There’s something endemically wrong with mystery shopping when the great thing about it isn’t necessarily the mystery. Let’s face facts: it sounds a tad more glamorous than is actually the case. The term lends connotations to sitting in a shop somewhere, dressed in a Mac, hat and dark glasses, holding up a copy of the Guardian with holes cut out so your eyes can peer through. Or, even better, Private Eye.
I’m fairly certain that 99% of the people reading these bogs will know that 99% of the time that is just not the case, apart from those rare occasions when the MOD needs to check up on its operatives. I could tell you when and where to get these assignments, but then I’d obviously have to kill you. There are only so many gold-painted ladies to go round, you know.
So for the most part we shall have to content ourselves with occasionally getting to eat for free, maybe buy a beanie hat from a well-known high street store or staying overnight somewhere that you would normally never consider. There’s a pun in there somewhere about Dire Straights, but I’ll let you find your own. Otherwise, where’s the fun?