Real Business

Inspired, I staggered out to local garden centre at the weekend. This was an error, as I had overlooked the evil combination of Mother’s Day brewing and the fact that the sun would have given the entire populace the same idea.  

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There is nothing more British than a garden centre on a sunny Sunday, full of entire generations: fathers looking harassed while small children dash between the owl display outside and the slides inside; elderly ladies waving their canes at harassed carers while selecting suitable plants.
 
As always, am struck by the attitude to customer service. Was pounced on by staff for selecting some as yet un-priced plants and made to feel as if I had attempted stealing them, and then had to spend what felt like a good half hour held in the queue while someone at the checkout objected to the size of their bill.  

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After much debate, and increasing restlessness from all concerned, girl at till off-handedly announced through her chewing gum that she had, indeed, charged for some items twice. While the customer ended up paying the correct price, she was subjected to hate stares from all of us held up. Not a sniff of an apology from the garden centre.
 
While customer-service demands have, in most areas, reached beyond the ridiculous, the British Garden Centre remains unashamedly and outstandingly poor. How then does it remain so popular?