God knows, Britain has enough problems right now (time travellers see my next post on immigration). But the law of relativity means that after our first shopping experience back here in Blighty, we are like kids in a candy store, giddy with excitement. When it comes to retail, Britain is still a blessed land. Mothercare, Boots, Tesco and assorted smaller shops - today's brief expedition was a veritable orgy of product, price, quality, design and service.
Pampers nappies in Mothercare, which already cost much less than Brazil, were even cheaper in next door's Boots, thanks to a three-for-two offer. Having bought them from Mothercare it was no problem to do a simple return and refund (virtually impossible in Brazil), followed by a repurchase from Boots, only to be rewarded also with a £5-off voucher for Boots No. 7. I used to be unmoved by all this quotidian stuff but after 10 months in Brazil I hope that complacency has gone forever.
When my mother complained that the saleswoman at Mothercare was a bit, well, dim and dozy, or that the Tesco assistant had seemed arrogant and uninterested in helping her find a product, I remembered my own former irritation with similar "customer is no longer king" experiences in the UK.
But today I struggled to empathise with her, as I pushed Sam's buggy down beautifully designed store aisles, eyeing an endless parade of wonderful food. Tomatoes which looked red and clean and tempting, a million miles from the ugly, blemished rubbish in Brazil. Green peppers and lettuce that won't be either rotten or half-eaten by still-alive worms. Fresh milk ! Cheap, fresh milk ! Natural yoghurt which you can actually give to a baby, unlike the dreadful, additive-stuffed yoghurt in Brazil. Wholemeal and wholegrain bread that is A) affordable and B) great tasting. The list of differences just goes on and on. But most importantly, when you receive your final food bill, it doesn't induce an instant depression.
The sheer choice and variety of fresh food was a marvel to behold, even before we had seen the fantastic prices. Processed food was also infinitely healthier than the junk dominating most Brazilian store shelves - junk that the likes of Nestlé, Carrefour and Walmart should in all conscience not be allowed to flog just because Brazilian palates are so undiscerning and undemanding.
When I later overheard the aforementioned Tesco assistant moaning to his colleague: "She expected me to know what she was talking about and exactly where it was located !" instead of feeling annoyed with his behaviour towards mum, I found myself vaguely impressed that he was at least thinking about and discussing the customer interaction. In Brazil, he would have remained mentally alseep before, during and after the event.
We travelled to the shops in a car that didn't break the bank for my parents as it would have done in Brazil, along roads that were beautifully tarmacked, punctuated by elegant street lights and framed by silky smooth sidwalks. When we got home I revelled in the kitchen's hot tap and the bathroom's centrally heated radiator and properly flushing toilet. No doubt there will be many more delightful rediscoveries of what I shall now call the "miraculous normal".
Pampers nappies in Mothercare, which already cost much less than Brazil, were even cheaper in next door's Boots, thanks to a three-for-two offer. Having bought them from Mothercare it was no problem to do a simple return and refund (virtually impossible in Brazil), followed by a repurchase from Boots, only to be rewarded also with a £5-off voucher for Boots No. 7. I used to be unmoved by all this quotidian stuff but after 10 months in Brazil I hope that complacency has gone forever.
When my mother complained that the saleswoman at Mothercare was a bit, well, dim and dozy, or that the Tesco assistant had seemed arrogant and uninterested in helping her find a product, I remembered my own former irritation with similar "customer is no longer king" experiences in the UK.
But today I struggled to empathise with her, as I pushed Sam's buggy down beautifully designed store aisles, eyeing an endless parade of wonderful food. Tomatoes which looked red and clean and tempting, a million miles from the ugly, blemished rubbish in Brazil. Green peppers and lettuce that won't be either rotten or half-eaten by still-alive worms. Fresh milk ! Cheap, fresh milk ! Natural yoghurt which you can actually give to a baby, unlike the dreadful, additive-stuffed yoghurt in Brazil. Wholemeal and wholegrain bread that is A) affordable and B) great tasting. The list of differences just goes on and on. But most importantly, when you receive your final food bill, it doesn't induce an instant depression.
The sheer choice and variety of fresh food was a marvel to behold, even before we had seen the fantastic prices. Processed food was also infinitely healthier than the junk dominating most Brazilian store shelves - junk that the likes of Nestlé, Carrefour and Walmart should in all conscience not be allowed to flog just because Brazilian palates are so undiscerning and undemanding.
When I later overheard the aforementioned Tesco assistant moaning to his colleague: "She expected me to know what she was talking about and exactly where it was located !" instead of feeling annoyed with his behaviour towards mum, I found myself vaguely impressed that he was at least thinking about and discussing the customer interaction. In Brazil, he would have remained mentally alseep before, during and after the event.
We travelled to the shops in a car that didn't break the bank for my parents as it would have done in Brazil, along roads that were beautifully tarmacked, punctuated by elegant street lights and framed by silky smooth sidwalks. When we got home I revelled in the kitchen's hot tap and the bathroom's centrally heated radiator and properly flushing toilet. No doubt there will be many more delightful rediscoveries of what I shall now call the "miraculous normal".
Update: My mother would like it to be known that she is usually very impressed by the customer service at this branch of Mothercare !
I'll share my similar thoughts once I arrive in Miami; it's days away.
ReplyDeleteBon voyage, Jonathan !
ReplyDelete