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Arkwright - The Independent Voice
Last Saturday a lady, clearly under pressure to get through her checklist before meeting up again with the family, rushed in asking for swimwear and accessories to kit out what she referred to as her 'demanding children'. Grabbing the purchases she made for the door calling over her shoulder, "If my husband comes in looking for me, tell him to wait outside".
She was gone in a whirlwind of anxiety but without giving me any sort of description for henpecked hubby. By the time she came back quite a few blokes had been in, I'd told three of them that looked like possible victims of her demands "to wait outside for your wife", all did so obediently. On her return she seemed quite taken with the selection I'd got for her, whether the others found their wives I'll never know!
Being unable to recognise someone I'd never met reminded me of the time a work colleague asked me to go with her to see her recently departed father at the undertakers. It wasn't something I'd seen on the list of "great ways to spend your lunch hour" but I didn't want to add to her distress by saying while flattered to be asked I'd rather do something a little more lively. I went along with her thinking I'd just be playing a supporting role with a handful of paper hankies. However, she threw me right in at the deep end once at the funeral parlour insisting I went in first to see dear dad. I tried dragging her with me; that proved impossible as she was clinging so tightly to the doorframe. I stared into the coffin then she whispered across the room, "What's he look like?" "Dead" was the obvious word that sprang into my mind but it seemed a little harsh. "Considering where we are he looks fine but as I've never met your dad I haven't a clue whether it's him or whether he normally looks better than this". Thankfully her sobs turned to laughter at my quirky approach to the situation.
Back to the world of retail and the land of the living, although with the credit squeeze on one could be forgiven for saying things are a little dead; if it weren't for the anonymous letters I've started to receive I would consider things somewhat dull at the moment. Disappointingly the letters are not the Miss Marple style notes where the writer has spent hours cutting single letters from newspapers to then glue them into a menacing message in a higgledy-piggledy manner, that would make the whole thing even more exciting and show that they'd really gone to some effort. No, my "admirer" hasn't even bothered with a piece of paper, he (or she but I think it's he) has simply wasted some very good quality envelopes and scrawled his thoughts about me where one would normally write an address. These billet-douxs have been hand delivered and waiting for me the past two consecutive Mondays. In anticipation of a third letter next weekend I've drafted a reply, correcting his English and giving a brief outline on the etiquette of letter writing which I've suggested may be helpful if he wishes to continue communicating with me. I've marked the envelope "Special Delivery for my anonymous admirer" and will tape it next to the shop's letterbox, I'm hoping the postman knows me well enough to know that it's not meant for him. In case you're thinking this correspondence was triggered by the way I've treated a dissatisfied customer you're wrong, I make sure any of those have the address of the Trading Standards Office when my patience has worn too thin to deal further with that sort of complaint. This problem has arisen because I got fed up with the abuse of Blue Badge parking outside the shop by a clearly able bodied person and reported it, in confidence, to the authority who receive a proportion of our taxes to deal with it. I ask myself will I never learn? In an attempt to accept any situation I clearly cannot change I now, in moments of despair, can be heard reciting my new mantra, "No one cares, least of all any public servant who will get paid regardless of whether they do their job or not".
The FA Cup Quarter Finals provided some surprise results. Despite all the hype, money and WAGS it's the goals that count when the whistle blows. Perhaps independent retailers should see the success by the "lower ranking" clubs in this prestigious contest as an omen and follow their drive and determination to prove we are better than those high street mega-clones who've tried to dominate the market for too long. There is no doubting business is tough but these guys who've won their latest rounds are an inspiration to get up and fight another day!
