance, it was quite important, she had spoken to Mark about it. (We however could find no trace of this book in our ordering records.) It was all very disappointing and just not good enough. Where was Mark - she needed to speak with him. Well if he was at home on his day off could we contact him? No? Well what did we do in the shop when there was an emergency?
It was of course at this point that I wished to either reply 'we dial 999' or alternatively, 'madam, we do have several dictionaries in stock, perhaps you would like me to fetch you one so that you might look up the meaning of the word 'emergency'? I feel you need to re-acquaint yourself with the correct definition, since you are implying that this is one. I promise, that until I stab you with a pencil, we remain firmly in the category of an 'inconvenience'.
Anyways. She bitched, Mark was rung, messages were left, she huffed loudly, was mildly rude to other customers and left.
It was only after I returned from lunch that the truth was discovered: last Monday Mrs Reay had collected a huge leather-bound book which I assumed to be a bible. This, in actual fact, was a 'Concordance' - the book she was whinging we'd failed to get. The wench had it all along and is obviously on the verge of a breakdown of some description.
*sigh*
She came in today in a very agitated mood. She had ordered a book from us some two months ago and she had yet to receive it. This book was a Concordance, it was quite important, she had spoken to Mark about it. (We however could find no trace of this book in our ordering records.) It was all very disappointing and just not good enough. Where was Mark - she needed to speak with him. Well if he was at home on his day off could we contact him? No? Well what did we do in the shop when there was an emergency?
It was of course at this point that I wished to either reply 'we dial 999' or alternatively, 'madam, we do have several dictionaries in stock, perhaps you would like me to fetch you one so that you might look up the meaning of the word 'emergency'? I feel you need to re-acquaint yourself with the correct definition, since you are implying that this is one. I promise, that until I stab you with a pencil, we remain firmly in the category of an 'inconvenience'.
Anyways. She bitched, Mark was rung, messages were left, she huffed loudly, was mildly rude to other customers and left.
It was only after I returned from lunch that the truth was discovered: last Monday Mrs Reay had collected a huge leather-bound book which I assumed to be a bible. This, in actual fact, was a 'Concordance' - the book she was whinging we'd failed to get. The wench had it all along and is obviously on the verge of a breakdown of some description.
*sigh*