Of pickles and war
I was helping out as a keeper of a convenience store of a friend and found myself in a sticky situation.
A particular customer, a garcon at the next door restaurant, came in occasionally to buy two lira packs of cigarettes. But mostly he came in to pass time by picking at staffs at the store. Still, all good and well except that he always refused to pay for his cigarettes, acting as if he would be paying for a million dollar mansion and he deserved to buy on credit.
We took it on our stride with good humour, as a case of handling a challenging customer. After all he was the staff of our next door neighbour, we should keep some peace. Yet the more we accommodated him the more disruptive he became, incessantly talking while we serve other customers, throwing 'smart' remarks when we work (are we poor that's why we work so hard) and making life difficult in general. Not to mention times wasted due to payments that needed to be collected.
One evening, I found myself accepting the invite of two staffs of the store wanting have lamb head soup next door (I chose one of the other 'harmless' soups available). What a hassle it turned out to be.
This waiter purposely wrote a bill of what we ordered and placed it on our table. It was unusual practice for known customers, at the very least not until we had finished. We left the bill untouched for we knew this was only another of his antics.
When we had finished, one of us settled the tab and we got up to leave. Just as we did so, the waiter swooped in on us waving the bill at our faces and the other hand pointing at it. The fact that he saw us paying did not deter him from arresting our attention.
Then, invoking my wrath, he touched me here - on my right arm. We decided to continue to ignore him and walked away calmly. Who does he think he is? That night I thought that this stupidity has to end, the uncalled for assault a sign that enough is enough.
I mentioned it in passing to my sister who thought I could accidentally spill water on him. I had satisfied myself that we could refuse to sell cigarettes or serve him in the future, just as other businesses would to curb undesirable customers. Or we could complain to his manager but even then we did not want to get him into trouble. Keeping him out of the store was the aim.
As I was thinking this, one book which I have not touched for two years came suddenly into my perspective. I had put it on my makeshift bedside table, among my other partially read books. I picked it up and words previously escaping my grasp became crystal clear.
The next day, as usual I marched to the shop. I had weighted various ways to ward off this blood sucking mosquito of a customer after reading the book. Soon the underside of the checkout desk sheltered a bucket of vinegar and a container of eggs. Ammunition for when the waiter comes in and refuses to leave. I did tell the brother of the shop owner of what I proposed to do and he did not object. In fact he helped me arrange the containers under the till. He asked if he needed to warn the waiter, I said there is no need to.
Strategically though, word had gotten out to the other waiters next door. They were amused at the idea for they too have been subjects of their colleague's childish acts. For the rest of the afternoon and still counting, this problem waiter cum customer was nowhere in sight. He either had to quit smoking or walk further to the next available cigarette seller. I suspect the latter.
"Sun Tzu's Art of War", a good book for when I find myself in a pickle and need to get out of it.
A particular customer, a garcon at the next door restaurant, came in occasionally to buy two lira packs of cigarettes. But mostly he came in to pass time by picking at staffs at the store. Still, all good and well except that he always refused to pay for his cigarettes, acting as if he would be paying for a million dollar mansion and he deserved to buy on credit.
We took it on our stride with good humour, as a case of handling a challenging customer. After all he was the staff of our next door neighbour, we should keep some peace. Yet the more we accommodated him the more disruptive he became, incessantly talking while we serve other customers, throwing 'smart' remarks when we work (are we poor that's why we work so hard) and making life difficult in general. Not to mention times wasted due to payments that needed to be collected.
One evening, I found myself accepting the invite of two staffs of the store wanting have lamb head soup next door (I chose one of the other 'harmless' soups available). What a hassle it turned out to be.
This waiter purposely wrote a bill of what we ordered and placed it on our table. It was unusual practice for known customers, at the very least not until we had finished. We left the bill untouched for we knew this was only another of his antics.
When we had finished, one of us settled the tab and we got up to leave. Just as we did so, the waiter swooped in on us waving the bill at our faces and the other hand pointing at it. The fact that he saw us paying did not deter him from arresting our attention.
Then, invoking my wrath, he touched me here - on my right arm. We decided to continue to ignore him and walked away calmly. Who does he think he is? That night I thought that this stupidity has to end, the uncalled for assault a sign that enough is enough.
I mentioned it in passing to my sister who thought I could accidentally spill water on him. I had satisfied myself that we could refuse to sell cigarettes or serve him in the future, just as other businesses would to curb undesirable customers. Or we could complain to his manager but even then we did not want to get him into trouble. Keeping him out of the store was the aim.
As I was thinking this, one book which I have not touched for two years came suddenly into my perspective. I had put it on my makeshift bedside table, among my other partially read books. I picked it up and words previously escaping my grasp became crystal clear.
The next day, as usual I marched to the shop. I had weighted various ways to ward off this blood sucking mosquito of a customer after reading the book. Soon the underside of the checkout desk sheltered a bucket of vinegar and a container of eggs. Ammunition for when the waiter comes in and refuses to leave. I did tell the brother of the shop owner of what I proposed to do and he did not object. In fact he helped me arrange the containers under the till. He asked if he needed to warn the waiter, I said there is no need to.
Strategically though, word had gotten out to the other waiters next door. They were amused at the idea for they too have been subjects of their colleague's childish acts. For the rest of the afternoon and still counting, this problem waiter cum customer was nowhere in sight. He either had to quit smoking or walk further to the next available cigarette seller. I suspect the latter.
"Sun Tzu's Art of War", a good book for when I find myself in a pickle and need to get out of it.
posted by cherry at 7:22 AM
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