pumpkinstrokemarrow

Then on to inspect the western end of the ground floor of Selfridges, a place I have not been to for a while. Rather noisy background music, perhaps better suited to the eastern end of Oxford street than the western end. More or less a fancy indoor market: that is to say the place was mainly populated with franchises. But they did at least enforce a dress code, so all the staff were soberly and smartly dressed. There were even a few extras who scooped one up if one looked a bit lost. Found my way to the stationary department which did not seem very fancy at all; perhaps stationary is not really their thing. But most disappointing was the tobacco kiosk. Not a patch on the one in Harrods, although to be fair it is some years since I visited this last. But at that time you had a walk in-kiosk with a good range of all sorts of tobacco plus a knowledgeable, mature (almost a senior moment here. Mature originally typed as major. Or perhaps a convergence of images) gentleman to serve. Today's kiosk in Selfridges very thin. Perhaps that is not really their thing either. Didn't make it to the food hall of which I have had good report. Maybe next time.

Back at home to muse on the conversion of our local Sainsbury, which has been promoted to the second largest in the land, this from my informant in my third favourite hostelry. That apart, given the scale of the conversion they have done quite well to manage with shutting the place for just one week, although this did mean that the shop was a bit of a mess for some weeks before that. Presumably they parachute in some specialist project team from HQ to manage such affairs, getting right up the nose of the manager on the spot.

Didn't manage to visit the place immediately prior to closure when one might have supposed that they would be more or less giving some of the remaining stock away or immediately after closure when one might have supposed that they would be doing some opening offers. But I did manage to cruise around the car park on the bicycle on reopening day, drawn in by the orange blimp bobbing about overhead. Car park full, this late morning on a weekday, not Friday. Checkouts decorated with balloons. Decide not to venture inside. Apart from anything else the panniers had a good load of meat and you never know who might be creeping around the car park. Perhaps, on this occasion, the mayoral chauffeur having a quick fag while the mayor cut the festal ribbon?

Back at the hostelry, my informant told me over a few jars about the very fierce personnel policies they operate. So if, for example, you trot up to personnel to ask about a new top to replace the one you have which has been worn out by washing (wash your own that is), you get invited to come back some other time when you are off shift. Or if you make some suggestion about how things might be better done, you get told that you do things the way that it says in the book. This shop belongs to Mr. S. and you do what he says in his book. All laid down by expensive management types at HQ (possibly, even, consultants) and no room for personal or local initiative. I suppose this reflects the make up of their staff: largely rather young with poor work discipline. Forever phoning in sick or turning up with a hangover. Not so much fun if you are a mature person, no longer, very often, into hangovers. My informant also told about fake shoppers which are sent around stores to give staff marks out of a 100 (each) for their customer interaction skills. It seems that rule number 1 is that, when accosted by a customer, you either get rid of them PDQ, or you are helpful. Don't fall between two stools and waste time on them. That way both Mr. S. and the customer both lose out; the worst of both worlds. Local managers really get the wind up if they happen to find out that the falsies have taken the floor as it is effectively them who are being marked. Sometimess to the point where they need a bit of 'Old Spice' rather than something from the basics range. My informant's parting shot was that there were far too many men in suits creeping about managing things. Plus far too many useless agency staff with funny accents earning more than the hard working locals. So maybe the private sector is not so different from the public sector after all.