Another week. Another week of poor customer service. Remember when the customer was king? When the customer was always right? Well now, the customers are outside the royal castle looking up at the battlements as pots of steaming human waste are poured onto their faces. The idea of the customer ever being right is now nothing but a laughable myth.

So, the centre-parted, halfwit “assistant” that taps his watch when I’m trying on shoes a minute after closing time, thinks I should hurry up. Why? So he can get back to his dimly lit bedroom and wade through the sea of semen encrusted tissues to his computer. Why would he need to learn the basics of conversational skills when he can type inane ramblings to a sexually frustrated, middle-aged man on the other side of the world, with his pants round his ankles, who tonight happens to be masquerading as nineteen year old Susan from Boston? The birth of the internet and our increasing reliance on digital communications is destroying our interpersonal skills and slowly bringing about the death of customer service.

I can’t be assed to go to work today. I’m not really in the mood to talk to anyone. I think I’ll just stay home and wank over pictures of hairy-legged dwarves.

E-mail your thoughts, concerns and creative death threats to: orangepeel999@hotmail.com or specileptic@hotmail.co.uk