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I've put this here because the suckiness wasn't directly due to the guy being a customer, but what happened afterwards.
Friday lunchtime and I'm doing my round of the shop floor, getting litter swept up, that kind of thing, when I get called to the customer service desk. There stands a man who has come to inform us that he has spilt some paint on the car park.
((Me *screaming internally* OH NOES OH NOES NOT PAINT PLEASE NOT PAINT.....))
I follow him out and it's not just 'some' paint, it's the contents of two 5 litre cans of the stuff, which have fallen out of the crammed-with-junk boot of his hatchback and gone SPLAT! on the tarmac. Bonus points for parking in a parent and child space, buddy, when you've no child with you. At least it's water-based paint, if it had been gloss there'd have been nothing at all I could have done.
So I stamp my way back into the store, all my hate glands at full production, store employees scattering before me as they see the murder writ large on my face. And begin to fill the first of many buckets of water. By dint of much scrubbing and rinsing and mopping, I get pretty much all of it cleared away after half an hour - then comes the joy of cleaning everything I've used for the clearing up. Which takes the best part of another half an hour. Some Very Rude Words are said. Lots of them.
Later on, as I go past the desk, I tell the girl who had put out the call for me 'Next time someone comes in and tells you that they've spilled paint.... Kill them.'
If he'd waited till he got home to open his boot, the spill would have been his problem. No, he has to do it at the supermarket and make it mine instead. And drive off and leave me to it.
Friday lunchtime and I'm doing my round of the shop floor, getting litter swept up, that kind of thing, when I get called to the customer service desk. There stands a man who has come to inform us that he has spilt some paint on the car park.
((Me *screaming internally* OH NOES OH NOES NOT PAINT PLEASE NOT PAINT.....))
I follow him out and it's not just 'some' paint, it's the contents of two 5 litre cans of the stuff, which have fallen out of the crammed-with-junk boot of his hatchback and gone SPLAT! on the tarmac. Bonus points for parking in a parent and child space, buddy, when you've no child with you. At least it's water-based paint, if it had been gloss there'd have been nothing at all I could have done.
So I stamp my way back into the store, all my hate glands at full production, store employees scattering before me as they see the murder writ large on my face. And begin to fill the first of many buckets of water. By dint of much scrubbing and rinsing and mopping, I get pretty much all of it cleared away after half an hour - then comes the joy of cleaning everything I've used for the clearing up. Which takes the best part of another half an hour. Some Very Rude Words are said. Lots of them.
Later on, as I go past the desk, I tell the girl who had put out the call for me 'Next time someone comes in and tells you that they've spilled paint.... Kill them.'
If he'd waited till he got home to open his boot, the spill would have been his problem. No, he has to do it at the supermarket and make it mine instead. And drive off and leave me to it.
He is my Black Dragon (and yes, a good one) strong, protective, the guardian. I am his Silver Dragon, always by his side, shining for him, cherishing him.
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