Encounters of the shopping kind

Press, 5 December 1988, Page 38

Encounters of the shopping kind

Wilsons Week...

Last week, while standing in Colombo Street, I believe I heard the first cash register of Christmas.

It was a faint, far off tring, unmistakable in its pitch and signalling, I believe, a Christmas shopping stampede that will grow in intensity over the next 20 days. Yes, 20 days are all that remain before Christmas. This is the time of year that sorely tests shoppers’ nerves, sends children into paroxysms of the “I wants” and yields more Santa Claus than you can shake a sprig of holly at. But these 20 days are a special test for a special group in the community. Shop assistants —they of the aching feet who must be the thin, efficient life line between retailer expectations and customer fickleness. Much can be said about shop assistants. The helpful ones — who go out of their way to ensure you are totally satisfied with your purchase.

The clods — who ignore the customer while regaling their workmates with lurid tales of their socialising the night before.

Oddly, I seem to strike these people only when I am in a frantic hurry with the bus about to leave.

“Excuse me, miss, But I am in a hurry here.” *l’ll be with you in a moment. Anyway, I said to him ...” The male versions of this species are just as bad.

“I’m in a hurry, mate.” “Hang on, hang on. Anyway, I dropped the camshaft and stuck in a 4.2 litre hoozamajig ...”

I used to be a shop assistant. The boss, a nice bloke, tended to

frown if he caught staff ignoring customers. Then he would cheer up, just after he had sacked that person.

I think he has branches in Australia, because shop assistants there are incredibly helpful and enthusiastic. At one shop they did not have what I wanted, so the woman telephoned the competition down the road, confirmed they had the item, then escorted me out on to the street to indicate where I could find that shop.

Imagine that happening in New Zealand. If you can, keep the chimney clear for Santa Claus.

That’s the trouble here, our shop assistants are either incredibly good or mind-numbingly bad

You either meet a chap who follows you around every inch of the shop offering guidance and ready service, or a creature who stays behind the counter, scratches his head and says, “I dunno” when asked whether certain items are in stock. “Will you be getting more in stock?” “I dunno.” A pause. Then: “ S’pose we could order it.” “Will that take long?” “I dunno.” Then you encounter a shop assistant like the chap serving me the

other day, who deserves a Christmas bonus.

He had badly gashed his hand but rather than walk away to tend to it, he deftly carried on processing my purchase, carefully keeping the bloodied hand out of sight. That is style.

On their side of the counter, shop assistants have to endure hell over the Christmas season.

On late shopping evenings they are tired, their feet ache from standing too long and they have had too many customers who demand rather than ask for a left-handed screwdriver.

They deserve some courtesy, too. In any case, the secret to getting good service in a shop is to regard the assistant as a person first and an extension

of the cash register second.

If your kids are doing the shopping, don’t hassle the shop assistant until the little ones have made a decision.

Often I would be standing there while mum and junior went through agonies of selection. Experience taught me that the only decision kids could make was abut the sudden, desperate need to go to the toilet.

Fifteen minutes you’ve wasted on this kid while other staff are increasing their sales figures. And what have you to show for it? “Where’s the toilet?”

The urge to reply “I dunno” at such moments was hard to resist. — DAVE WILSON