Geoffrey? You're on the list!

You know what? Screw you Toys R Us.

You heard me.

Today, after an almost farcical amount of evidence that I shouldn't have bothered getting out of bed today, I dragged a tired 2 year old all through Pacific Fair (a shopping centre roughly the size of Albuquerque) to the only Toys R Us on the Gold Coast. They had been advertising a trampoline and safety net enclosure discounted from $460 to $199. Given that GG will jump and bounce on anything slightly springier than concrete (and even that at a pinch), this was an opportunity not to be missed. Given that we are still in our own personal Financial Crisis, as well as the Global one, the plan is to lay-by it, pay it off over the next few months and have it ready for her birthday.

So I fight the crowds and madness, find the right display, and grab a ticket. Then I look for the lay-by counter. And look. And look. I finally get the attention of an elusive staff member. Note I distinctly DO NOT say customer service member. I ask said staff member where I might arrange a lay-by. I am smugly informed "We don't do that", in the same tone as if I had asked him to crap on the floor.

"What?" My pithy reply.

"Nope".

"Seriously?"

"Yup".

"Why on earth not? Don't you enjoy business?"

"Sweety, (grrrrrrr) if you knew, you know that offering lay-by eats massively into your business. We haven't done lay-by since 6 years ago, when 70% of our items lay-by'd for Christmas weren't even picked up."

Now, my first thought was "Gee, if people are paying for stuff and then not collecting it, wouldn't you have MORE money? You know, since you could then go ahead and sell that same item?". But clearly, being female, I couldn't possibly have the slightest clue. But I'm still slightly stunned, so I just snap, "Oh, you only care about profit, not the increased revenue gained by greater patronage from offering customer service. Good to know." I may have also called him a wanker as I walked away.

So, another addition to "THE LIST", an irrefutable document of all persons, companies and yes, countries that have raised my ire. When I assume the throne, you will be the first to be annihilated.

I'm sure that in the golden reality of the decision-makers at Toys R Us, $200 is an amount easily accessed by parents of young children the week before Christmas. I'm also sure that to them, GFC stands for Greater Funds Coming. Who cares about offering a service that might actually help out those of us who try and be a bit financially responsible, and don't spend our grocery money on toys for the kids? If you just refuse to help, they'll find a way themselves (which I did) and then we won't have to pay for additional staff and storage costs. Money-grubbing bastards. I really wish I could have been proud enough to say "Screw you!! I'll pay another, more helpful company MORE money, just so I get the satisfaction of taking a sale away from you!". But of course, a great deal is a great deal, and money-tight parents don't have the luxury of principles. Which, of course, is exactly what they count on.

Oh, and by the way, the sass-fabulous Daffy at Batcrap Crazy, has decorated me with one of her very own Awards, the Blogger with Attitude Award. Haven't the foggiest as to why. :oP

Luckily, this award comes with no rules whatsoever, which is good, because I'm feeling rebellious anyway.

Some observations...

Dear Robina Shopping Centre Management,

After visiting your fine mega-shopping complex in order to complete my Christmas shopping, I would like to offer the following observations.

1. Thank you for installing the snazzy little parks assist light dealies in the new parking lot. It certainly does make life easier. Especially when you zoom 3 aisles over 'cos you see a green "vacant" light, only to find a freakin motorcycle (which evidently does not set off the switch to "occupied") parked there.

2. I fail to see how me moving said motorcycle to a handy unobstrusive spot can be wrong. Or how say, after 2 hours of looking for a park, pushing it off the 3rd level balcony would also be wrong.

3. Compliments on the renovations and expansion. I'm sure the new Myer store will be awesome. One does wonder however, at the intelligence of closing a large and popular parking lot during construction of said Myer store, just in time for the holiday season.

4. Speaking of questionable intelligence, where do you find your holiday casual retail staff? Is there a bank of them somewhere, kept locked away the rest of the year, allowed out only to renew and multiply their piercings, audition for reality tv shows and attend court dates?

5. Surely it can't be illiegal to run down the middle aged blonde, so totally absorbed in texting on her mobile that she hasn't looked up for 2 full minutes, and making a beeline straight for your fully laden shopping trolley. Surely it's like shipping laws, the more manouverable vessel must yield? No??

6. Just to satisfy the conspiracy theorist in me... is it at all possible that you employed some Machiavellian retail-psychology based scheme in construction of your shopping centre, ensuring that every store most likely to be required a visit, must be located as far as humanly possible from each other, in order to have poor lemming-like shoppers walk past as many other, lesser stores, sales, promotional counters and leaflet hander-outers as possible? Also possibly ice cream stores?

I trust you will take these observations in the helpful spirit they are intended, and I look forward to seeing the changes you thus implement as a result on my next visit.

Thank you for your time,

Ranting in a Winter Wonderland

OK, that's it! Having just had the latest Channel 9 "Have a wonderful Christmas" ad inflicted upon my good self, I am left to wonder if they actually live in Australia.

You know, Australia?? Land of 40 degree summers, Christmas dinners eaten in the pool and thongs as formal wear.

These kind of thongs, not the American kind.
Little tip: don't search "thongs" on Google Images,
unless you want to see a LOT of spring break asses.

So why the hell are we watching Natalie Gruzlewski (no offence, she's a top chick - we were in the same journalism class in High School) snuggle into a knitted scarf, sparkling snowflakes and whatsherface who reads the news holding ice-skates. ICE SKATES I ask of you!! I'm pretty sure if anyone had cause to use iceskates outdoors in Australia in December it would be a sign of the impending apocolypse.

And that's not to mention the countless other images we have in shopping centres, on greeting cards, decorations etc., that all seem to feature snow, sleighs, fireplaces ad nauseum. When are we going to stop clinging to this English/American version of the snow-covered Christmas, hot dinners and roasting chestnuts on an open fire? Are we really still so colonial that we need to celebrate Christmas just like "Mother England". Or that immersed in American TV and culture that we are morphing into them?

We are a PACIFIC country, we live in the hot part of the world, people. Christmas should involve prawns on a barbeque, pavlova, swimming, beach cricket (sometimes played in backyards) and the only fires we have here are bushfires, and not bloody welcome.

Merry Christmas everyone!

Are you being served?

I wonder what it takes to be a shop assistant these days?

A lobotomy obviously.

The complete lack of desire to engage in any face-to-face interaction. Maybe even the ability to dissappear at will.

Guess what sweety, I came into your store today, ready to buy. Something quite expensive actually (do sales girls still work on commission, or is that just Pretty Woman?). I was the only one on the store but hey, maybe you didn't see me, what with your head stuck so far up your ass.

But I saw you. I saw you texting, fiddling about with your earring (they're not that complicated darling... the pointy bit goes through the hole) and wandering off in the opposite direction every time I tried to catch your eye. Trust me, you were one anger-management lesson away from being crash-tackled into a change room and duct-taped to that bloody register. Don't ask me where your phone ends up in this scenario, you, and your proctologist, won't like it.

So you had to work on a Sunday. Boo Hoo You. I'm sure you'd much rather be sipping lattes with your mates, getting your fake-tan done or finding out the name of last nights random shag (yes, you look the type). But tough shit, you're at work. Or maybe, given it's a small boutique (which I'm sorely tempted to name, but can't seem to remember) it's actually your store, in which case, it would be in your best interest to suck it up, put a smile on that surly dial of yours and wring out some actual service from your cold, hard self before someone not quite as Zen as me reaches for the duct-tape.