Getting snarky about "that" mall...

There is, on occasion, nothing quite like a damned good snark. So bear with me while I continue Friday’s saga… C’mon, at least it makes a change from guinea fowl!

To cite Baino… the Goddess Vanilla has been wielding the Hammer of Thor. She has, to quote Terry Pratchett’s Nac Mac Feegles been doing some o’ the pursin’ o’ the lips, foldin’ o’ the arms, not to mention some tappin’ o’ the feets… And she has been looking for The Explanation. (This might make more sense if you’ve read Pratchett’s wonderful Wintersmith.)

I have managed, rather in the way of pulling teeth, to extract an apology from the Marketing Manager and the Centre Manager of the Blue Route Mall. The Operations Manager, however, who was the first person I spoke to (having erroneously being told by staff in the manager’s office that he was the centre manager…), was having nothing to do with any such thing that remotely resembled an apology. In fact, I rather got the feeling that if he ever ran into an apology in a dark alley at night, he’d shoot it. Then ask questions. He was adamant that when someone committed a crime it was okay and necessary to chase them through the mall and too bad if shoppers were harmed along the way. Charming.
“You don’t know what it’s like on the ground,” he assured me.
No, I don’t, nor do I care, because that ain’t my problem.
“The woman was a known criminal,” he told me, trying to defend his actions.
And this is my problem, how?
“She’d used a fraudulent card in a store,” he said.
And I should worry about this? When I can’t breathe, or sleep for coughing.
“She was carrying crystal meth.” As if this was supposed to make the guard’s actions justifiable.
“The security guard’s life was endangered,” he announced.
Well, with all due respect and I’m very sorry for the security guard, but just how is this my concern? I’m presuming when he took the job the guard realised it was a high risk position. Or had he been told he’d be helping little old ladies with their shopping trolleys? I suspect not.
“None of this is acceptable,” I snapped, “and I expect an apology!”
“Well I won’t apologise,” he said in the manner of all small boys who’ve just broken granny’s favourite vase. I suspect there might have been some stampin’ o’ the feets at that point – from him, not me. “Our actions were entirely justifiable.”
Uhuh? “And just think how justifiable they would have been if the perp had sprayed bullets instead of pepper?”
“Well, we’ve had a case of security guards being help up at gunpoint in the mall before,” he replied.
Oh charming, I’m sure. And this is supposed to make me feel better?
“Anyway,” he finally said, “I don’t see any point continuing this conversation because you’re clearly not willing to accept anything I say.”
Right on there, buster.

I had another chat with the manager of the store where the incident took place – really, really nice guy. He got onto the centre management and I got a call from the Marketing Manager – who in the way of most marketing managers actually understood the concept of customer relationship management, especially when the customer mentioned she was a freelance journalist…. She apologized and promised to talk to the Centre Manager. A few minutes later someone barked at me down the phone line… on the defensive – and the attack – reminded me rather a lot of SOF.... Really not a bright place to start. But I recognized the type, so barked back three times, snarled twice and said Centre Manager backed down to something only marginally resembling a cranky bulldog – as opposed to a slavvering pit bull or an irate guinea fowl… (she said mixing her metaphors with gay abandon).

The odd thing was, when pressed on the matter of “security protocol” he acknowledged that perpetrators should be dealt with off the premises. Hmm, what makes you think that the left hand and the right hand have never really crossed palms… Still, he offered an apology, assured me that a full investigation was underway but pointed out that incidents such as these “are part of the nature of the country we live in”, by way of wiping his hands of the whole business.

See, and here’s the thing, so long as South Africans wander around saying, “Oh well, this is just the way it is, crime happens”, crime will continue to happen. It’s complacency and acceptance like this that really pisses me off. Crime becomes the modus operandi. And then it does become my problem. I may as well just wander around with “Rob me, shoot me,” tattoed in bright colours on my forehead! Or I suppose I could just mace anyone who gives me a funny look…

Anyway, the letter to the press is written, I now just have to decide if I will achieve anything constructive by sending it.

Right, now I’m going to cease tappin’ my feet, stop pursin’ my lips - just in case someone thinks I want a kiss - and I’m going to return Thor’s Hammer. Then I’m going to wander outside to count the guineas and take some photos of flowers. Being a goddess is just so tough, I’m not sure I can keep it up.





And here he is - the real SOF, hot-footing it around the pool, seeing someone off, as usual, cranky, as ever...

Ba-kaaaaaaak!

The Mighty Stonk

The Goddess Vanilla is in a mighty fine stonk. If it wasn’t enough being hit by pepper spray in the mall – I kid you not – silly *%^$#s – I've also had to deal with Guinea warfare.

But let’s rant in order, okay. (Ha, and there was me wondering what to blog about today…)

There I was in the store (for British readers, the equivalent of Marks & Spencer), paying for groceries at the till when everyone started coughing. As I started to leave the store, so my nose started burning (as if being addled by hayfever isn’t enough…) and I started hacking and wheezing. As I walked out someone muttered, “Shoplifter, pepper spray.” Huh? Since when does a store blast pepper spray because someone’s “lifted” an item? If it was an armed robbery and there were hostages it might have been different. So I came home, still hacking and wheezing, and, speaking with a deeply sexy and husky voice, I called the store manager. He, it turns out, was equally miffed. Evidently the incident had nothing to do with the store, but everything to do with the Blue Route Mall’s security “protocol”. Evidently the perp had lifted an item elsewhere in the centre, the security guards had chased and cornered said perp in the store I was in, and the perp had turned on them with pepper spray. Now from what I’ve been able to ascertain, you never try to apprehend the perp in the store or the centre because you have, no matter how many disclaimers you display, a duty of care to customers. What you are apparently supposed to do is to follow said perp out of the store and then take the necessary action. The store manager said he’d lost R30 000 in business in the 20 minutes he’d been closed and had had an asthma attack.
“I'd suggest,” he said, “that you phone the Centre Management and lodge a complaint.”
So I called up the Blue Route Mall’s Centre Management and asked to speak to the Centre Manager.
“No, sorry, the manager’s gone home for the day.”
Hmm, it was only 17h10. Evidently he keeps union hours. I was transferred to someone else.
“Yes?” barked the woman on the other side of the line, “So what’s your story?”
Story? My story?! At which point the Goddess Vanilla realised she could do righteous indignation, full frontal anger, icy disdain and a variety of other mean things without necessarily feeling any said emotions. Finally, all those years of speech and drama paid off. Yeah! I let her have it in tones that should have sent her cowering.
“Well, a person was caught shoplifting and that isn’t allowed,” replied the woman to my shower of “not acceptables” and clearly totally unimpressed with my display of outrage.
“Uhuh? And your protocol says it’s okay to endanger the well-being and lives of your customers in order to deal with a situation like that?”
What, I wonder, would have happened if the perp had been armed with a gun and started shooting at the guards and shoppers, rather than spraying pepper? Did anyone consider that? I guess not.
“Well, you’ll just have to call back on Monday,” she snarked without a word of apology or an “Are you okay, Madam?”
And call back I will. In the meantime I’ll lodge complaints on several local consumer websites and in the suburban press, because three hours later I’m still coughing and have had to use my inhaler which I haven’t had to use for years. Thank goodness it still works.



As I stalked through to relay the news to D, another situation met my beady eyes. Stroppy Old Fart was in the garden – and causing trouble. Stroppy Old Fart is the crankiest of guinea fowl with an attitude of note. He is bad tempered and cantankerous, not unlike Atyllah the Hen when crossed. SOF was standing at the feed-bin, hogging the whole thing to himself. The Guinea Family was feeding from seed scattered at the edge of the lawn and one small, and particularly tiny, peep decided she’d sup with SOF. Now one might expect SOF to be grandfatherly, you know, paternal. But no, not a chance. He just raised up onto his toes, started flaring his wings and aimed a savage peck at the wee thing. The Goddess Vanilla’s righteous indignation flared.
I shot out the door and stalked towards SOF.

But the trouble with SOF, like most stroppy old farts, is that he seems to think that age goes before beauty… He cocked his head at me and raised an eyebrow as I advanced and then, not taking the matter terribly seriously, he ambled off. I’m afraid it was his attitude that did it. I charged. SOF scuttled, he squawked and took off onto the roof, from where he regarded me with utter disdain. Hmm. I went inside. And as soon as I was “gone”, SOF flapped down and charged the entire Guinea Family. War. I was out like a shot, and damaged ankle notwithstanding, charged at SOF again, squawking in my own inimitable style. I swear I heard applause from the Guinea Family. SOF did a vertical take off that would have impressed the average Harrier pilot. He clattered onto the roof, cast me a glance over his shoulder and kept going. Hope that teaches the old bugger a lesson; harassing my little peeps in that uncivilized way! Tsk!



Oh bugger, now there’s a squirrel on my windowsill…


And the guinea fowl are hecking because it's Halloween and they are so not impressed...