Do you know what I hate? I hate shop assistants with whiney, nasal voices who believe that their name tags give them the god (or other deity of choice) given right to treat you like you're clueless, retarded or have the IQ of a glass of warm water.
I decided to buy my son a bike for christmas the other day (how on the ball am I?) and seeing as Halfords has a sale on we went and had a look. We found the perfect bike and it's half price at £149 (fricking bargain), I'm so having that.
Enter shop monkey with aforementioned nasal voice who then tries to tell me it's too big for my son and putting the seat down will damage the frame and blah, blah, blah can he show me some other bikes (more expensive...fancy that). I hop up on my high horse at this, and firmly tell the spotty simian that I will be having the bike I picked and seeing as my son won't be getting it until christmas (when he turns 17) then I'm pretty sure he will have grown the extra 1 or 2 whole inches it would take in order for the bike not to be too big. And even if he doesn't then that is my problem to worry about and not his. I then point out that there is a rival bike shop just across the road (it's small but does good business) and even though they don't have the exact same model then I'm pretty sure they will have something similar and how would the management feel about him chasing away potential sales.
I end my tirade at this point by telling him that he's there to offer help and advice and not to attempt to brow-beat customers. Also, my son was shifting from one foot to the other in embarrassment wearing that mortified look teenagers get when out with their mothers. Hey, he wanted the fucking thing in the first place. Ungrateful little toe-rag.
