Archived entries for Demands

Sharing the sound

I’ve written previously about bad experiences whilst shopping, so here’s an interesting twist I encountered last weekend. I went into a Philips audio shop to look for some headphones, and I found myself checking out a pair of swish Sennheiser wireless headphones that looked a bit pricey but pretty good. My bad hearing however means that I’m lucky if I notice there’s actually sound coming out of the things, never mind luxuries such as “analytical sound reproduction”, but I was interested in these headphones as a way of hearing the TV better without trailing a wire acorss the room, the coffee table and no doubt the other people watching TV.

I was curious to know, however, just what I’d get for the steep price of what looked like a promising, wire-free solution that might bring an end to other people taking stray headphone wire out of their coffee, or falling towards the door, dinner going everywhere, as a result of the mischievous headphone cable hidden in the shadows. Could I, for example, listen to the TV at the same time as other people, or would I cut off the sound? Could I do the same with my hi-fi? So I called over the assistant of the shop, and here’s where the usual routine differed.

Normally, I might expect an intense barrage of sales-speak, a complete overload of technical terms, functions, some 30 second financial advice and, before I know it, a brisk handshake and a deal done. It usually ends up with the shop assistant insisting that we take a good, all-round tour of not just the product I’m interested in, but, it seems, all the products that everybody else is the shop is interested in as well. Have I, sir, seen this on offer? Did I know, sir, that today and only today I can lay my hands on the first production model of the new Z7000 “Nuclear meltdown ready” mobile phone?

This time I was the one doing the talking.

“With these headphones, will other people hear the TV?”

“Oh no, sir, with these you can listen to the TV without disturbing anyone else. Your very own private cinema.”

“Well, that’s no good, is it? What if my girlfriend wants to watch as well?”

“If you plug the TV into your hi-fi, sir, then she can hear out loud and you can still listen with these.”

“What, so even though these are wireless, you still need to buy an extra wire for connecting the TV to the hi-fi?”

“Er, yes…but only for when you both want to hear the TV. Or your girlfriend could watch with headphones as well.”

(Think about that, for a second. I’d be wearing headphones because I need them to hear. Zoe can hear just fine, so I can hardly imagine both of us sat there, headphones on, snuggling up to a Sunday night film. The sitting room would have all the romance of a flight control tower.)

“Would I also be able to listen to my music with these, on my hi-fi?”

“Why of course, sir. They’re specially designed with a total harmonic distortion of just-”

“Yes, yes, never mind all that. What about other people? Could they listen as well? Can we test it on one of your hi-fi machines here?”

Now he had begun to look like he wanted to cry, I’m sure he had been hoping I would just buy the damn things on the basis of their “intuitive control elements”. Half an hour later, there he was, routing through product catalogues, trying to find something that would satisfy my not overly taxing request for a system which would allow me to hear TV or music better but also share the sound with other people. It was a refreshing break to feel in control as a customer, for a change, rather than be made to feel as if I’m being lectured at by a 12-year-old with a degree in electrical engineering.

I didn’t buy the headphones, in the end. A private cinema would be no good to me, anyway. I need other people there to keep me up to speed when I don’t quite catch the crucial bit in the film where, say, Bond is told precisely where the secret weapon in kept. I bet he never has any trouble in a hi-fi shop.

Frites and Ferocity

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Maybe someone just got out of bed the wrong side that morning. On reflection, though, it was worth the verbal abuse for the unforgettable taste of those chips. I’d stood in the queue, in the freezing cold, for the best part of 25 minutes, this had to be something special. The woman being served in front of me was clearly at pains to stress the point that it was a paper cornet of chips she wanted, Monsieur, a cornet of chips, yes? Cor. Net. Of. Chips.
Well this was all too much for Monsieur Frites. He looked tired and emotional, in that I’ve-been-working-all-day-inside-this-tiny-Fritemobile way. He’d spent hours serving the hundreds of people out and about on this sunny weekend.

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Along comes this fussy customer with her demands, asking for a cornet as if it is she, not I, who knows more about chips. His pride was hurt. In short, he had every right to snap.”Yes, madam, I fully understood, the first time, that it was a cornet of chips you wanted! Alright?! Now who’s next? Who is next? Come on!” he yelled, sternly, from the Fritemobile.
It felt as if we were back in school uniforms and had just been caught by Monsieur (“Old Fritesy”) kicking a ball through his window. A silence fell upon the crowd. Everyone stared at the floor, terrified to move. Shoes were scuffed, appetites vanished. I was next in line. One word out of place and that bottle of mustard wouldn’t stay on the counter for much longer.
“I…just..if it’s no bother…a p-p-portion of chips, please, your Friteness. Nothing extra, honestly, that’s all, sir. Thanks.”
Damn, they were good chips. No, really, I’m not just saying that. If you’re in Brussels, go to Place Flagey and try them yourself. Just remember your manners.



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