Let Your Conscience be your Guide

I've had a pretty rough week. No, let me rephrase that: I've had a pretty productive week. It's just that it's been so productive, I'm shattered beyond belief, and there's still one more day of non-stopness to go. Every day after work I've been going out on errands and the like, and now it's the weekend I've been even busier running around for people (two consecutive birthdays = a lot of baking of Tashcakes). The only evening I had off in my diary to rest this week was Tuesday.

However, this changed on Monday evening. I was in town after work because I had to commute, my car being in the garage for its MOT. I decided to stop by my favourite bubble tea shop on the way home, because I was tired and fed up, and it was only Monday.

There are lots of bubble tea shops to choose from in Chinatown, but the small shop Cuppacha was the first to sell bubble teas in almost as many flavours as you can get in South West Asia- and even though since then a bigger, more internationally popular bubble tea brand with a bazillion flavours and options has set up shop right on the main street of Chinatown, I've remained loyal to Cuppacha. Why?

Because they smile.

They are always so friendly in Cuppacha, and an attitude like that is becoming tough to find in retail and catering. At the other places, you're not really a human being, just a talking, moving body. And even if all customers are just bodies moving in and out of the shop, a smile really makes a difference.

So I went in to get my tea, ordering a fancy one where the topping comes separately. The guy serving me double-checked that I knew the topping was 50p extra, and I confirmed I knew. I paid for my tea, put my change in the tip jar, picked up my bubble tea and left.

A worried little buzzer went off in my brain as I sat on the train home sipping my bubble tea, and I fished the receipt out of my pocket: I hadn't been charged that extra 50p. I'd effectively stolen a topping! What was I going to do?

Normally, I'd feel a tiny bit guilty but forget about it, knowing a small undercharge wouldn't be missed. However in this case I felt terrible. This little tea shop was beginning to struggle to compete against the bigger company in its prime location, and I felt ridiculously loyal to it for a silly old bubble tea shop. However I always go to it- how on earth could I go back and look them in the eye again knowing I'd stolen toppings?

So the next day, I went two hours out of my way after work to go back and give them the extra 50p.

I know I know, I'm mad.

I felt really embarrassed, but the girl that was serving that day gave the cutest, most delighted laugh I have ever heard and like magic I felt better. Of course, I also bought another bubble tea while I was there (see? Being smiley works).

Don't tell me you've never been in a situation where you feel like you've conned someone, willingly or not, and felt bad afterwards. Was I completely pathetic going back? Probably. But at least my conscience is clear.

~Fin~

Short Stories: Awkward Conversations with Strangers (Part 1)

Awkward Conversations with Strangers, like Making an Utter Arse of Myself, is going to be a series in itself, since it also seems to happen to me frequently.

I've recently started exercising a whole lot more (that is to say, for the past year I have been exercising a lot, but I've upped my game recently), and decided today that I'm fed up of having to wash my one sports bra over and over again when I'm basically Exercising with a capital E almost every day- so that's how I found myself in the lingerie section of M&S today.

There was only one other person in front of me in the queue and one person serving at the tills. Once that customer had gone, I went up to take my turn. Just as I got to the till, the SA behind it started trying to re-fit one of those stretchy girdle granny pants things onto its hanger, and told me she'd be with me in a moment. I smiled and told her that was fine.

Some moments passed as she struggled to stretch the thing enough to snap the clippy hanger on, only to have it ping back. I offered to give her a hand, but she declined. I could see she was getting a bit frustrated, so to break the tension I started talking (of course).

"You know, I got stuck in one of those, once," I laughed. The SA glanced up at me, then without a word went back to her task. I decided to continue, because leaving that statement hanging in the air felt a lot more awkward.

"Well, it wasn't exactly that style, it was a full-body one. I tried one on in the changing rooms just for the hell of it once, and I got stuck with it jammed over my head with my arms sticking out from the top. I was stuck in there for so long an assistant actually knocked on the door and asked if I was alright- I was too embarrassed to admit I was stuck, so I just said 'I'm fine, thanks!' Luckily I managed to get it off myself, after a bit more of a struggle."

The SA twanged the girdle successfully onto its hanger and looked up at me like I was some kind of an idiot. "You know, you're supposed to try on the size according to your dress size. For example... " She looked me up and down appraising. "You'd be a size 14 I suppose, so you'd have to try on a size 14. Or if you're a size 16, you'd try on a size 16."

I suddenly lost all of my friendly feels. "I did try on my size. And actually I'm a size 8 to 10."

I'd say we completed the transaction in silence, had the SA not said my bra size aloud quite loudly as she scanned it in- by which time a larger queue had built up.

~Fin~

A Tale of Customer Services

Anyone who has ever worked with the general public will know how entertaining and/ or challenging they can be, and almost everyone who's worked in customer services has at very least one story to tell.  I've worked as a silver service waitress, a sales assistant for an ethical cosmetics company and a customer services person at a music and battle reenactment store (yes, both at the same time), and I have a very wide arsenal of anecdotes about customers and the general public. Stories of diners snapping their fingers at me and snapping 'over here, girl', customers itching clouds of dandruff all over me to demonstrate how bad they have it, being shouted at, flirted at, selling replica Roman armour to a stripper (he was so beautiful it was ridiculous), the whole kaboodle.

My favourite story, however, will always be of the very confused gentleman who called up when I was working for the music and battle reenactment company. I couldn't have been working there for two weeks when this happened, and it was a wonderful way of being introduced to how bonkers the general public can be in retail.

Ring ring.

"Hello _____ Music, how can I help?"

"Ah, yes- er, yes. I was wondering, that is I was thinking about, considering, I was considering whether it was, ah, possible to maybe, that is I was wondering if you could perhaps plug a guitar into, say, a harmonica.'

"Er- sorry, could you run that past me one more time?" He had 'um-ed' and 'aah-ed' and backtracked so many times, I wasn't quite sure I understood what he was getting at.

"Ah- yes yes of course! I was wondering if you could, um, advise me on how to go about plugging my harmonica into my guitar."

This cleared absolutely nothing up for me and I was slightly flummoxed by this idea, but decided to play the helpful techy geek. "Alright- what sort of sound effect are you hoping to achieve?"

"I was hoping I could play my harmonica and make it sound like a guitar."

I paused to take this concept in, and tried stoutly to remain helpful. "Ah. Well... I'm afraid you can't really jack a harmonica straight into a guitar, but you could-"

"What about the holes?"

"Use a-" I paused again. "Sorry?"

"A harmonica has holes, right?"

I faltered a little. "It does yes, but as it's an acoustic instrument- well, you can only blow into the holes to create the resonance."

"Ah."

I persisted. "If you wanted to take the sound of your harmonica and transform it, you could try using a vocoder- you could play into a microphone and style the resulting sound however you wanted. I'm not sure you could get a true guitar sound though."

"So I could play into a microphone."

"Yes."

"And I could play the guitar into the mic too?"

"Yes, or you could actually plug your guitar directly into the vocoder."

This was quite clearly the wrong thing to say.

"So how would you plug the harmonica in?"

I took a deep breath. "You'd only be able to plug your electric guitar in. As the harmonica is an acoustic instrument, you'd need an external way- for example a microphone- to pick the sound up."

"Ah, I see."

There was a pause. I took another deep breath. "Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No, that was all- thank you so much, I totally understand now! None of the other music shops I've asked have been able to clear this up for me. Thank you!"

I smiled in spite of myself at his enthusiasm. "Not at all, I'm glad I was able to help."

"Alright, I'll go look at the right cables to connect up my harmonica and guitar now. Thanks again! Bye!"

"Er wait, no-"

*Click*

And he was gone. My manager spotted me still standing with the phone in my hand, stunned, as the dialling tone continued to whine.

"You'll get a lot of those" he said, with a sympathetic grin.

~Fin~