How do I know that I am home?

Even though I staggered of the Singapore Airlines flight at 6.00am yesterday morning feeling quite disoriented with my body clock being exactly 12 hours out of phase and back into winter, I knew that I was back in The Netherlands as soon as I went to the local shops.  I went to buy some Aspro’s at a shop called Etos for my daughter, finding them and then joined a small queue to pay at the deserted check out.  Looked around and there were the 2 shop assistants chatting to other folks at the rear of the store.  A couple more people join the queue to pay, the shop assistants look but remain chatting.  So there we all stand for 5 minutes, did they come to the check out, did they fuck. So in pure exasperation I called out asking if they would mind coming to help.  Of course fucking not.  “We are busy” was the reply, I then shared with them (and the entire shop) my usual sarcasm, suggesting to them that if they chose to work in a business one of the basic fundamentals was to take people’s money and therefore ensure that they continued to get paid.  Well of course this makes all the Dutch uncomfortable, because they just don’t challenge bad service, the just accept it.

The upshot of all of this – 2 customers put their stuff on the checkout and walked out, others behind muttered (he is right) and the shop assistants suggested that I calm down and leave the shop, whilst they continued to chat.  There is absolutely no doubt that I am back in a country other than Holland, they are fucking hopeless with service.

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