Ra ra ra-ra-raa; Want your bad covers.

Today was another quiet day at work but was less tedious than yesterday; once the regional manager had left with mostly praise in his wake, everyone was much more relaxed so there was a lot more banter to be had. America was poorly represented again today, by another elderly woman who asked for a battery for her watch. Quite justifiably I asked what model battery she needed. "I don't know." She proceeded to say "well in the states, I just go into these shops and the people are capable of getting me a fresh battery straight away and fitting it for me." This statement firstly clarified that she was again in an inferior, underdeveloped civilisation due to my impractice of occlumency to have discovered what battery she needed before she even entered. Secondly I was astonished that even in the land of the free, you are able to walk into an electrical store and have a watch repaired by salesmen. To prevent further confusion and aggravation I apathetically directed her to a jewellers. Another customer today became a perfect example of how to deal with an arrogant snot. As a salesman I adopt a relatively cheery, agreeable tone that shows unquestioning agreement with customers' personal situations and requirements. This tone is often a thick mask to the mental cursing happening underneath. The gentleman was inquiring as to a TV; reduced from £300 to £200. After confirming its availability he suggested a wall mount be thrown in. He did so in a manner that wasn't the acceptable request, in the thesis of "dont ask, don't get", but was more of an expectation. I (truthfully) told him I was unable to, as there was already a huge saving so further discount would not be allowed. He kicked up a fuss about it only being a tenner, which surprised me because most of them are much more than that, but out of principle for his tactics I stood my ground. He apparently calmed down and I offered to collect the TV for him to which he had a childish tantrum "no; I don't want it if you won't give us a mount." At this point my cheery front actually increased, but now rather than being my salesman persona of pleasantry it was the result of the deepest burning disgust, manifesting itself in cynical sarcasm. Clearly expecting me to grovel at his boots, he was notably lost when I happy agreed "okay then." and walked away. Song of the day is Bad Romance by Glee because it is one of the worst things ever committed to soundwaves. I had actually forgotten a out Glee's existence until, talking to Mhairi on the bus home, the topic arose of how much we both hate it.