Holy Shit (Part One)

I may be somebody's husband now, but that doesn't mean this is turning into a vomit-inducing blog about the undeniable eternal bliss which—according to my contract and the fine print found at the bottom of that shamelessly non-recyclable sheet of paper—comes with married life. Today I want to talk about shit. Holy shit to be precise, and this is only part one. Now, I know you always like to read about other people's shit, so sit back, relax, and enjoy the sh... show.

Once upon a time, one year ago on a sunny day in May, there was an exceptionally attractive unmarried young woman doing what she, in her otherwise uneventful daily life, got paid to do and did very well: serving chocolate-craving customers. That's what my Bollywood princess does for a living. She sells luxury chocolates to rude geriatrics whose only joy in life is to sink their fake national healthcare teeth in irresistible pralinés, caramel cashew patties and assorted ganache with a subtle infusion of herbes of province, and I, the hungry Blue One, at the time didn't get to eat any of them (the chocolates, not the rude geriatrics) unless I showed her the money. Pre-marital bliss my butt.

So while she was boasting her pearly white teeth to lure whoever seemed interested in buying her signature boxed chocolates, in comes this weird-looking woman my hardworking Angie still has a hard time forgetting about. To cut a long story short, Ms Weird entered Angie's chocolate shop, shit in her pants, dropped half of it on the floor, and walked away. I swear to God this is a true story. Let me run that by you again: somebody entered Angie's shop, shit in her pants, dropped half of it on the floor, and walked away. Yes, sir. Would you believe me if I told you Angie said, 'Ma'am, you dropped your poo! You dropped your poo!'? She did, but Ms Shitmaster pretended not to hear her and left the building. No shit. Just like that. She walked out of the shop leaving Angie her first ever human turd. There it was on the floor for everyone to see.

Now, anyone who knows a bit about the basics of great customer service, like the anonymous writer whose sound advice I'll be stealing in a second, will tell you that there are five rules for improved customer service:

1. Make your customers feel welcome.
2. Ask and listen.
3. Give your undivided attention.
4. Go the extra mile.
5. Show you appreciate your customers' business.

Would you feel welcome if you entered a shop and came face to face with a human turd that wasn't even your own? I don't think so. Remember rule #2: Ask what it is and listen ('Is that a turd?'). Rule #3: Give it your undivided attention ('It sure is big.'). Or simply call the police for backup.

Well, when it comes to rule #4, Angie sure went the extra mile by getting rid of a genuine non-chocolate human turd that may have looked like a delicious truffle but sure as hell didn't smell like one. Poor Angie... why does this shit always happen to her? She cleaned up the place without throwing up in the process, warned her customers about the slippery spot ('What's that smell!' they all wanted to know), and knew one thing for sure: she didn't appreciate her customer's 'business'.

* * *