‘V’ was my trainer for the day. That’s the name she went by, I’m not trying to preserve her anonymity here. She had a strong Liverpool accent and a voice that carried. She also wore a puffa jacket and Ugg boots for the shift, despite the strict instructions that I was to turn up in a suit (I’m always in a suit in the worst places) because we were representing a legal service.
V had an enviable chummy Club Rep vibe with the public.
We were stood in a Slough shopping precinct, generating leads for a will writing firm. Not by killing people – which admittedly might have been an easier strategy – but by endlessly asking if people had considered making one.
Her approach to training me was quite aggressive and direct, which saves time and any uncertainty I suppose.
After one interaction she gave me the useful feedback; “As a customer I wouldn’t want to talk to you with a bogey in your nostril so I need you to go to the toilet and blow your nose before you speak to anyone else.”
I duly agreed and went off to the toilets.
Remarkably I didn’t cry or object to any of it and went on to have a successful if not traumatic few months doing this job. More on that in another post.
Average Brunette 