The exercise:
Write a review from an unhappy customer. Or lots of reviews from unhappy customers. Or all from the same unhappy customer.
You get the idea.
Inspired by a thought I had as I was leaving the pharmacy on my lunch break today after picking up a prescription I'd dropped off yesterday.
3 comments:
And that thought, which came to me as I walked past a long line of customers waiting for the one cashier on duty at the front of the store - a line I've been stuck in many a time - which I didn't have to join because I'd paid for my prescription at the counter at the back of the store, was (with a few late night additions)...
Mine:
Extremely poor customer service at this pharmacy. Always too few cashiers to deal with the long lines of old ladies who insist on playing twenty questions with each product they've brought to the counter in their rolling shopping baskets (one wheel stuck, obviously). 'What do you mean this costs $2.95? The sticker said $2.75!'
It doesn't help that they all want to chat with the overworked cashiers about the talk around town of the day, which most seem to think is somewhere in the early 1960's.
Utterly unacceptable. I will be sure to shop elsewhere the next time I find myself in need of shampoo.
Hello from Kiev! The board meetings have gone well enough, so I get to come back to Malta :) Working remotely is ok so far as well. And I learned how to play Russian billiards today, which is surprisingly difficult :)
Well, that sounds like you’ve learned how to make the pharmacy trips work for you, but based on your review, I definitely wouldn’t go there. It sounds far too Maltese too, if I’m perfectly honest. I like your review though, it balances frustration and annoyance really rather well!
Review
1-star. Would not eat there again. I’ve called the Health and Safety department to report them for health-code violations, the Fire Department for fire-code violations, and the Coast Guard for Morse code violations. I couldn’t even. I’m still feeling shook. SMH, OMG, WTF.
The serving staff were initially friendly, showing me to a nicely set table with a pleasant view and a very satisfying view of the kitchen as well. The table was large, well away from anyone else, and had some poinsettia in an ugly vase in the middle. I paid attention to the poinsettia as, at that time, I thought that would be the only negative portion of my review. Then the serving staff seemed to have an entire change of attitude.
“Did you take you shoes off?”, a question so sharp that I instinctively ducked. “Take your elbows off the table. Don’t slouch. Put that iPad away, you’re here to eat, not read. When did you last go to the toilet?” I took advantage of that final, intrusive and unnecessary question to retreat to the toilet and wash my hands. There was carpet on the floor instead of regulation tile, the toilet rolls were hidden under a decorative cover and there was cat hair on the hand-towel. I felt attacked, but I recovered strongly and made my way back to my table.
The starter had been served while I was away, despite me not having ordered yet. It looked rather like someone had emptied a saucepan full of reheated beans over a piece of anaemic toast and dropped a sundried tomato on top, possibly by accident. I tried to ask the server what it was supposed to be, but my polite inquiries were met with a thoroughly hostile, “It’s not going to poison you, so you just eat it all up. There’s no dessert if you don’t.” I debated whether dessert would be worth this, and half-way through my deliberations the server squeezed a bottle of ketchup all over the unlovely repast and I felt my stomach heave.
“Hurry up,” said the server, baring her yellowed teeth at me and reaching for my plate with shrivelled, claw-like hands. “I want to serve the main course; are you going to eat that or not?” I decided to surrender dessert and my dignity and shook my head.
“Ungrateful wretch,” muttered the server, setting the plate on the floor. I assumed it would be for the cat, but then a raccoon burst into the kitchen and set about the plate and I instantly felt dirty. The main course proved to be Broccoli pie served with canned mushrooms, microwaved Spam chunks, and marigolds-in-aspic. I pushed the food around my plate, trying to find an arrangement that would make it look eaten while the server berated me for my job, my boyfriend, my marriage prospects and my dress-sense.
I’m never coming for tea again, mother, do you hear me?
Greg - Russian billiards, huh? You'll have to teach me one day.
Hahah, that opening is amazing. Hahahaha, that ending is pretty solid too. Really enjoyed all the details in between as well :)
Post a Comment