Myself and the Significant Spender are trying to scratch a living here in Cyprus. The credit crunch saw our dreams of a retail empire scuppered, so we are working the markets, like.
Five weeks ago, I spent all of twelve seconds flogging a Valentines card to a disinterested individual who was going through the motions in order to keep her-in-doors happy. It was his choice of lovers-card and although he begrudged the concept of it all, I felt I had served another satisfied punter.
Two minutes after he left, the Significant Spender realised that I had flogged said card, but without the accompanying envelope. As instructed, I toured the market, looking for the envelope-less individual. Sadly, he had vacated the retail hedonism and I was left to accept the wrath of SS for being 'so stupid'!
Today, I had the pleasure of meeting the Gentleman again.
G: 'You sold me a fec*in card with no envelope you bstard'
Me: 'I'm so sorry sir, we realised the mistake just after you left our stall - I did go round the market to look for you, but alas you could not be found'.
G: 'My wife gave me fec*in grief all day 'cos of you, you bstard. There was no fec*in envelope!'
Me: 'Once again, Sir, I can only offer my apologies. I'm not sure what you paid, because we only keep a record of numbers sold and then we tally our takings at the end of the day, but I do know that we don't sell *any* cards for more than €3, so if I refund you that amount, will that be acceptable?'
G: 'No it fec*in wont! My missus is givin' me grief and it's your fec*in fault. '
Me: 'I accept that the problem was as a result of our error and I am offering you a refund. ' (Politely and seriously I also said:) 'Along with the refund, I can also give you the envelope - maybe you could make use of the card next year?'
G: 'Fe*k you, you fe*ker - you need to pay me for the grief I've fec*in had before I come round there and stuff your fec*in cards up your fec*in arse!'
Me: (Agitated by now) 'What, you want the shirt off my back? Take the car mate, take the stall, take the f*ckin lot. Want the missus? Take her, take everything. Tell you what mate, take yourself and F*CK OFF before I F*CKIN kill you!
Oops! All hell broke loose. Perhaps my sales technique is not what it once was, but I was *genuinely* trying to help and to appease the situation *before* he became totally un-reasonable. This idiot is demanding compo for something that we might have been responsible for, but nevertheless tried our hardest to rectify.
Feck 'im.
An hour later, the SS was spending quality time with a lady who wanted a 'nice' card for her daughters wedding. After spending the best part of 10 minutes (assisted by SS) choosing the correct one and oozing comments such as 'That's nice, ooh I like that, this one is pretty' etc, she chose a card from the 'value range'. As SS was bagging it, doting-daughter-loving-woman enquired of the price.
€1. 50 announced SS.
'That's expensive', she said, and fec*ed off!!
Sorry, but I HATE YOU ALL - every single one of you!
We got up at 5. 00am to go to this frickin market. We took €26. 25.
After taking off the pitch fee (€10), stock cost, VAT (Yep, we do business properly unlike the rest of you chavs here on the market) and our petrol, we made the grand sum of €5 for 14 hours work. (2 of us X 7hrs)
Oh, and then I nearly gave you your frickin refund. . . .
It's really not been the best day! Sympathy may be required, like.
