Or make sure at least that you have your smiley happy face on. On the way up the stairs to the staff locker room a bland yellow blob of an icon that once adorned acid tablets confronts you to remind you that smiley and as bland and as unappealingly docile as blamanche is what our management prefer.

This is not what my friend, I’ll call her B, is like. Now after many years as a nurse B has decided to change career and is currently studying for a Masters in Sculpture at Birmingham University. In other words she uses glass to make great big arty things. B is a cheerful pleasant colleague and well liked by customers. But one day B forgot her name badge. Oh horror! So B read the big notice. “No badge No Entry” it said in large red letters. More cheerily underneath it exhorted her to pick one out of the basket. So she did and happily trotted off out to her checkout.

A short while later and the Store Manager, with steam fizzing from his ears orders B up to his office for a telling off. The naughty girl had not changed the name on the badge to her name. B tried to say that the notice didn’t say that (she is correct, it doesn’t). She didn’t continue – as she might have done – to say that most jobs that require you to wear a name badge don’t care what the name on it is. But her real crime was that she contradicted – and is probably brighter than – a manager. Now I was looking for B as having come back from holiday in Las Vegas I’d taken a photo of the Dale Chihuly ceiling in the Bellagio Hotel for her. We were talking about Chihuly last time we spoke and I thought she might like a photo. But I can’t find her. Nobody seems to know anything about it but I suspect that one way or another poor old B was not the perfect cookie cutter fit here.