Smelling Ignorance From A Mile Off.

When you do a job for quite some time, you get better as you gain more experience. Dealing with the public isn’t always easy, but as you encounter different situations and individuals, you become well versed in dealing with anything that comes your way.

I know what I’m good at. I think I know my limitations and what I can and can’t do. I apply the basic principle that my Dad used to say – “If you’re going to do a job, do it right.”

So when Joe Soap comes into your workplace and tells you how you should be doing your job (when you’re doing an excellent job) – it’s very difficult to bite the inside of your cheek and chalk it down to experience. It’s difficult to suppress the desire to tell him or her to go and take a short run and jump off a cliff - but you do, because you’re a professional.

That was my encounter with a charming ahem, gentleman, late last night.

Was this gentleman well educated in my role and procedure of work? No, he didn’t strike me as if he did.

Did he ever operate in the same role as me previously? No, I seriously doubt it.

Was I doing anything that I hadn’t ever done before? Nope.

Was I operating in my role as I had been excellently trained to do? Yes.

Was this gent being absolutely obnoxious for apparently no reason at all? Yes.

Did he seem like the type of eejit to talk down to people? Yes, indeed.

So late last night, as myself and a work colleague dealt with his idiocies, we went over why we are great at our jobs. The FBI should take profiling tips from us.

We both spotted him as a potential pain in the ass from the very outset.

He took way too long to sit down. He moved personal items of other people’s so that his personal stuff was directly above him. His wife was very easy to initially chat to – he wasn’t.

He never made eye contact – most polite people when meeting someone for the first time, look you directly in the face – he didn’t. He talked at me instead of to me.

He had basic manners, but it never ever sounded sincere in any way.

His shirt was ironed to within an inch of its life - as were his jeans. What typical Irish man ever irons a pair of jeans – like seriously? His hair was immaculately brushed and styled. His shoes were shined so much that the sheen from them nearly made the moon orbit his loafers for a while.

But the piece de resistance? He gave out about how we only had type of tonic instead of another he was used to drinking.

“If you’re a serious tonic drinker, you’d know the difference,” was a quote directly from the horse’s ass.

But as ever, both of us continued to bite our lips and remained utterly professional. Just because someone pays a fair wad of cash for a particular service, are they are entitled to give an opinion on something they know little or anything about? Do me a favour.

But I was tempted to Google him when I got home, just to see what he actually worked at. Then I would march into his office or place of work, and point out how he wasn’t doing things properly.

And that despite my complete lack of knowledge about his job, I knew best!