Getting your David Jones Knee Pads
August 4th 2010 07:50
Kristy Fraser-Kirk's allegations of sexual harassment against David McInnes did not influence my decision to shop or not shop at DJ's. I long ago quit shopping at the Sydney David Jones, partly because I’m sick of overpriced, uninteresting rags passed off as ‘fashion’, but largely due to one saleslady, whom I’ll call Beryl. Beryl must be at least eighty, and has been with DJ’s for yonks.
Beryl guarded the dressing room of the lingerie department like a pit bull, brusquely demanding to count the items you wanted to try, then barking, “You can’t take more than five items in there!” Never did she offer to find another colour or size, but she always snapped, “Are you going to take those?” when you emerged from the fitting room.
On one occasion I had the temerity to call out, “Excuse me, is there a fitter working today?” Beryl, in a fury, told me that all the fitters were VERY BUSY and ordered me to wait my turn.
How does such a miserable cow manage to keep her job, I wondered, but didn’t bother complaining. I knew, from the form-letter reply to a previous complaint I'd made about a rude clerk, that DJ's don’t give a damn about customer service as long as they’re raking in the cash.
Now, I think I know how Beryl kept her job. Her straight-backed chair in the fitting room entrance would have been kinder to her arthritic knees than the position requiring knee pads. I hope she took out her false teeth beforehand.
Beryl guarded the dressing room of the lingerie department like a pit bull, brusquely demanding to count the items you wanted to try, then barking, “You can’t take more than five items in there!” Never did she offer to find another colour or size, but she always snapped, “Are you going to take those?” when you emerged from the fitting room.
On one occasion I had the temerity to call out, “Excuse me, is there a fitter working today?” Beryl, in a fury, told me that all the fitters were VERY BUSY and ordered me to wait my turn.
How does such a miserable cow manage to keep her job, I wondered, but didn’t bother complaining. I knew, from the form-letter reply to a previous complaint I'd made about a rude clerk, that DJ's don’t give a damn about customer service as long as they’re raking in the cash.
Now, I think I know how Beryl kept her job. Her straight-backed chair in the fitting room entrance would have been kinder to her arthritic knees than the position requiring knee pads. I hope she took out her false teeth beforehand.
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