Front-kicks and semi-gloss...

I've been away for a while. I have a lot of things going on, most of which I won't mention here. But I should mention a few, as they are food related, or involving customer service.

I was in a wedding yesterday. Overall, it was a splendid affair. Everything went smoothly, and everyone was happy. Afterword, the wedding party and many of the guests went to a local eating/drinking establishment. About 35 people.

I felt a little bad when I discovered that no one had called ahead. Just three dozen people appeared, requesting a monster table, on a lightly staffed Monday evening. The service staff was pleasant, if a bit overwhelmed, but the kitchen was pissed. It was an open kitchen, so you could see the cooks looking out onto the floor. I didn't see any smiles.

It didn't go terrible all in all. It did take about half of an hour to get the tickets split, and the manager ended up having to hurriedly bus tables. Such is to be expected given the circumstances however. There were a few moments that made me cringe though. One guy decided to clap when a member of the staff dropped some plates, he then loudly commented "No wonder a beer costs five dollars here". Another character decided to hold up an empty beer bottle, shake it side to side, and yell "Beer? Beer??" as the waitress was attempting to take a food order from this massive group. My instincts told me to front-kick these persons out of their chairs, but in respect to the bride and groom, I remained silent.

As a general rule, restaurants like to know when such a large party is coming in. I felt bad for that service staff. But ultimately, this was not a crime I committed. I should mention that the groom in this wedding is a long time member of the food-service industry. I'm a little stunned he would have agreed to this. But I'm aware that not everyone thinks or behaves the way that I do. This is sometimes a good thing, and sometimes a bad thing.

Ultimately, the service staff fought through, got a guaranteed 18% gratuity, and lived to tell the tale. So the world keeps on spinning...

Today I found myself in the paint store. It was a grueling experience. The desire to front-kick was born anew.

I should mention that I was a professional painter years ago. That said, I'm a very efficient customer. I have no questions, I waste no time, I know exactly what I want, and I explain it very clearly. I'm also aware that most customers aren't as prepared as I am. So I'm fairly tolerant of most people who are in front of me in line.

But this lady in front of me was terrible. Just detestable.

First of all, she was the type of person I dislike most. Middle-aged, wealthy housewife. Probably never employed. Sense of entitlement. Totally clueless. Wasn't sensing at all that the guy behind the counter was in a hurry. Or that I was in a hurry. Or that anything on earth was equally as important as her guest bedroom being painted. Asshole.

So there she stood at the counter. In front of her were the following items: A bedspread. Three candles. A throw pillow. A small figurine of an angel. About six photographs of the aforementioned guest bedroom. About 12 color samples of very similar light blue paints.

I stood and listened for several minutes while the worker futilely attempted to explain the differences in sheen to her. "So what's the difference between flat and semi-gloss?", "What's this satin?", "So if flat covers the best, can I get flat semi-gloss so it's shiny?". The guy behind the counter finally convinced her to buy eggshell and asked what color she would like. "Well I was hoping you would tell me which one of these blues you think would match my guest room the best." She said. He tried to tell her that it was a matter of personal taste, and that there was a line of people waiting. He suggested that perhaps he should help some other people while she decided on her color.

Wrong move on his part.

"Excuse me? YOU'RE helping ME." She said in snotty fashion. "The other people will have to wait in line, just like I did. It isn't my fault this store is understaffed." As I looked at him, I swear I could see tiny blood vessels bursting in his face. People behind me started making passive noises. The time to act had come.

Swiftly, before she had time for another syllable, I slipped in front of her. "I'd like (quantity) of (brand, color, sheen) please." I said while smiling. He exhaled heavily, and politely told me it would just take a moment. Just then, she began to speak. I spun, and before the first word had left her mouth, said "Ma'am, excuse me, could you back up?". I stared into her eyes for just a moment. She was starting to unravel. I turned my back quickly.

It took a minute or two to get my paint. She put on quite a show behind me. Labored breathing, mumbling to herself, foot tapping. All the normal reactions of the angry coward. As he walked toward the counter, the next person immediately said "Uh, can I just get two gallons of ceiling-white?". "No problem" said the worker. I grabbed my paint, thanked him, and turned to walk away. It was then that I saw her face. It was red. Deep red. And slightly sweaty. I grinned slightly.

When I was several feet away I heard her voice again, though I couldn't make out what she was saying. I heard the worker say "Oh, I'm sorry ma'am. Have you decided yet?" I can only imagine what the rest of his interaction with her was like.

What a terrible lady. She was really a pain in the ass.

I hope she hates her guest bedroom.