I rarely bark at staff when I’m in a store, but sometimes I wear a little thin, and it shows. Popped by the lumber yard today to pick up some stuff that I’ll need for tomorrow. Nice folks there, most of whom I’ve been acquainted with for a while. New guy rings me up first as a quote, not a sale, and had to be reminded that, in order for me to actually leave the yard with lumber, I’d need a sales ticket. No problem, and easily fixed, but there’s 5 minutes I can’t get back. Then, as I look down at the ticket, I see that I’ve been rung up for (4) 2x8x12’s, not (4) 2x12x8’s, as I had told him. No problem. Everyone has a dyslexic moment now and then. There’s another 5 minutes gone. The correct items were entered and, OOPS!, wouldn’t you know it, 2x12x8’s were not available in #1 pressure treated grade in that length. I asked did they have 16 footers and, if so, could they just change the ticket, and give me half as many? Uh….yeah….sure. Apparently, that hesitation was the new guy doing long division in his head. There’s another 5 minutes gone. Now, I don’t have ladder racks on my truck, but I’m usually able to put a towel on the cab, and strap down long stuff between there and the top of the tailgate. This time, though, I didn’t feel like having two sopping wet 16’-0 sticks crush my cab while driving down the beltway, so I asked if maybe they wouldn’t mind whacking them in half out in the yard. After a number of unanswered calls to the yard on the walkie-talkie, my guy is finally answered by an irritated voice on the other end, asking why I want to do that, and why wouldn’t I just buy four 8 footers instead. There’s another 5 minutes gone. A younger, nicer, less grumpy me might then have explained the situation, and asked for some forbearance. That me wasn’t the one standing at the counter though. The me that was standing at the counter asked loudly into the walkie talkie why the guy on the other end was so eager to play 20 f***ing questions, instead of answering the one f***ing question he’d been asked and, oh, by the way, it was none of his god d****d business why I wanted them cut in half. Could he cut them or not? Good. Thank you. The counter staff were standing, somewhat bug eyed, and I heard a low whistle and a chuckle from the other contractor behind me, as I snatched up my revised ticket, and headed out to the yard, muttering to myself “There’s half an hour I’ll never get back!” Not a day for patience…..
Posted on: Thu, 22 Aug 2013 23:10:04 +0000
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