Mystery shopping without the mystery

Recently I have decided to bring a bit of extra cash into the home by partaking in some Mystery Shopping. This involves going into a shop or a Bank and pretending to be a customer and coming out and filling in a form that basically rates your experience. The money is rubbish but the work is easy, I can bring the kids and the feeling of being being able to give my opinion and actually have it listened to gives me a warm and cosy unfamiliar feeling of power - in a nutshell, it's right up my street.

Of course, the staff members in the shop or bank don't know at the time that you are a mystery shopper but they know what mystery shoppers are and live in dread of being caught out by one one day (Like I said, enormous feeling of power with this job).

Yesterday morning I went to do a mystery shop in a Bank which for the sake of privacy I will call Bank X and although those of you who know me will know straight away what bank I am talking about, it's probably best that I don't mention the actual name on such a public domain.

I met James who straight away seemed to know me judging by his big loud welcome and his query as to what I was up to these days. "You used to work for Bank X , didn't you?" he asked. "That's right" I said, "I left to go to another Bank". " No you didn't" he said, "You left to go to an insurance company but it all went pear shaped for you and you came back to Bank X with your tail between your legs". I couldn't answer and just stared at him. I was NOT expecting that.

Quick digression from the story: I did indeed work for Bank X and an insurance company came to me one day (honestly - I didn't go to them. Too lazy for one reason and had never even heard of them for another) and offered me almost twice my annual salary and a company car to come and work in a new branch of their company that they were opening in town. I was even to have my very own office and blinded by greed I immediately accepted the job and handed in my notice to the Bank the following day despite many, many well-meaning warnings that I was making the biggest mistake of my life.
No sooner than I had collected my company car than the true nature of my new role was explained to me. I was indeed to have my own office but the office building was not due for completion for at least two years and my current "Office" was to be my car (a very nice car if the truth be told but still not what had been promised.....). Also, I could indeed earn twice my annual salary but that was all based on how many insurance policies that I sold and then just in case I hadn't been quite misled enough, my customer profile list was handed to me in the form of the yellow pages and the yes, you've guessed it, the true nature of my work was disclosed to me as the old fashioned art of door to door selling.
Mother of God - not the job for me at all! As I had already chucked in my lovely, permanent, pensionable job with Bank X, I had no choice but to give the new job a go but there is a certain type of person who can comfortably live with door to door selling as a career and I am happy to say that I am not one of them.
Cue mortifying crawl back to Bank X begging for my job back and cue Bank X smugly offering me a temporary position with less pay and no pension.
I defected to another bank.

However, this was all ten years ago and even I had forgotten about it. How the hell did this guy know all about it? He then started asking me about plays that I had done and how friends of mine were and I was just amazed as I was sure that we hadn't met before. Was he some kind of a stalker?

That wouldn't be so bad. I hate to admit this but the idea of a stalker doesn't upset me as much as it does other people as long as it is done from a distance, doesn't involve any strange or bizarre stealing of my clothes and no contact with me is ever made. If fact if I'm being totally honest I might as well admit I find the idea of a stalker a bit flattering really. But a stalker is only suppose to know or care about all the good stuff about you. Not all the cringy embarrassing stuff. "Did we work together before?" I asked him. "No but I often heard all about you" he said with a knowing laugh.

More mortifying memories from my time with Bank X passed unspoken between us; like the time I came to work drunk from the night before and had to be sent home (I was oddly proud of that at the time) and the other time I when snogged the insurance rep in the vault one day and the same guy told EVERYONE. And I just knew from the smug look of his face that this person standing in front of me knew absolutely everything.

Time to shake off my embarrassment I thought and do what I came here for. I asked him about the savings products that Bank X had to offer. "Sure you know yourself they're all a bunch of shite really. we have one here that gives 3.5% for a year to lure you in and then it reverts back to the crappy .05% We just don't tell the customers that. Ha Ha!

I wanted the ground to open up and swallow him. I have to report back EVERY word that he says to me and quite frankly, if I reported that back he would lose his job. While I do enjoy having some power and while I immensely disliked this man I just hadn't the stomach to do it so I came home and sent this email to my head office.

Dear Sirs,

Today I visited Bank X in C---- town with the intention of doing a mystery shop but when I entered the branch I was greeted by an old friend and colleague. I did not proceed with the mystery shop as I do not believe I would be able to provide you with impartial feedback and so I believe that this bank should be reassigned to another mystery shopper.

Kind Regards.


James has had a lucky escape. While leaving the office though I couldn't resist turning around and saying "Oh yeah, you were asking me what I was doing these days? I'm a mystery shopper" and I turned on my heel and stalked out the door pausing briefly for one last look at James just in time to see the look of realisation dawn on his face swiftly followed by a look of horror.