Started writing this on Sunday, but didn't have time to complete it til now. Somehow it transformed from a little gripe to a full-blown missive about the lack of proper service in Singapore (or Orchard Rd, at least). You have been warned.
Oh, Great Singapore Service, all experienced in a day. How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways:
1. Let's start with the most minor incident. We were in one of the loos in one of the many malls of Orchard Road, Ching and I - one which supposedly caters to some of the country's most well-heeled customers, if its tenancy is anything to go by - and speaking to each other by the basins as we washed our hands.
We had barely finished rinsing when from behind me a cleaner sulkily sidled up, mop in hand, waiting. As Ching was obviously in her way, I asked Ching to move so that the cleaneing-lady could pass through, but no sooner had she Ching done so did the cleaning-lady's mop make an abrupt stop at her feet.
"Can you move over there," Cleaning-Lady said, her tone making it obvious that was a statement rather than a question. Her hand raised and a finger pointed in the direction of the powder area. Her eyes were windows to nothingness. Except maybe a hard brick wall.
2. I went for a wax and, as usual, the lady serving me was trying to sell me an IPL package. It was a soft sell compared to some of those I'd heard before, and since I was considering getting my underarms permanently de-fuzzed, I didn't mind listening and even asked some questions.
When I got to the part about the price, which was in excess of a thousand dollars for 8 sessions, I was beside myself. "That's so expensive!" I blurted. Two seconds later, I yelped in pain - which had never happened before, mind. The lady had pulled an inordinate amount of flesh up together with the wax, causing - obviously - much pain.
That prematurely ended all talk of IPL.
3. Later on, I was at the beauty floor of a home-grown mall (whose chief very recently made the local news), in search of a new sunblock. I sampled three before going back to my current sunblock brand, one with Japanese lineage, and was promptly approached by its counter staff. I told her what I wanted, and she led me to a drawer containing at least a dozen versions of my required product. So far so good. She recommended a couple to me, which I tried on, and then just stood there waiting for me to make my choice.
I ask some more questions, she shows me another option. By this time I could feel her getting a little testy. A little embarrassed by my indecisiveness (and pressured by her presence), I decided to pick up a type that I usually reserved for outdoor activities. To reward my purchase, she brought out two samples and briefly instructed me on their usage.
But still, I pondered. I told her to hold onto my product as I wanted to continue taking a look around. A walked round to the other side of the counter; she tailed me like a watchful dog. I walked back to the drawer of sunblocks. She followed suit. I pulled it open, and picked out the items she had earlier introduced.
Finally, unable to take it longer, she placed her hand on the drawer, and said, "I'm sorry, actually this drawer is not for people to sample." (Actually I don't remember if she said "I'm sorry" but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here.) I looked at the bottle I was holding. On it was a sticker that clearly read: Sample Only Not For Sale.
What? If I'm going to buy a $1.5/gm sunblock, shouldn't I have some time to decide from your dizzying array? Honestly, at this point in time, I had not taken 10 minutes of her time, which, by the way, she was being paid for to serve potential customers. But I merely mustered, "I'm only taking a look at the bottles."
In the end, being the loyal (and stupid) customer that I am, I chose one of her recommendations and was ready to go pay up. Perhaps seeing my pushover-ness, she tried her luck at making more commission out of me: "If you spend $XXX you will receive these free products." She gestured, to a display case of boring-looking items and a pathetic make-up pounch.
I baulked. That would mean buying another expensive item I didn't need just to make up another $20 dollars to be eligible for the redemption. "Er, no thanks."
With that, she cordially sent me to the cashier. There was, however, no word of thanks.
4. I also went for a back massage today. (Yes, it sounds like I did a lot of things in one day.) My back is a knot of muscles. I didn't specify any masseuse, assuming they'd assign me a guy (I'd never seen a lady masseuse before) like they had always done before. But when I got there, they gave me a lady, and I thought to myself: Oh no, it's going to be painful. Someone told me this theory once that because women have smaller hands, their massages will naturally be more painful because for the same amount of force, they will exert more pressure than a man would.
Anyways, the massage was not so much painful as it was uncomfortable. The woman kneaded me like she needed a loaf of bread in a hurry. I did not feel any relief of muscles or acupoints or anything. She also spent an inordinate amount of time on my arms and hands, despite noting earlier that I had a very stiff back. I had a niggling feeling she was just trying to "Get it over and done with" with me. So I made up my mind to make it known that she was a lousy masseuse.
"How long have you been in this industry?" I asked in Mandarin, making sure my voice sounded pleasant and innocuous. I even had a faint hint of a smile on my face. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the lady boss approaching with a cup of tea. She was definitely within earshot of the ensuing conversation.
"Oh, I was trained elsewhere," came the evasive reply. Her face, however, remained expressionless, even nonchalent.
"What I meant was how long you have been giving massages," I pressed on.
"There is no how long or how short," was her initial reply. And, after a split second, "Two or one years." Yes, she put the two ahead of the one.
I nodded knowingly. "Is there a problem?"
"Well, I just thought that the massage could have been more well-done." I started evenly. "It seems like you didn't really hit the right nodes on my back."
"Your back is so tight, I cannot use too much strength." Er, lady, I've received massages before, and 90% of the time, my massages were not of the bake-shop variety. Thanks for trying to pull the wool over my head.
I ended the unpleasant encounter by telling the receptionist not to assign me that lady again, even though I know that they don't take down customers' preferences. My purpose was to send a pointed message to the owner, and the masseuse herself, that her work was not up to par, and something should be done about it. And if possible, that attitude too.
5. And finally, I saved the most fume-worthy for last. Woke up in the super-early hour of 7am as Ching had booked me a 10 o'clock spa as a treat at The Fullerton's The Asian Spa, (Yes, I have decided to give full disclosure) and I didn't want to be late. In fact,
The booking had been made two weeks before, so I was expecting to waltz in and get pampered for the next one and a half, two hours. So imagine our record scratching to a halt in our heads when the receptionist told us point-blank, "I'm afraid I don't have your booking, Miss."
I couldn't believe my ears. What?! I screamed inside. I came all the way here for nothing?!?! Outwardly, I remained calm, if sour-looking. We insisted that we'd made a booking. The lady re-checked her booking schedule and tried the rehearsed reply on us again: "I'm afraid we don't have your booking."
"So we wasted our time coming down la," I tried not to sneer at her.
Finally she relented and asked us to sit down while she made some calls.
Oh, Great Singapore Service, all experienced in a day. How do I loathe thee? Let me count the ways:
1. Let's start with the most minor incident. We were in one of the loos in one of the many malls of Orchard Road, Ching and I - one which supposedly caters to some of the country's most well-heeled customers, if its tenancy is anything to go by - and speaking to each other by the basins as we washed our hands.
We had barely finished rinsing when from behind me a cleaner sulkily sidled up, mop in hand, waiting. As Ching was obviously in her way, I asked Ching to move so that the cleaneing-lady could pass through, but no sooner had she Ching done so did the cleaning-lady's mop make an abrupt stop at her feet.
"Can you move over there," Cleaning-Lady said, her tone making it obvious that was a statement rather than a question. Her hand raised and a finger pointed in the direction of the powder area. Her eyes were windows to nothingness. Except maybe a hard brick wall.
2. I went for a wax and, as usual, the lady serving me was trying to sell me an IPL package. It was a soft sell compared to some of those I'd heard before, and since I was considering getting my underarms permanently de-fuzzed, I didn't mind listening and even asked some questions.
When I got to the part about the price, which was in excess of a thousand dollars for 8 sessions, I was beside myself. "That's so expensive!" I blurted. Two seconds later, I yelped in pain - which had never happened before, mind. The lady had pulled an inordinate amount of flesh up together with the wax, causing - obviously - much pain.
That prematurely ended all talk of IPL.
3. Later on, I was at the beauty floor of a home-grown mall (whose chief very recently made the local news), in search of a new sunblock. I sampled three before going back to my current sunblock brand, one with Japanese lineage, and was promptly approached by its counter staff. I told her what I wanted, and she led me to a drawer containing at least a dozen versions of my required product. So far so good. She recommended a couple to me, which I tried on, and then just stood there waiting for me to make my choice.
I ask some more questions, she shows me another option. By this time I could feel her getting a little testy. A little embarrassed by my indecisiveness (and pressured by her presence), I decided to pick up a type that I usually reserved for outdoor activities. To reward my purchase, she brought out two samples and briefly instructed me on their usage.
But still, I pondered. I told her to hold onto my product as I wanted to continue taking a look around. A walked round to the other side of the counter; she tailed me like a watchful dog. I walked back to the drawer of sunblocks. She followed suit. I pulled it open, and picked out the items she had earlier introduced.
Finally, unable to take it longer, she placed her hand on the drawer, and said, "I'm sorry, actually this drawer is not for people to sample." (Actually I don't remember if she said "I'm sorry" but I'll give her the benefit of the doubt here.) I looked at the bottle I was holding. On it was a sticker that clearly read: Sample Only Not For Sale.
What? If I'm going to buy a $1.5/gm sunblock, shouldn't I have some time to decide from your dizzying array? Honestly, at this point in time, I had not taken 10 minutes of her time, which, by the way, she was being paid for to serve potential customers. But I merely mustered, "I'm only taking a look at the bottles."
In the end, being the loyal (and stupid) customer that I am, I chose one of her recommendations and was ready to go pay up. Perhaps seeing my pushover-ness, she tried her luck at making more commission out of me: "If you spend $XXX you will receive these free products." She gestured, to a display case of boring-looking items and a pathetic make-up pounch.
I baulked. That would mean buying another expensive item I didn't need just to make up another $20 dollars to be eligible for the redemption. "Er, no thanks."
With that, she cordially sent me to the cashier. There was, however, no word of thanks.
4. I also went for a back massage today. (Yes, it sounds like I did a lot of things in one day.) My back is a knot of muscles. I didn't specify any masseuse, assuming they'd assign me a guy (I'd never seen a lady masseuse before) like they had always done before. But when I got there, they gave me a lady, and I thought to myself: Oh no, it's going to be painful. Someone told me this theory once that because women have smaller hands, their massages will naturally be more painful because for the same amount of force, they will exert more pressure than a man would.
Anyways, the massage was not so much painful as it was uncomfortable. The woman kneaded me like she needed a loaf of bread in a hurry. I did not feel any relief of muscles or acupoints or anything. She also spent an inordinate amount of time on my arms and hands, despite noting earlier that I had a very stiff back. I had a niggling feeling she was just trying to "Get it over and done with" with me. So I made up my mind to make it known that she was a lousy masseuse.
"How long have you been in this industry?" I asked in Mandarin, making sure my voice sounded pleasant and innocuous. I even had a faint hint of a smile on my face. From the corner of my eye, I noticed the lady boss approaching with a cup of tea. She was definitely within earshot of the ensuing conversation.
"Oh, I was trained elsewhere," came the evasive reply. Her face, however, remained expressionless, even nonchalent.
"What I meant was how long you have been giving massages," I pressed on.
"There is no how long or how short," was her initial reply. And, after a split second, "Two or one years." Yes, she put the two ahead of the one.
I nodded knowingly. "Is there a problem?"
"Well, I just thought that the massage could have been more well-done." I started evenly. "It seems like you didn't really hit the right nodes on my back."
"Your back is so tight, I cannot use too much strength." Er, lady, I've received massages before, and 90% of the time, my massages were not of the bake-shop variety. Thanks for trying to pull the wool over my head.
I ended the unpleasant encounter by telling the receptionist not to assign me that lady again, even though I know that they don't take down customers' preferences. My purpose was to send a pointed message to the owner, and the masseuse herself, that her work was not up to par, and something should be done about it. And if possible, that attitude too.
5. And finally, I saved the most fume-worthy for last. Woke up in the super-early hour of 7am as Ching had booked me a 10 o'clock spa as a treat at The Fullerton's The Asian Spa, (Yes, I have decided to give full disclosure) and I didn't want to be late. In fact,
The booking had been made two weeks before, so I was expecting to waltz in and get pampered for the next one and a half, two hours. So imagine our record scratching to a halt in our heads when the receptionist told us point-blank, "I'm afraid I don't have your booking, Miss."
I couldn't believe my ears. What?! I screamed inside. I came all the way here for nothing?!?! Outwardly, I remained calm, if sour-looking. We insisted that we'd made a booking. The lady re-checked her booking schedule and tried the rehearsed reply on us again: "I'm afraid we don't have your booking."
"So we wasted our time coming down la," I tried not to sneer at her.
Finally she relented and asked us to sit down while she made some calls.
After 15 minutes, she walked over apologetically, asked if a call was made to confirm our booking (there was none), and told us she would extend our voucher, which was to end tomorrow, by another month. The spa would also throw in a free Swedish massage.
But the damage was done. I told her how incredibly dissapointed we were, how the spa had wasted our time coming down on a Sunday morning - that was the only slot available - when we could still be snug under our covers, and how downright shameful it was for a hotel of The Fullerton's stature to have made such a mistake. I also made up my mind not to go back for a very, very long time. For the inconvenience they had caused us, this was a very lame attempt at making up for it.
+ + + + + + + + + +
Thankfully, however, not all hope is lost. I also went to Robinson's and am happy to report that the sales staff that attended to me there pleased me with her professionalism. She fielded my questions with ease, giving me the necessary information I required to make the decisions on my purchases, and even suggesting alternative options that suited my needs better but not necessary the store's. I did however, detect an undeniable China-accented Mandarin in her voice, which led me to wonder if she was the exception or the norm. But that's another entry for another day.
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