I Have a Theory

I have a theory. I firmly believe that once every five years, every person in this country should be required to work one week in the retail or food service fields. I don’t mean stocking shelves, taking inventory or washing dishes. I mean working directly with the general public, at large. At some point, most of us have had that experience in our youth. If you have not, then I am fairly sure that I have met you, or dealt with people like you. For those of you who have had this experience, how quickly you forget.

For several years, I was employed by a small local garden center. During the difficult financial times, I would work day shift at the garden center, and night shift as a waitress in a local bar. I would like you to listen to the following story about one day in my life, and then I have a question for you.

My day began with “the coupon lady”. You know who I am talking about. She holds up the line for ten minutes looking through her enormous purse, searching for that expired coupon. I just want to know what part of “expiration date” it is that people don’t understand. This, of course, spawns a five minute long argument about why I cannot accept a coupon that expired three months ago. People, pay attention now, this is not like the fine print on your credit card agreement. It is printed very visibly so that you are aware that it will expire. It is not there just to try to “trick you”. We mean it. There is no loophole, or hidden agenda. It is simply just a date that means that you can’t use it anymore!

Just at the point that I was beginning to recover from the coupon lady, in walks the “I know that it was MY fault that the product that I purchased failed, but I am going to return it, throw a tantrum, lie and generally ruin your day” lady. Now remember, this is a garden center. We sold live plants. Well, at least that is how they left our store. This lady repeatedly tried to convince me that the plant that she had purchased died because WE didn’t inform her that she had to take it out of the heavy black plastic pot before she planted it. How do you argue with that kind of logic?

Immediately following the joy of her company, in strolled the cherry on the sundae of my day. I affectionately refer to her as a “serial complainer”. I know this because she began screaming and complaining before she even got close enough for me to smell her overpowering cheap perfume. She has her performance perfected into a skilled art. Her M.O. is to attempt to intimidate whomever is unlucky enough to be her targeted victim. Today there was a fatal flaw in her plan. That flaw was me.

After her performance, which included many aggressive hand gestures and sneers, I had a pretty good idea of what she was after. Basically she wanted the cost of her plant reduced because we did not have “exactly what she was looking for”. What she did not know, was that I had the power to grant her request at my discretion as a customer service. So after her repeated insults and nasty innuendos, something funny struck me, and I could not help myself. I said, “Excuse me ma’am, but do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” Her expression was priceless. She was frozen like a deer trapped in oncoming headlights. She replied is her usual snarky tone, “EXCUSE ME? WHAT is THAT supposed to mean?” So, I explained it to her this way, “Ma’am, you are one of those people that complain and yell at your waitress BEFORE you get your food, aren’t you? So, I ask you again, do you have any idea how many boogers you have eaten over the years?” She demanded to see the manager. I gave her more bad news. I was the manager. She briefly stuttered a few more insults and stormed out the door. I still wonder, years later, if that woman thinks of my words whenever she looks at the meal placed in front of her by the waitress with the suspicious smile.

As my day at the garden center was winding down, it was time to begin my shift at the local bar. It was a typical night of fending off unwanted advances, and dodging the staggering drink sloshers. It was typical, that is, until the local Don Juan in his polyester Hawaiian print shirt ordered a flaming shot. For those of you who do not know, that is a shot that is literally lit on fire. He proceeded to spill it all over his highly flammable fashion statement, thus lighting himself on fire. In a matter of moments, a man who could barely speak or walk a straight line, was stark naked in the middle of a crowded bar. His animal print underwear really did clash with his Hawaiian print shirt, by the way.

That night was the end of my waitressing career. I turned in my apron, and realized that there was no way that they paid me enough to deal with that after working a twelve hour shift at another job. Now, here comes the question that I would like you to answer. If you bear any resemblance to any of the unsavory people that I just mentioned, I have to ask you this. Do YOU have any idea how many boogers that you have eaten over the years?