Customers and their randomness...

The weird thing about working in a store in Germany... well, there are many weird things. The first - no, the main one - is the customers. Strange customers and their strange comments and opinions are without a doubt an international plague.

Example: a woman at the cafe I used to work at in Melbourne who would come in at least once a week, order herself a coffee and a muffin, sit at a table and proceed to have a lengthy and earnest yet almost silent argument with herself, at the end of which she would present a member of staff with a small gift, usually a perfume or hand cream sample from one of the major department stores in the centre, before leaving the store without a further word.

Here, the customers might not talk to themselves, but the way they talk to each other or even to me about Australia is sometimes astounding. The first afternoon I worked here, I noticed a rather scruffy looking old man standing outside reading one of our window signs, then shaking his head at it before pushing the door open. At first glance he looks rather average, however having lived in Germany for a while, I can spot the homeless a mile away - unidentifiable stains on his clothes, years of street grime staining the back of his hands and his fingernails, and a faint aroma of urine and stale beer following him like a cloud. He looks at one of the displays at the back of the store.
In German: "You sell meat?"
"Yes, we do. We sell kangaroo meat and also emu sausage." Both of which I find revolting, but that's just my opinion.
"Why do you kill animals so that you can continue your life?"

Oh, god. Here we go. Not just your average homeless looney tunes, but a vegan one hankering for an argument. And on top of that, it's in German. My Deutsch skills are good, but I don't have an answer for a question like that in any language that would satisfy him. He takes my "Tja" - the German equivalent of - "Well..." as an admission of moral corruption and an invitation to preach. For the next five minutes, he proceeds to bombard me with opinions and self-righteous statements concerning veganism and the Ten Commandments: as he very bluntly reminded me, "Thou shalt not kill" is one of them. Eventually he loses the will to argue with me - mostly because I refuse to argue with him - and leaves the store.

Two days later he's back. This time the boomerang is the bone of contention. He sees that we have two designs of boomerang, and knows from the previous encounter that I am Australian, and now flying solo in the store (1 day of training for a full time position was considered completely adequate - the fact that my trainer spent over 50% of the day on flirtcafe.de is totally irrelevant.). He goes in for the kill. "What's the story?" he asks me, pointing to the boomerang display. Note: in German, the word for 'story' is the same as the one for 'history'. I have no idea which one he means. I ask.
"You're Australian. This is an Australian store. Boomerangs are from Australia. You should be able to tell me the history of the boomerang."
You've got to be kidding me. Where do I start with the issues here? I don't. I tell him that there's two main styles of boomerang that we stock: the returning boomerang and the hunting boomerang.
"Wrong. There are three types."
And yet again, I get a lecture from Mr Wikipedia himself, this time on the topic of the history of the boomerang.

Then there's the inspiration for this blog: the woman who just left the store. She and a friend came in and had a bit of a look around. I quickly realised that she would be one of those who would find everything in the store too expensive, and would clearly target me, the salesperson, as the reason for this daylight robbery. I agree, our stock is expensive, but with good reason: it's known as freight, and considering Australia is on the other side of the world, the extra charge for us to bring Australia, or pieces thereof, to Germany and alleviate the need for our customers to either go there themselves to buy things or to order things online and pay postage from Australia independently is a small price to pay. Most people understand that.

This woman didn't. First stop: Blundstones. Yes, they're expensive.
"Do you have kids sizes?"
"Yes, we do, but unfortunately we have limited stock at the moment."
"I wouldn't buy them anyway. They're too expensive and they're not worth it for kids - they grow too fast."
I can see in her eyes that there's no possiblity for a rational discussion here.
Five minutes later at the register, as they're paying (incidentally, the woman bought one of those tourist-targeting green and gold slouch hats with the corks on the brim), her friend blurts out "Someone died in Australia recently."
Well, yes, I'm sure someone has died in Australia at some stage. I bite my tongue however and suggest the name Steve Irwin, since that's one of the few Aussies people know over here.
"Yeah, the crazy guy who had it coming."

This got my back up. For two reasons. First, it's extremely bad taste. Even if it were toned down, only Australians can say something like that, and even then, only in a group of Australians, because we understand the black humour. Second, from other nationalities, I would be prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt when it comes to sense of humour - maybe I just don't get theirs. And in Germany, that's been proven before. It took months for Simon and I to figure out each other's sense of humour. But this woman had such an insulting and negative tone in her voice that it was all I could do to ignore the comment and politely ask for the 7.99 for the stuffed koala she'd selected.
"And the kid's continuing - she's just like her father. Disgraceful mother encouraging it. I suppose she's rich though. Dead husband, but still rich," she said with a glare as she waddled out of the store.

I was speechless.