Having ordered
Mother’s bed just over a week ago, frustration grew as we received no delivery
and no phone call. The lady who sold it to us (French and therefore able to
persuade Mother to do almost anything) informed Mother that it should arrive
within one week. At the end of this week patience grew thin (not me, I had
forgotten we’d ordered a bed), several confused phone calls were made. As I sat
there and listened to the rants of a flustered, British woman being received by
some poor, lost Spanish soul I feared it would not be the day I had hoped.
Correct. Mother stretched her limited patience to the next day, at which point
she stated; “Right. That’s it. Nobody called me back yesterday when they said
they would. This is outrageous! Bloody
Spain! Darling, come on, we’re going in the store. We’re going in and somebody is going to tell me where this
damn bed is because I just don’t understand what’s so difficult. You know, we
wouldn’t have this problem if we could just order from John Lewis. Why on earth
is there no John Lewis here?!”
Very shortly after, we
appear at the store. I was hoping we’d casually drop by the bed section and
speak to the lovely French lady again. I was wrong. We didn’t get past security.
Straight away Mother approaches an entirely-too-tall Spanish security guard and
confidently says “I’d like to speak to the manager please, darling” and pats
him affectionately on his arm. Obviously he is clueless; “uhh… que?” “Oh… don’t
you speak English?! No Ingles?” Mother makes an awkward, flashing arm movement
indicating that I must translate. Tall-man grabs his phone and makes a call.
One minute later another security guard appears (possibly slightly more
important as he is armed with guns, badges and truncheons). He asks why we want
to speak to manager. Mother’s face was quite a picture. Astonished; “PARDON?! I
just want to speak to the manager of the store! I am a customer – I have a right! I have spent money here!! Get me the
manager, what is their name?” I’m pretty sure I blacked out from the panic at
this point as before I knew it, two members of staff (one woman in a blazer and
one man in glasses and a striped shirt – assumingly the managers) quickly
shuffled up to Mother. Ah, good. I chose this moment to leave Mother with these
two and excused myself for a ‘loo trip’ (or perhaps fresh air and a break from
embarrassment.)
Returning to a calmer
scene was high expectations. Sadly, as I walked back into the store five
minutes later, I saw Mother in the centre of what looked like a terrifying
school playground argument. Of course, the Spanish were not arguing (I don’t
think they really know what it is or how to do it) but Mother somehow looked
even more cross. The two managers were now joined by a lady from the
Information Desk (who had two other girls with her, simply to listen and enjoy
the show) and a short, plump man who had been enrolled as the translator. “You just will not believe it. You won’t
believe it. Guess. Guess what they’ve done. Just guess. I can’t believe it! You
won’t believe it.” Oh dear. Something almost fatal has occurred (I
exaggerate but I’m surprised the staff didn’t run away in fear). Mother has
been informed that the bed we ordered is actually no longer manufactured. There
is no bed. It no longer exists. However, Mother had chosen, paid for and
arranged delivery of this particular bed. Disappointment completely suffocated
by anger. I couldn’t control myself as I watched short-plump-man try his very
best to absorb exactly what was being shot at him from the two managers and
then translate (his eyes were boggling and his head was shaking – I thought he
was convulsing) into English for Mother. To make matters even worse, Mother told me that it was this man *jabs pointed finger at him* who didn’t call her back
yesterday. Oh goodness, I couldn’t take it; “I am very sorry madam, you see I
am from electrical and I had to finish with a client as this is my priority but
as soon as I finished on the phone speaking with you I told my boss and she
tells me she will call you in the afternoon, I gave her your number and she
should have called you I’m so sorry.” I thought he was going to break down.
Actually, I nearly broke down. I
fought the urge to wrap myself around him and give him a cup of tea and a
doughnut. Mother had less sympathy. “Hmm. Right. Okay. Well, alright. Let’s
just sort this out shall we because I don’t know what we’re going to do about
this. What are we going to do?!”
Man-manager then begins to suggest the option of choosing another bed at a
discounted price but before he manages to finish, Mother cuts in; “Wait! You’re
going to give me a solution to the bed situation, aren’t you…”
“… well, yes madam”
“But what are we going
to do about the staff that didn’t call me back?! You can’t run a shop like
this. I can’t buy anything else from
here if your staff are not reliable!”
“Yes, I will speak
with all the staff.”
So, we head to the bed
section (finally) and Mother reluctantly attempts to choose a new bed. Still
stating every five seconds that she wants the one she ordered originally. The
trouble is, we rarely find ourselves purchasing anything in the form it is
sold. Mother settles for the one that two strapping Spanish workers bring out
from the stock room. However, she most definitely does not like the legs (the
bed legs, not the men’s legs). Nope, they must be switched with those from
another display-bed. Luckily, the Spanish aim to please and we now have Jorge,
Angel, Constavalos, short-plump-man, Tomas, Manager No.1, Manager No.2 and
several onlookers. Clearly things like this don’t happen every day. With a
heavily-weighted male crowd, Mother instantly melted. The awkward situation it
once was is now nowhere in sight and I’m pretty sure we’re having a fiesta.
Waiting for someone to pull out the tequila while Mother and the managers have
a laugh in half-Spanish, half-English. Throughout Mother’s demands this
evening, absolutely none of the staff became impatient with her. They were so
desperate to fix the problem that the poor managers in their smart clothes
started bending down and screwing the legs on to show Mother! The British;
“sorry Love, s’not my fault, I only work here, Miss. Should’ve read the small
print eh” was replaced with repeated apologies and worried faces.
Legs switched, bed
wrapped and faces de-flushed. I think it’s over.
