Confidentiality agreements, be damned!
I signed up to be a mystery shopper recently. I am apparently much in demand. I registered two weeks ago, and I've already completed two shops, and I've got five scheduled over the next week. I could have done quite a few more, but I am selective.
Hardly. Selective, that is.
I'm just lazy and not willing to travel out of my quaint little area across a bridge (or two) and over some mountains just to assess some gas station. Sorry. Petroleum outlet.
Oh, and I'm not stupid. I realize being paid $12 to do a shop 35 miles away hardly pays for itself. Unless the petroleum outlet were to give me a full tank of gas.
With the kids out of school, I'm not encountering the number of nuts I usually do, so I thought I'd feed my insanity quota by finding them this way. You know, I need the blodder, yeah?
I won't go into details. Hell, I'm already being sued by one huge corporation. Why add another to the list? [And, no, I've not talked about that before. Soon, though. Soon.]
Let me just say that I did a shop at a grocery store yesterday. It was as if the employees knew they were being mystery shopped and so they all went out of their way to be caught doing all the wrong things. I think they all want to be fired. I know after my experience yesterday, I believe they should be.
I'll just tell you one little itty bitty part. I bought one of those hot-off-the-rotisserie chickens. I brought it all the way home. Pete started to cut it up. It was undercooked. Raw. Horribly, horribly raw. My eyes! They're burning! The chicken, alas, was not.
I had to gather it all back up, throw it back into the container, drive all the way back to the store and return the chicken. The employee didn't believe me. Didn't believe me to the point that he started opening up the chicken to check. Until I said, "You need to look?" Then he caught himself and gave me my freakin' money back.
And we ate tofu instead.
Actually, I bought some ham and we had ham and cheese sandwiches. I'd like to report that none of us got sick.
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