The Mystery Shopper, Part II
Sunday 27 May 2007
Do you remember many moons ago when I told you about The Mystery Shopper? Do you? DO YOU?
Well, here's a slightly surreal tale.
It was another footballer weekend, as previously mentioned. Thankfully, the final one. Very busy, although not on a par with the sheer brutality of last time. Of course, we were understaffed - as Bilbo failed to show up for the second day in a row, it was once again just Jabba and myself. Poor Jabba; even Edmonson went home early yesterday, saying he was ill.
Anyway, we decided the best we could do was work the doors - specifically - and that was about it. Let the football security boys take care of the rest (i.e., stand around doing nothing.) So about 10.30pm one of the owner's kids, a chap who's well-known to us and generally okay, comes up and says he saw two kids with a screwdriver in the over-18's arcade. This, of course, is a big no-no. This is intent. As we're walking over, the arcade manager comes over and says the same thing.
So we go inside. We're not exactly sure how to play it; the problem is that if you haven't seen it yourself, it's always tough to call. But this kind of accusation must be taken seriously because potentially the venue could lose a fair bit of money if somebody managed to open one of the genuine 'Jackpot' machines. I figure the best way to play it is to wait for the guys to finish up their credits, and then ask them to come outside for a chat. So that's what I do.
Of course, they're adamant that they're innocent. To be fair, they empty all of their pockets, lift up their trousers, sleeves, etc. Nothing. Jabba goes back to the over-18's arcade to search where they were sitting, etc, and also finds nothing. The guy's aren't too happy about all this and ask to speak to the arcade manager, who obliges. He's not a guy who is prone to stepping back on a judgement, however - he has been doing this job for nearly 20 years - and his stubbornness causes one of the blokes to become aggressive and the arcade boss wants them both out. Then he decides that they can't stay in the arcade, but the clubs are fair game. When I point out (in private) that it's impossible to get to the clubs without going through the arcade, he suggests that it's okay if they are in the arcade - they just can't play any of the machines.
However, one of the guys isn't too happy with this call. "I put twenty quid in that machine," he says, "And I want a chance to get my money back." I tell him it isn't going to happen. He asks to speak to the complex manager. I call him. He agrees with the arcade manager's decision. That, as they say, is that. At this point, the other bloke starts going a bit 'wa-hey' with hands and accusations everywhere, a situation not helped by the arcade boss returning and basically telling him to fuck off. I tell both of the guys that unless they calm down, they're hardly doing themselves any favours and we'll have no option but to ask them to leave for good. Repeatedly one of the chaps asks the arcade manager for his surname, but he refuses to give it. This becomes quite the issue.
Eventually, they seem to basically accept it. Then, however, a woman, maybe in her early 40s, walks over. I suddenly realise she'd been watching us for a while. She tells the two blokes to calm down, and then says to me, "I'm used to this stuff. I've been watching you guys. I'm The Mystery Shopper."
She seems to know enough about the job to be credible; she informs us that we handled the situation well but the manager screwed up by refusing to reveal his surname. I'm contemplating exactly what I should be saying to her while she returns her attention to the other two. Then, out of nowhere, this bloke walks up, pulls her to one side, gets right in one of the accused's faces and barks, "What's your fucking problem!? WHAT ARE YOU SAYING TO MY WIFE?"
Shit.
How, exactly, does one compute this? Where in the handbook is the procedure for dealing with The Mystery Shopper's intoxicated, angry life-partner? Repeatedly, his missus tried to calm him down, or drag him away, but he wasn't having it. The two guys played it cool at first but when Mr Mystery Shopper said, "Do you want a smack in the fucking mouth?" their eyes went a bit blurry.
"It's alright mate," I said, "There's nothing going on here. They were just talking."
But it was no good; he was looking through me like all mega-drunks do when they're beyond the 10+ pint level. Suddenly, he turned to Jabba and said, "What's going on here? And tell me the truth..." So Jabba told him. To which he replied, "Look, we'll walk away, and they'll walk away, and let's just leave it at that, yeah?"
It was like some weird Alice in Wonderland trip. I was still trying to figure out exactly what The Mystery Shopper would put in her report if we were forced to put her drunk of a husband on the floor because he was a being a total cunt. She'd probably spend all night marking us up and then marking us down.
In less surprising news, the football security boys fucked off duty at 1am leaving us with another full-house at closing time. Que sera, sera.
posted by Sheamus @ 4:00 am
