Today was a day of things happening - none of them were earth shattering or mind blowing but they were definitely things.
One thing was that I have now sold 9 books ( :)), which is pleasing. (Two all - All for One - click here for the link). Another was the event of a customer at the community shop where I skive about during the day, coming in and going:
"I want those biscuits, the round ones that have chocolate on them, there's six in a pack - they were here last week (when I was in Edinburgh) - you should know, you're the manager."
Now, thankfully, I don't work in an establishment where the customer is always considered right, but then that's because I make up the rules - perhaps it shouldn't be so but it is - and I would consider it demeaning of me to pander to people's stupidity - were they to display any - because, ultimately, they would then feel demeaned - when they thought back on the event - by my having done so - so - (that's a hell of a lot of hyphens!) after I'd bounced his head of the floor twelve times (and once more for luck), I pointed out that I don't get paid enough to be called a manager let alone a mind fucking reader, I allowed him to leave, committed as he now was to the task of finding out the name of the product he required and writing it down, like a civilised human being, and handing it to me on a piece of paper.
Mr Unbound's guessing Waggon Wheels and I think he may have something there.
Anyway, the other thing/things of note was/were - remember my behemoths, the bureaucratic ones referred to in earlier blogs, well here's the outcome:
Me (answering the phone recently): Hi HM Revenue and Customs, how's it hanging?
HMRC: Wey hey pet, not bad, thanks for asking - have you coughed up the 7000 quid you owe us?
Me: (snort) Ocht no, you silly sausages, remember, I don't owe you it. The dear old Coop bank had a senior moment.
HMRC: Oh yeah, that's right, tell you what, let's send you out a canny letter saying you don't owe us anything.
Me: Nice one HMRC, that's why your the best.
(So, that letter came today - what also came today was another phone call)
Me: Yo! It's the D Meister - speak.
Coop Bank: D Meister? Sorry, we were looking for a grown-up called Dorothy Ross MacIver.
Me (unruffled): Also me.
Coop Bank: (FFS!) Okaaaayyy. Thing is, we erroneously grassed you off to HMRC about a thing and we were ,well, in error.
Me: F me, Sherlocks.
Coop Bank: Could you put your mother on?
Me: Doubt it.
Coop Bank: Any ways up...........we were wrong and because we were wrong we are sending you £50 (even although you are clearly an idiot).
Coop Bank: For the stress and such.
Me (finally clicking on): Oh yeah, the stress - it was bad - flipsakes, I still have brown envelope flash -backs much like you guys probably have about buying faltering banks that look like a good investment (to nobody else) - yep, fifty smackeroonies will possibly cover the cost of all those brain plasters. Thanks.
And as for the other unnamed behemoth - the wee dafties have employed me! (again) :))) Love them lots.
TUNE: "Mutter" - Rammstein (no reason)