Friday 24 February 2017

I don’t understand the question. Or the answer

Right, so you know how something small and insignificant can suddenly and unexpectedly turn into something much bigger and messier than you ever thought it would? 

So, an insignificant spot on your face can turn into Mount Vesuvius just before a massive night out, or a single loose thread can turn into a huge hole in your jumper right when you’re in smart company, or a tiny bit of rust on your car can result in you reluctantly having to shell out two months wages for an entirely new wing? Well, the retail version of this is conversations that start off being normal and insignificant but somehow end up in the Twilight Zone. And it happens a lot.

This was a conversation I had the other day with a lady of average size (UK 14ish) who was looking at a loose fitting top………..

Saturday 18 February 2017

Music to eat your own ears to. And repeat

I am not happy.

I am on edge.

My shoulders are tight, my teeth are clenched, and I’m developing a rather fetching twitch in my right eye.

The reason? Music.

Original picture: Prawny, Pixabay

Friday 10 February 2017

Barista Dreams. And nightmares.

Meet Barista Boy.

Barista Boy was headhunted by TBE (aka The Boss Erratic) to work in the cafe of the New Favourite Shop.

Trouble is, the New Favourite Shop doesn’t have a cafe, it has a building site, and unfortunately Barista Boy believed TBE’s promises that the cafe would soon be up and running.

It wasn’t.

It still isn’t.

Friday 3 February 2017

Boss Wars part V: The Battle of the Stool

So we’ve been playing silly buggers with stools, TBE (aka The Boss Erratic) and I. Or you could say I’ve been glimpsing more of TBE’s cockeyed psyche. Via seating.

You see, when the Out of Favour (OOF) shop reopened there was nowhere to sit; TBE had taken the staff seat away.

‘So what?’, you might say, ‘You should be working instead of sitting on your arse’, which is fine (harsh, but fine), except I’m alone for the whole day with no break. Having no seat means standing up for eight hours straight. My feet don’t need that, they’re ugly enough.

Photo: PaintedFeet01, Pixabay