Posts Tagged ‘stupidity’

Retail Rudeness

You know, working in retail, you sometimes meet really bizarre people.

By bizarre I mean bizarrely rude.

Sure, you usually meet a stream of quite lovely people. In fact, even if someone looks a little fed up, I just put a big smile on and make a silly (sometimes self-deprecating) joke and they usually break into smiles and forget their fed-up-ness.

But some people, you just cannot get through to.

Here are some of the downright rude people encountered by myself and my colleagues over the years. Just another day at work, guys. Right?

1. Defensive Diana 

This is the lady who hates being greeted by or making small talk with sales assistants. For example:

Me: “Hi there! Have you been into *store name* before?” (we sometimes ask if customers look a bit lost).

DD: “YES. I. HAVE.” (glares)

Me: “O…kay.” (scuttles away)

2. Insulting Ingrid

This is the lady who for some reason needs to say something mean and insulting to the sales person. This actually happened to my colleague who is a lovely, lovely lady, but on this particular day she had a few small breakouts on her face due to her period – nothing out of the ordinary or even anything people would normally notice or point out. Everyone gets them, right? But for some reason, this is what happened:

Colleague: (observing customer trying out products as though customer is familiar with them) “Hi! I see you’ve used some of our products before!”

II: “No, I never use your products, that’s why my skin doesn’t look like yours.” (referring to my poor colleagues minor breakouts).

Colleague: “…” (walks away, puzzled)

3. Grumpy George

This happened to me yesterday. I just got back from my 30-min lunch break. As I walk into the store I see a man squinting at the shelf of moisturisers. I smile at him and hurry into the back room to dump my bag, put my apron on and re-emerge help him out.

Me: “Hi there, how’re you going?”

GG: (ignores me)

Me: “Do you need any help with skincare or moisturisers?”

GG: (sarcastically, without looking at me) “Oh, no. I don’t want to put you out.”

Me: “Okay!” (walks off)

I could probably have tried some more, ignoring his sarcasm and hostility and trying to sweet talk him. But I really do not need to take people treating me rudely. I mean, come on, perhaps I didn’t serve you straight away when I saw you but I had my BAG and no apron on, having just finished my break. Take a chill pill, hey? Sales assistants are not your slaves.

4. Basket Case Barbara

Sometimes, customers walk around the shop with their hands full. We offer them baskets to pop their things in and free up their hands to touch, pick up, and smell stuff and make it more convenient for them to shop. Occasionally, though, there are weird customers who do this:

Me: “Hi there, would you like a basket to put your things in?” (holding up basket to customer)

BCB: “Yes, please, thank you!”

And…she proceeds to put her stuff in and walk off, expecting me to follow her around the shop carrying her basket as she picks up other items and puts them in. At times I can’t help thinking they do it on purpose. But what I try to do is then sort of hold it up and smile and sort of go, “here you are” and hope they take it. Sometimes, they are just absent-minded and become very apologetic which is fine. But yeah. Once or twice, I’m pretty sure they did it on purpose – and took pleasure out of it.

5. High Maintenance Harriet

These are the customers who spend 2 or 3 hours at the shop, expecting you to spend all that time with them and them alone, and take them around and demo EVERY SINGLE PRODUCT on them. Never mind that there might be other customers who need a hand with something. No, you must take them on a personal tour of the shop, tell them stories about the history of the company and all the merchandise, give them suggestions on what to wear on their anniversary / first date, how to seduce their other halves (what songs to choose for their striptease), and basically plan their wedding as well. Often, they walk out having spent either $9.95 or nothing at all.

Don’t get me wrong, I love tending to customers and hearing their stories and giving them advice and suggestions. But not for TWO. WHOLE. HOURS.


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First of all, let me address the main issue here: I haven’t posted anything on this blog since April.

It’s a horrible, horrible state of affairs. But I do have an arsenal of excuses at the ready and I’m not afraid to use ’em!

First off: I got a new job, after being told “see ya!” by my previous employers due to the fact that numbers were low and they had to shut down the class, and then basically close the whole campus.

What I am on about is that I am a TESOL teacher now (yes, a proper one), and I used to work at the Fremantle campus of Language Academy A. However, that campus no longer exists – in fact, I’m pretty sure the owners of the building sold it and that it now operates as a backpacker’s with its own attached bar.

So, I was pretty much left in the lurch. Luckily, at the suggestion of a friend, I sent my resume in to another school, Language Academy B, even though they were not advertising any teaching positions at the time. Voila! In less than 24 hours I received a call, went for an interview, and got the job. Woo hoo! The pay rate at Language Academy B (henceforth to be known as LAB) was much better, too. Score!

Next, I bought a car. I had to deal with all the mess of getting an Australian (WA) Driver’s Licence and insurance for the car, etc etc. Not to mention paying for the damn thing.

Finally, I decided I was still too poor and that I could work a little harder. Unfortunately, at LAB, they only run classes from Monday to Thursday, 5 hours a day. As a casual worker, I get paid for the hours of actual teaching time. Which is? 20 hours a week. I wanted more. Understandably.

So, I applied to another place, Language Academy C (LAC), and also got the job, teaching evenings from Monday to Wednesday. This meant I was pulling 14-hour workdays from Monday to Wednesday between LAB and LAC (including the time between the two different sessions, of course).

So, I have been tired.

However, there was something I heard on the radio that made my blood pressure rise a little.

Now, I have always been particular about grammar and spelling and using words correctly in English. From the time I was young, it always frustrated me when people confused the usage of “then” and “than” (and I don’t mean English language learners, I mean so-called “native” speakers), or when people say “should of” instead of “should have” (*cough* Aussies *cough*)… or when some people decide that “alot” is an actual word in the English language. I have struggled with these kinds of issues for a long time.

I suppose the fact that I am treated like a non-native speaker due to my passport (which is not from one of the six approved “native English speaking countries”: England, Ireland, Australia, New Zealand, USA, Canada and occasionally South Africa) annoys the hell outta me. I have to “prove” my English is good enough by taking expensive tests (and scoring a perfect 9.0 out of 9.0).

Having had “native” speakers patronisingly tell me my English was “really good” (no shit, it’s probably ten times better than yours, homie) when I was at Uni also annoyed the crap out of me.

Anyway. Back to the thingy I heard on the radio. I think it was one of those teeny-bopper, Top 40 type of stations with a bunch of screaming, squealing morons presenting the show. They had a segment called “Famous Cousins” where people called in to tell them about a famous person they were related to. A pretty interesting topic, I have to say.

One girl called in to say that she was Usain Bolt’s cousin. Holy shit! That is the most awesome thing I have heard. That was not the issue. The issue was that when the caller mentioned something about Bolt’s mother, one of the presenters (the girl presenter) got all excited and said, “Really? Ooh I want to hear all about the woman who sired the fastest man in the world!” (Note, this is not verbatim, but the word in bold was definitely said by her).

Sired? By a woman? Of course, I picked this up immediately. I started bitching and having a fit of road rage over it.

I believe sired is reserved for men and their seed. Women, on the other hand, are the ones who bear children. It would be like saying you want to know about the man who bore Usain Bolt. It just doesn’t work. It’s biology, pure and simple.

And language, of course. Observe this entry from the thesaurus:


1. A father.
2. The male parent of an animal, especially a domesticated mammal such as a horse.
3. Archaic A male ancestor; a forefather.
4. Archaic A gentleman of rank.
5. Archaic Used as a form of address for a superior, especially a king.
tr.v. siredsir·ingsires

To father; beget.

Idiots. HERE’s what I think of your English, you so-called native speakers! <insert appropriate gesture here>.

Til the next instalment. Toodle-doo!

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Au Naturale

I went to get my hair cut after god knows how long (probably over 6 months) because I couldn’t stand the horrible dry, split ends and also how hard it was to just brush my hair.

It was so bad that whenever I brushed my hair, the dry ends would snap off – if I brushed my hair over the sink, for example, the result would be I would see different lengths of hair ranging from a few milimetres to a few centimetres that have snapped off because my hair was so dry.

So I finally went to the salon and got about two or three inches lopped off.

While I was at the salon I was asking the lady about how to deal with dry hair and what products to use, she asked me what I was currently using. As a LUSH devotee, I just told her I was using “some natural products”.

She asked me, “Why are you using natural products?” with the same look on her face as someone who might have asked me, “Why are you eating poo?”

I dunno, maybe because I like natural products? Maybe I don’t want to have chemical crap on my hair all the time?

Well, I just told her that I thought they would be better on my hair, to which she shook her head and pooh-poohed me, and started rattling off a laundry list of products I should be using instead, such as Kerastase and L’Oreal and all… all of which, I might add, I HAVE used in the past and honestly, did not make much of a difference to my hair at all. I feel the stuff I have used from LUSH* has made a world of difference**, compared to these silicone and alcohol laden products.

* If you’re interested, I highly recommend Big Shampoo, Retread Conditioner, and Jungle Solid Conditioner (OMG this last one blew my mind!). Also, for leave-in treatment after shampooing and conditioning, use R&B Hair Moisturiser 🙂

** The reason my hair was horrible and dry despite me using these products was because a) I was too lazy to use them consistently (but once I did start being more consistent, there was a huge difference) and also because b) when your hair needs cutting, it needs cutting. NO product is gonna get rid of split ends once they’re there.

The clincher of this whole experience?? When the girl who was blow-drying my hair was doing it, she kept marvelling at how good my hair was and how she hasn’t seen hair in such good condition in ages, let alone worked on it. She was practically in a rapturous frenzy as she styled my hair. She told me not to do anything to it (I presume colouring or perming or frizzling and frying it with heating irons and stuff, which I of course never do).

So… I guess using natural stuff works?

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The Rose Thief

At the end of last summer, Amir and I got into a DIY phase that saw us building and drilling stuff, doing a spot (or two) of gardening, and so on.

We bought a few plants and set to work planting them – a native bush that is still in midget proportions, a little decorative chilli plant (decorative because the chillies it produces are… well, let’s just say, TINY), a climbing plant that was native to Australia and produced pretty little yellow flowers… and a gorgeous yellow rose bush.

The bad news: the creeping plant died when the idiots at the local council came and sprayed weed killer over it. It just happened to be planted next to the fence so it could climb (and it was climbing fast!), but on the other side of the fence were some weeds… and the council just sprayed the poison indiscriminately, killing our poor, innocent plant.

The good news? The rose bush, which was pretty small and had ONE yellow rose when we planted it…. is flourishing. It’s grown waaay bigger, with many more new leaves sprouting up… but no rose.

Until last week. I spotted the bud, and excitedly awaited its opening. The next day, it was practically in full bloom. I excitedly woke Amir up to show him the fruit of our toil. We sniffed it, made a fuss over it, and waxed lyrical about the fruity, sweet notes of its scent.

Later that evening, it was gone.

Upon close inspection, it appeared that someone had come by, and snipped the new rose cleanly off the bush. It was cut off so neatly, it couldn’t have just fallen off.

I was so pissed.

Look, if I had a rose bush that was just crowded with flowers, by all means, people can come and take one or two, no problem.

But this one had just one. ONE. The first one to bloom since we planted it.

And we had a DAY to enjoy it before some moron came and took it. I didn’t even get to take a photo or anything.

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I have a question, folks…

How many of you look back at trysts from your past (and I don’t mean very long ago I’m talking as recently as the end of ’09, onwards) and feel.. wtf was I thinking? Who WAS I at that time to want to date THAT person? UGH!!

I was on Facebook and looking through my photos, friends list and friend’s friends, it made me think…

… why on earth did I give THAT guy the time of day?

I think it really depends on your frame of mind at the time… I can kind of trace how I was feeling and what was happening in my life just by looking at guys I’ve dated / gone on dates with. And I have to say, boy am I glad I’m where I’m at now!

Where I’m headed seems a more positive place, too. Only good things to look forward to in the future. Salut!

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It has been my mission since I started this blog to ensure the archives have every month of the year displayed. It’s part of my whole OCD/perfectionist persona which sadly is linked also to my procrastinating persona.

I just want it to look pretty and complete, dammit! All calendars have 12 months (let’s not go into a discussion about some niche calendars here), and by god, so will  my blog!!!

In order for this to be achieved, I have to have at least ONE blog post per month or I’m f**ked. (Notice how I randomly censor and then don’t censor myself on this blog? Not sure why I do that – obviously it is something that’s NOT connected to my OCD-ness).

Okay, now that this is out of the way, the reason I have been such a baaad blog-person (I just hate the word ‘blogger’ – a throwback to my days as an actual writer and journalist: we turn our noses up at bloggers when we cover events)… is because I have been busy with Uni.

Yeah, well I figured it’s as good an excuse as any. I did 4 weeks of teaching prac at a high school here, teaching media. Boy, what a challenge teaching something you haven’t really thought much about since graduating (for me, that was 2006!). True, I worked in publishing for over 2 years in total. But the kind of media I was required to teach was 90% centred around film. Theory and practice. Re-learning on the job: do two things at once while trying to keep your sanity!

Then after that concluded, I was swamped with assignments and now, exams. Yeah, it is exam week. I had an exam on Friday (which was held NOT on the scheduled exam week, UNFAIR! I cry, but oh well it’s done and I think I did pretty well anyways), I had an exam this morning, and I have an exam tomorrow morning. ARGHH! Hence, the title: dying a slow death.

I should be studying. I really should.  That’s what I also told myself last night, and I did it. I ignored the call of my blog. But I can’t ignore it any longer (June is almost over). I thought a quick post to explain myself (as I seem to do a lot on my blogs – hey, it’s the alternative to therapy!) was in order. Besides, I only need 1 mark to pass this unit. A shabby, shabby excuse. I mean, of course I would like a distinction or a high distinction. But I’ve done pretty well on my assignment, so really, if I don’t do BRILLIANTLY on the exam, I will still make it.

So. Tomorrow an exam. Then, my last exam, which is on Thursday morning. That’s the one I really worry about. I need to do quite a bit better for that exam because the assignment was really tough. After that I plan to sleep, sleep, sleep. Go out with my Uni pals and drink our brains away (maybe). And just rejoice.

Oh, and a UPDATE: I got my Student Visa (finally!). So I’ve applied for jobs and am awaiting a callback for an interview.

Wish me luck (on all counts)!

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Back in December, my folks came down to Perth for the family Christmas holiday.

The original plan was for me to come to Malaysia, and we were gonna chill out in Langkawi, but then they worked out that it was gonna cost about the same for them to come over to Perth, so why not? After all,  my brother-in-law TJ had never been to Australia so it was a cool idea.

My dad was gonna transfer the cash for the holiday spending to my Australian bank account about two weeks before their arrival on the 22nd. And this is where the drama began.

First of all, let me say that we’ve done a million and one transfers just like it before, from the time I was at Uni in Perth (Murdoch) in ’04. Nothing special. Get all the details correct and it’s done.

Well, more than a week after my dad told me he’d transferred the money, it still hadn’t shown up in my bank account 😦

After a lot of to-ing and fro-ing with his bank people there in KL, they claimed that the money had gone through to the other side (i.e. the Australian bank),  but the bank wasn’t accepting it through because my dad got the postcode slightly wrong for my home address. Instead of 6153 he’d written 6155 or something.

Now, that sounded like a load of horseshit to me, but I don’t really know how these things work, do I? Also, I could tell my dad was getting stressed out because of the slightly accusing tone he was using with me, as if I had given him the wrong address. I double-checked my email that I’d sent him and all the details were correct. My dad’s eyesight is not too good these days so it was him who’d written it wrongly, but NO biggie – as long as the other more important details were correct (like bank account number, swift code, etc), it should be fine, right?

Right. I called up my bank in Perth, explaining the situation and the lady confirmed with me that the wrong postcode won’t cause the problem in any way. If the account name, number, BSB and swift code are correct, the money would definitely go through.

Again with the to-ing and fro-ing with my dad, and his bank. They started giving other excuses, promising my dad they’d send the money over soon and fix the problem and whatnot. WTF?

I was getting really stressed out on the phone with my increasingly annoyed dad. “Can you tell them they’re ruining our Christmas?” I asked him during one conversation.

Finally my dad managed to get them to scan a copy of the transfer document and email it to me, asking me to print it out and take it to my bank in Perth and demand to know what’s happened to the money.

The bank, Bank Muamalat in PKNS, are a bunch of unprofessional, dumbass, lazy, stupid monkeys. When they sent me the document, the email DIDN’T read:

Dear Inayah,

Attached is the document of the transfer to show to your bank. Please let us know if there’s a problem with it and we apologise for any inconvenience caused.

Instead, it read:

This attachment show to your bank.

How fucking rude and unprofessional! “This attachment show to your bank”?? I’ll bloody show you my foot up your ARSE!

The worst part? When I checked out the document, it said they transferred the money to WESTPAC instead of BANKWEST. How STOOOPID can you bloody get? Those are two different fucking banks. Are they fucking blind and retarded??

I’m sorry la but this is truly a case of Melayu bodoh. Hey, if they didn’t exist this shit won’t happen, alright?

Anyway I replied to that pathetic excuse of an email telling them it was the wrong bank and to please explain. Did they reply? Of course not! They’re not professional! Or intelligent!

In the end, the money bounced back to my dad’s bank account and he had to end up changing money and bringing it to Perth with him, since the money wasn’t gonna bounce back to his account in time to be transferred over again or something.

Talk about needless drama and stupidity! I hate banks! Especially Melayu-run ones!! So inefficient!! Grrr..


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