I am not scared to fight for my right, stand up to the man and generally won't meekly roll over or cross the street if I think my voice will make a difference. And I have been known to haggle, barter and downright beg if I really want something.
Some may call this annoying and interfering -my children often say I am just embarrassing- but the fact is that I often get what I want for the price of being brave and asking. Or telling the poor unfortunate shop assistant.
Take yesterday for example. I earned a voucher for some blogging work I had done. There were lots of lovely places I could have spent it like theme parks and such like but the fact of the matter is I have lots of mouths to feed so the first thing I did was look which supermarkets I could spend it in. Hmm. Not much choice. One upmarket place, lovely to shop in but frankly a bit expensive. And one less upmarket but I knew I could fill my trolley with my voucher.
Cue groans from the older offspring, including DS#1 who asked: "You're not doing a whole week shop in there are you?"
I assured him I wouldn't be long and then did that thing we all did and spent about an hour doing the whole week's shop.
Said shop is at the top of a steep hill, quite a way from where I had parked. I looked at the loaded conveyer belt, looked at my weary son and his other half (FDIL) and took into account my flaring Fibromylagia. I turned to the cashier with what I hoped was a winning smile and asked about home delivery knowing full well they don't deliver to my postcode.
She said no. I wheedled and whined. She agreed to double check and pointed out the chap who had the power to save the three of us from an uncomfortable bag-laden walk.
I turned up the smile and offered to show him mine and FDIL's boobies. No really, I did but she's going to have to get used to this sort of behaviour if she's going to be part of this family. To her credit she didn't bat an eyelid - just added her smile to the battle.
Long story short, the shopping was delivered with no boobies needing to be shown. Phew!
A couple of weeks ago I took on the might of a global firm who were trying to wriggle out of fixing my son's faulty mobile phone. My son tried the reasonable approach with the first assistant who was as useless as a chocolate teapot. I butted in and demanded to see the manager.
A nervous-looking 12-year-old boy approached. Well OK he might have been older but like policemen, managers all seem to all look like children to me now. He looked not unlike a mouse walking towards a large grumpy and hungry cat. As well he might. I was tired and hungry which is not a great combination in a menopausal woman.
He started his spiel- I just heard a theme of "bugger off" running through it and interrupted him with this:"Seriously? We are going to do this? (* sigh*)" And then turned on the big guns which included knowing my rights, knowing that the phone problem was a recognised issue with this model and an attitude of "Bring it Sunshine- I intend to get what I want."
Long story short DS#1 had his phone replaced.
As an aside, my family know when I bring out the S-word- "Seriously?" - the argument is over and the job WILL be done asap.
But back to yesterday when as well as food shopping I popped into one of those "no appointment required" hairdressers to get my frazzled split ends tidied up ready for my moment of fame on the stage at Britmums Live where on Saturday I will be attempting to be mildly amusing as a blogger keynote speaker.
A nice man talked to me about what I wanted from my cut and started trimming. I noticed a female member of staff watching and it wasn't long before she walked over and took over. My man seemed a little put out but didn't argue. New hairdresser asked me about layers. I somewhat snippily (pun intended) advised her I had already explained to the nice man what I wanted.
I explained again and off she went. It seemed OK. She asked if I wanted a rough-blow dry. I looked at my sopping hair and said yes. She blow dried it very roughly using no comb or brush rendering me slightly windswept and tangled.
Taking my still damp head over to the till I rummaged in my purse. She asked for £3 more than I was expecting - Oh so that'd be my not-so -amazing blow dry I expect. But very unlike me, I didn't query it.
Then to add insult to injury she assumed the two notes I offered included a large tip and swiftly bunged it in the till and with a cheery "bye!" buggered off to the back of the shop!
Mildly put-out does not cover my emotions. Money is tight and I could have bought a few shiny things in the pound shop with that unintended tip!
But I said nothing. D'you know I still can't quite work out why? I am slightly intimidated by hairdressers but still. I consoled myself with the fact that it still worked out to be a cheap 'do and just walked away.
But I'll be back.......
Some may call this annoying and interfering -my children often say I am just embarrassing- but the fact is that I often get what I want for the price of being brave and asking. Or telling the poor unfortunate shop assistant.
 |
| Using my voice- I am known for talking a lot! |
Take yesterday for example. I earned a voucher for some blogging work I had done. There were lots of lovely places I could have spent it like theme parks and such like but the fact of the matter is I have lots of mouths to feed so the first thing I did was look which supermarkets I could spend it in. Hmm. Not much choice. One upmarket place, lovely to shop in but frankly a bit expensive. And one less upmarket but I knew I could fill my trolley with my voucher.
Cue groans from the older offspring, including DS#1 who asked: "You're not doing a whole week shop in there are you?"
I assured him I wouldn't be long and then did that thing we all did and spent about an hour doing the whole week's shop.
Said shop is at the top of a steep hill, quite a way from where I had parked. I looked at the loaded conveyer belt, looked at my weary son and his other half (FDIL) and took into account my flaring Fibromylagia. I turned to the cashier with what I hoped was a winning smile and asked about home delivery knowing full well they don't deliver to my postcode.
She said no. I wheedled and whined. She agreed to double check and pointed out the chap who had the power to save the three of us from an uncomfortable bag-laden walk.
I turned up the smile and offered to show him mine and FDIL's boobies. No really, I did but she's going to have to get used to this sort of behaviour if she's going to be part of this family. To her credit she didn't bat an eyelid - just added her smile to the battle.
Long story short, the shopping was delivered with no boobies needing to be shown. Phew!
A couple of weeks ago I took on the might of a global firm who were trying to wriggle out of fixing my son's faulty mobile phone. My son tried the reasonable approach with the first assistant who was as useless as a chocolate teapot. I butted in and demanded to see the manager.
 |
| madmumof7 with DS#1 |
A nervous-looking 12-year-old boy approached. Well OK he might have been older but like policemen, managers all seem to all look like children to me now. He looked not unlike a mouse walking towards a large grumpy and hungry cat. As well he might. I was tired and hungry which is not a great combination in a menopausal woman.
He started his spiel- I just heard a theme of "bugger off" running through it and interrupted him with this:"Seriously? We are going to do this? (* sigh*)" And then turned on the big guns which included knowing my rights, knowing that the phone problem was a recognised issue with this model and an attitude of "Bring it Sunshine- I intend to get what I want."
Long story short DS#1 had his phone replaced.
As an aside, my family know when I bring out the S-word- "Seriously?" - the argument is over and the job WILL be done asap.
But back to yesterday when as well as food shopping I popped into one of those "no appointment required" hairdressers to get my frazzled split ends tidied up ready for my moment of fame on the stage at Britmums Live where on Saturday I will be attempting to be mildly amusing as a blogger keynote speaker.
A nice man talked to me about what I wanted from my cut and started trimming. I noticed a female member of staff watching and it wasn't long before she walked over and took over. My man seemed a little put out but didn't argue. New hairdresser asked me about layers. I somewhat snippily (pun intended) advised her I had already explained to the nice man what I wanted.
I explained again and off she went. It seemed OK. She asked if I wanted a rough-blow dry. I looked at my sopping hair and said yes. She blow dried it very roughly using no comb or brush rendering me slightly windswept and tangled.
 |
| Looking similar to me post-blow-dry |
Then to add insult to injury she assumed the two notes I offered included a large tip and swiftly bunged it in the till and with a cheery "bye!" buggered off to the back of the shop!
Mildly put-out does not cover my emotions. Money is tight and I could have bought a few shiny things in the pound shop with that unintended tip!
But I said nothing. D'you know I still can't quite work out why? I am slightly intimidated by hairdressers but still. I consoled myself with the fact that it still worked out to be a cheap 'do and just walked away.
But I'll be back.......