GOOD Customer Service?

Yeh, right. If you are in America maybe.

During my lunch break, I nipped into a newsagent on Sauchiehall Street, as I fancied a bit of chocolate.

After much deliberation, I chose a 35p Ruffle Bar and on ripping the paper off I attempted to sink my teeth into the soft raspberry coconut.

"Arrgh, bloody hell!" I shrieked, as I nearly shattered my teeth.

Returning to the shop, I put the broken chocolate bar on the counter and said to the elderly man who had served me, "Sorry, but this is off."

"What date is on it?" he queried.

"January 2015," I replied.

"Well," he shook his head, "It is OK then."

"No it is not."

"Yes. It is." he replied. And without so much as looking at it, he said: "It's still within the date."

"You eat it then." I challenged him.

"No way." he replied.

By now he had gotten my back up. "Well I'm not leaving till I get my money back."

He shook his head. "No money back."

"Yes. Money back." I was getting really hacked off. "I nearly broke my teeth on that. It's like concrete."

"No money back." He repeated.

"Well, I'll tell you what," I replied. "I work in an office around the corner with 300 staff, and when I go back I will email everyone and tell them not to shop here."

Quick as a flash the angry old codger slammed 35p on the counter.

And I thought to myself, he needs to brush up on his customer service skills. All that grief for 35p.

Which reminded me of an incident last summer when I offered to help my friend Mae with her garden.

"To finish my black and white garden theme," Mae explained, "I need a few bags of black chips to fill in the gaps around my paths."

To let you understand, Mae had painted everything black or white. Flower pots, the wooden bench, hanging baskets etc. And the finishing touch was black chips.

Exhausted after stacking our trolley with nine huge heavy bags of black shiny garden gravel from the local DIY store, we headed home.

We slogged for nearly three hours in the pouring rain until we had laid the shiny black gravel, and I have to say, it did look fabulous.

However, the next morning as sunshine shone through my bedroom window, I was woken by my gardening pal who yelled down the phone.

"Janice. They're NOT black."

And I must admit it took me a few seconds to get my head in gear and realise that Mae was referring to her new black shiny chips.

"They are grey," she yelled. "And they don't match anything."

So, later that morning, with the remainder of a bag of now grey dull gravel chips, we headed back to the DIY shop.

Mae dumped the offending bag on the counter of the Customer Service Desk before beginning her rant.

"I wanted black chips," she explained. "And these are definitely grey."

"This is going to be a long day," I muttered to myself.

Eventually, an apparent expert from the gardening section called Harry emerged to handle this seemingly unusual customer complaint.

Pointing to the offending bag Mae began. "The bag clearly says Black Garden Stone Chips."

"And?" Was the cheeky response.

"Well they are not black, they are grey."

"The chips only go black when they're wet," pointed out Helpful Harry'.

"Well then, that's false advertising," Mae pointed out.

"Look." (Helpful Harry was now serious.)"The chips will look black most of the time," he assured Mae.

"Because we live in Scotland and it's sure to rain a lot."

"Well then," Mae retorted, "It should say on the bag, Black Chips when raining."

Dying to laugh, I had to turn my face away from the desk as I didn't want Mae to think I wasn't taking her dilemma seriously.

"Look. You'll only get black gravel in an aquarium because it's always wet," assured Helpful Harry.

"Well, am I supposed to hose my grey chips on a dry day to make them black?" she asked.

What followed was a Mexican stand-off between Mae and Harry the helpful assistant. (Or unhelpful assistant as he turned out to be.)

Eventually, after disappearing to speak to his manager, Helpful Harry appeared back with a huge drum of sealant.

"Put this on your chips and it should make them look shiny and black all of the time."

Thoroughly hacked off, Mae left with me in tow, but not before shouting.

"You know Harry, I seriously think you've got a chip on your shoulder, and you definitely need to improve your customer service skills."

Exasperated and frazzled, Mae and I headed home with a gallon of sealant which would miraculously turn a million grey chips to black.