easter

Because Christmas was ruined by my Dad being in hospital, we had the Easter weekend as our 'alternative Christmas'. We had crackers, relatives, and even snow. Heidi was passed around the visiting relations, and was occasionally swivelled towards me (I said: 'We've met.') Heidi's chief interest at the moment appears to be cramming anything that comes within reach into her mouth. She has tried to eat tablemats, coasters, and even - on one memorable occasion - a chair. Yes, she tried to eat an entire dining-room chair. OK, she didn't get very far, but honestly, is it any wonder I keep my distance?

Anyway, a jolly old time was had by all - a massive chilli, a short walk, and finally everyone gathering round the TV to watch The Passion Of The Christ. Heartwarming. No, of course we didn't watch that, though I did see about two minutes worth; missing, however, the controversial anti-Semitic line of dialogue in which Jesus - apparently - says: 'That Hitler's got a point, you know.' It's in the Bible - the Mel Gibson revised version anyway. Of course it should be 'That Hitler will have a point.' Hence the controversy, I suppose.

To be honest, it looked like a pretty effective horror film - isn't there even a zombie at the end or something? - and I'm hoping Rhys might force me to watch it as part of our 'cultural exchange' blog. Not much hope of that, I imagine: he's already broken the bad news that he doesn't own Mariah Carey vehicle Glitter, a film I've heard a lot about and have a strange desire to see... involuntarily.

Last time I saw him he asked me if this blog was just about work now, and theorised that my 'loyal readers' might be missing such characters as 'Mat'. Mat! I wish I'd never invented him. He hasn't been in this blog for ages and people are still talking about him. Almost, it's as if he has a life of his own...

Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, work. Well, our computer system suffered a 'serious problem', which later turned into a 'major problem'. We waited and trembled - had Phoenix been destroyed at last? Tearful long-term Waterstone's employees were ringing the I.T. helpdesk to ask: 'How's Phoenix? Is Phoenix OK?' Even I could not repress a ch- , I mean tear.

Anyway it turned out, in layman's terms, that they'd moved the server or something, into a room with all these other servers, and it didn't get on with the other servers, right, and they had this big argument, and it melted or something.

I may have to recheck some of those technical details, but that's more or less it. As for Phoenix, it has risen again.

I must stop blogging about work

Our area manager appeared to do the second Get Selling session. There was therefore a need to take it slightly more seriously. Although I did make it known that I had 'problems' with one of the graphs. And found myself trying to argue that I could occupy the Zone of Defection, the Zone of Indifference, and the Zone of Affection simultaneously. At this point I was very possibly in the Zone of Being Fired. Esme later likened the scene to the one in Donnie Darko where the teacher, inspired by Patrick Swayze's self-help guru, draws a line on the board with 'Love' at one end, and 'Fear' on the other and asks her students to place themselves on this line... DD tells her to stick it up her arse. Or something in that line.

Obviously, I wasn't as blunt as that. Still, the whole notion of 'customer loyalty' remains a mystery to me. No doubt Sainsbury's would think I'm loyal to them, but the sad truth is... they're on the way home from work. Of course reward cards make a difference, but how is self-interest 'loyalty'? I'm not even loyal to the company I work for - as regular readers may have noticed.

Even so, it appears that I have qualified for a 'loyalty award' for ten years' service. The irony! Especially as I was working for a different company for eight of those years. I can hardly say I'm not grateful, though at the same time I can't help being amused at their use of the word 'loyalty'. Wouldn't 'lethargy' would have been more appropriate?

Talking of loyalty... we have recently abandoned our regular curry haunt - the Sakura - for snazzy new(ish) kids on the block, Chutney Joe's. Amanda instigated the first visit, and felt so guilty that, a week later, she suggested we all visit the Sakura. But by the time I'd joined them in the pub for a drink beforehand they' d already decided to go to Chutney Joe's again. The food was good, it wasn't overly expensive, and despite having the feel of a 'dining experience' rather than an established restaurant, it did not lack for authenticity. There was even a bit of a language barrier. My order for a Scotch and Coke was garbled into something like 'a small cottage in the Cotswolds.' Which, disappointingly, never appeared.

Ah yes, I have been neglecting my social life in these pages, haven't I? The other night we went to The Swan. Paul Jones was there, fresh from his visit to Australia. He liked it enough to want to live there, the only thing to put him off being the spiders. He kept spotting them, amassing in corners, in places which - people assured him - had been spider-free for years. Seems the spiders have got it in for him, and are possibly even now getting a petition together to keep him out. Unless he's imagining things - but his ability to spot creatures, and know what they are, was attested to at the end of the evening when he and Hannah were discussing the time they'd seen an animal in Wickford High Street, an animal which he'd correctly identified as a fox but she'd insisted was a penguin ('It waddled.')

As to how such a confusion arose in the first place, we may never know. It's not the kind of thing you could plot on a graph (the Hannah Zone?) And it's all the better for it.

destruction zone

I belatedly got round to doing the calendar return at work. Mostly, you don't have to physically send them back, you 'destroy them on site'. So I was printing off the return sheets and writing the word 'destroy' where appropriate. I had a sudden glimpse of myself from the point of view of an outside observer, alone in the office, scrawling 'DESTROY' over and over again on pieces of paper the printer was feeding me. It was like I'd gone insane.

No doubt I had. I mean, what was I doing observing myself from outside my body like that? But I had good reason. It had been a trying week. There was a particularly bad customer right at the end of the day on Wednesday. The till had not processed her transaction correctly, and she was in a big hurry - probably had an appointment with her anger management counsellor or something - and she just wanted a refund and 'couldn't believe' how long it was taking (about 30 seconds). There were a lot of other things she 'couldn't believe', including the fact that we all had jobs. Myself, I couldn't believe that she was allowed to walk the streets unmuzzled.

Anyway, finally, we got the till open (of course, nothing is ever simple with computerised tills, especially when you are being shouted at) and she got her £20 back, but, in Get Selling terms, she was very much in the 'zone of defection'. Well, let's hope she stays there.

Every time you go on a break at work now, you are confronted with the Get Selling posters. The more you look at them, the more you wonder: how much were they paid for coming up with this bullshit? There's one that demonstrates Waterstones' 'promise', which comprises 'Great Shops', 'Great People'. 'Great Value' and 'Great... well, I forget. You get the idea, anyway: everything's just great. The only effect that this poster has on me is to make me forget the meaning of the word 'great'. Repetition can do that to some words; though with others, it only increases their power. 'Destroy', for example.

the panda-prawn continuum

Get Selling is here at last! We assembled half an hour early on Tuesday for the introductory session. Barbara was there waiting for us but not, contrary to rumour, dressed in a giant panda costume. Who started those rumours anyway? Oh, it was me.

That disappointment notwithstanding, there were plenty of laughs to compensate. Apparently it is no longer enough for customers to be satisfied, they have to be - wait for it - 'delighted'. We were called upon to penetrate their 'zone of affection' (retail's elusive g-spot) and share with them 'moments of truth'. Basically, we have to have sex with them and call them the next day.

You see, 33% of the population didn't buy a book last year, and this represents, so we are told, an 'untapped market'. Hm, wonder if that's how the Meat Marketing Board think of vegetarians, as 'an untapped market'. Some people just don't read. And just how are you meant to get them into the shop in the first place? Fill the window with dishwashers or sex toys?

Barbara drew a line in black marker pen, which was, apparently, 'a continuum'. A double glazing salesman was at one end (metaphorically) and a chemist at the other (also metaphorically). We were asked where we were now on this line (in terms of aggressive sales technique), and where we should be. We were, it transpired, quite near to the chemist. I thought we should be even nearer. I actually thought we should be behind the chemist, in the back room where they make up the prescriptions and where the public aren't allowed.

But it turned out that I was wrong.

We were asked to give feedback. If I were able to say 'bollocks' and burp at the same time (Dave is something of an expert at this), then that would have been my feedback. As it is, I made do with just the 'bollocks'. I might equally have said that I found this introductory session 'inspiring'. Though not, perhaps, in quite the way they would have wanted.

It seems that, quite by coincidence, I have booked a lot of Tuesdays off over the coming weeks so I may well miss session four (in which we 'explore our sexuality') and session five (lobotomy). But I have the next session to look forward to. This will be led by our area manager (Barbara having now fled the country). From what I've heard, he will be dressed as a king prawn. I can't wait.

really just more of the same

But it seems that I am wrong, because Get Selling has been a big hit up North apparently, both with customers and with staff. Then again, in the North people do talk to each other. Down here, any stranger who talks to you is viewed with suspicion and contempt. And rightly so.

Take the other night. I answered the door to two guys attempting to drum up contributions to the WRVS. I didn’t ask why the Womens’ Royal Voluntary Service was being represented by two men. I merely stared at them like they were Martians who had landed on my doorstep five minutes into Eastenders (of course, real Martians would have done their research more thoroughly). Undeterred, one of the guys went into his script. There seemed to be pauses in this especially set up for my enthusiastic participation, but he rattled through these, as though not quite confident that I would play my part. I did though: as he finished, I delivered what I immediately recognised as my one line with some conviction. ‘No thanks’, I said, and they vanished with the rapidity of a stand-up comedy duo quitting the stage after a particularly bad gig.

I’m not even sure what I was saying no to. I seem to remember being asked to agree with the notion that taking old people to the bingo was a good idea. I couldn’t really think of any objections to that, though I remember trying. I suppose it was the inevitable (soft-pedalled) demand for money - ‘as little as a pound’. A pound! Don’t you think you need to compensate me for trespassing on Eastenders? Even if it has started borrowing plot lines from The Simpsons (Charlie accused of groping 's Yolande's arse, while in fact rescuing a boiled sweet that has got stuck there.)

Anyway my point is: we need less selling and less interaction, not more. In this consumer age we should be free to trudge through our lives like weary zombies. If we have to be processed through the machinery of capitalism we should at least be allowed to do so without being forced to wake up.

One of Get Selling's basic tenets is, apparently, that every customer who comes in the shop should be given a 'fantastic experience'. Are you kidding me? What would you say if one of your friends said they'd gone into Waterstone's and had 'a fantastic experience'? You'd think that they'd either (a.) lost their minds (b.) found God, or (c.) - and most likely - been taken out the back by a member of staff and given a good seeing-to. In spite of the persistent rumours about booksellers, I am here to tell you that this hardly ever happens.