Trying to sell credit cards to people at service stations must rank as one of the less glamorous and most thankless jobs in the world. "So you've just popped in for a poo and a coffee, but I was wondering would you like to take the time to get a new credit card?" At least the man selling RAC membership knows that most people coming through the sliding doors will have a car, but why a credit card at the services? It's not like they even give it you there and then so you can use it to purchase some of the wonderful products in the shop.
It obviously must work though as there seem to be such people at nearly every services you stop at these days. There was one in the Oxford services today where I stopped on my way to Cheltenham. I was a little irritable after some annoying delays and just wanted a wee, some coffee and some pick n mix (
I have still failed to overcome the link between sweets and a long car drive and also have not made good on my promises to bring the whole pick n mix system down. I need to overcome this one last addiction though. I am sure it contributes to my slight weight gain in the last few days).
So I kept my head down as I approached, but the credit card man did not take my hint that I was not interested. "I can see you're bursting," he cheerfully cried," So I'll catch you on the way out, shall I?"
I wanted to turn to him and say, "No thanks, I like most adults already have a credit card and if I wanted another one then I wouldn't suddenly decide to pick one up in a service station. I'll come to you if I want one. Don't assume that I will definitely be interested if only I didn't have a full bladder. Safer to assume that credit cards aren't on the top of my agenda at the moment and leave me alone."
I didn't say that though. Because I needed a wee.
I did a wee, bought a paper and some sweets, had a coffee, ate all my sweets, read some of the paper and went and had another safety wee. As I left the man, ever hopeful of a sale, took no notice of my pace or the way I was pointedly looking away from him and said "Can we have that chat now?"
Like I'd seemed willing on the way in. Like it was an arrangement we had made. Like it was something that I had wanted and that he was helping me out.
"No!" I snarled, carrying on at the same pace into the dark Oxfordshire evening.
But I felt sorry for him as I went on my way. He was just trying to do his job and though he was over familiar I could understant that was a reasonable tactic. Perhaps it works with enough people. Perhaps over people feel their guilt and pity before they're back in the cold. Which I suppose makes this young man a sort of professional beggar in a nice suit.
Perhaps there are enough terribly lonely people who will sign up for a credit card because of a few seconds of feigned friendship. Maybe there are more people than I realise who just have never heard of the concept of a credit card and would not find out about them if it wasn't for our friends in the service stations. Who knows?
I didn't feel too sorry for him though. It's probably not his vocation. And maybe he's making a million off of the fatigued hallucinating drivers and their strange and ugly spawn.
Lovely gig in Cheltenham and thanks to whoever it was at the theatre who went out to get me a sandwich after I had trawled this posh city looking for something to take-away at 7pm, only to find nothing open. They hung a stilton and chutney sandwich (weird choice, but I guess all that was left at 9pm, or maybe just normal Cheltenham fare) from Tescos on my dressing room door, along with some other goodies.
WIN a PSP question 27
In my book Talking Cock, what did I propose we should rename the rectum and in whose honour?
