Hemingway’s Chair

badges. The
man smilingly became 'Steve' and the woman smilingly became ‘ Janet'. Their smiles contrasted strongly with the contorted features of Alan as he
surveyed the collapse of his mountain.
    ’’Customers
will be brought forward from a single queue by the operation of a flashing
number light, indicating the position available and accompanied, for the
visually impaired, by a sound identification.'
    They
watched a light flash and a metallic voice announce, ‘ Position Number
Three.'
    ‘The
full greeting, as laid down in the Customer Charter, is “Good Morning'', before
twelve, and “Good Afternoon", after twelve, followed by
personal identification and the Assistance Information Request.'
    Obligingly
Steve said, ‘ Good Morning, my name is Steve. How may I help you?' and a
moment later Janet said, ‘ Good Afternoon, my name is Janet. How may I help
you?'
    Confused
sounds of accusation and counteraccusation rose from the fallen egg display.
Stella glared and turned up the volume on the monitor.
    ‘Immediacy
involves a clear, accurate evaluation and fulfilment of customer requirement in
the minimum possible time.'
    To
illustrate this point Janet was joined by an elderly man, whose eyes shone with
health and decency. He asked for a postal order and three stamps. Janet asked
him what value of stamps he required. ‘ Three first class,' he replied. ‘Wouldn't
you rather have a book of ten?' asked Janet. The old man might have been
offered a round the world cruise, so pathetically grateful was his response.
Stella Holt reappeared on screen.
    ‘You
will note there Janet's use of the Proactive Selling Technique to maximise
customer potential. And not just with stamps. A twenty-pound phonecard will
often fit the bill much better than a ten-pound phonecard. Remember that your
customers, whilst in a queue situation, will have been able to watch a video
display of all the Post Office products and it is well worth reminding them of
selected benefits.'
    At
this point the real Stella Holt strode across to the front of the shop to add
her contribution to the egg mountain incident. Mr Randall had inadvertently
trodden on one of the exhibits and the offending child, who can only have been
three or four, had compounded his already incandescent rage by laughing.
    'If
your business also comprises a Post Office Gift Shop — ' the
video went on.
    ‘Which
this one doesn’t,’ muttered the returning Stella and switched herself off.
‘Now, any questions?’
     
    Stella
Holt had assured them that it was part of her job to stay for the first few
hours of opening time to see if there were any teething troubles. This meant
there was no question of Martin not wearing his grey and yellow spotted sweater
and identification. Unfortunately Stella had brought the wrong lapel badge and
she asked if Martin wouldn’t mind being called Derek until Tuesday.
    His
first customer was a stranger, which was an enormous relief. He was a big,
thick-set young man, with an earring and short-cropped hair. He looked around
suspiciously, with a wary loose-limbed aggression, as if he feared some sort of
trap.
    ‘Am
I on television?’ he asked Stella Holt.
    She
shook her head dismissively. ‘This is a post office,’ she said.
    The
man didn’t seem convinced and narrowed his eyes as he approached Martin’s
position.
    ‘Good
morning, my name is Martin,’ Martin muttered quickly. ‘What can I do for you?’
    ‘It
says you’re Derek,’ the customer pointed out.
    Stella
Holt moved swiftly in. ‘Don’t worry, it’s his first day.’
    The
second customer to arrive was Harold Meredith. He entered with a cry of ‘There you are!’ and, as was his habit, made a beeline for Martin’s position. Stella
Holt rushed up and intercepted him.
    He
looked alarmed. ‘Who the hell are you?’ he said indignantly.
    ‘There
is a new single queuing system in operation from today, sir. Could I ask you to
step back to the end of the rope, please?’
    ‘Take
your hands off me. I want to see Martin.’
    A
disembodied voice rang out. ‘Position Number Two,' it said, with an odd,
squeaky inflexion. It sounded like a Swedish castrato speaking unnaturally good
English.
    ‘Who
said that?’ asked Mr Meredith, fearfully. ‘There you are, sir, Position Number
Two is available.’
    ‘I
want to see Martin.’
    ‘He’s
operational,’ she said, quite sharply.
    ‘Position
Number Two,' trilled the Swedish eunuch. Harold Meredith thumped
his walking stick down on