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So I'm in the paint store last night, or more accurately, the Home Depot. It was around nine o'clock in the PM hour when I thought most sensible people would have already taken care of all their home improvement shopping needs. Nope, wrong again.
Hardware stores always seem to be busy, no matter what the time of day. I guess the store manager was thinking along the same lines as I was and had scheduled a skeleton crew to run the store.
The paint department was staffed by one little old lady doing her best to help the growing line of customers. Now, you want to talk about a horribly mind numbing and excruciatingly repetitive job, this is it.
All day long you ask the customer how you can help them, and it seems that this is always their first attempt at painting and they have no idea what color they want much less if they will be needing that color in flat, satin, low gloss, high gloss, interior, exterior, latex or enamel and on and on it goes.
So the poor paint lady goes through the same instructional spiel over and over again, usually loud enough for the next person in line to buy a clue and is constantly amazed at the overall ignorance of the countries population.
This amazement, of course, is confirmed when the next customer asks the very same questions as the guy before him, apparently, she decides, just to hear himself talk.
Finally, after careful deliberation and close study of the gazillion and one paint color cards they have brought to the counter, they announce their final decision. She shakes her head in dismay, sighing deeply to herself and mumbles:
"They brought every color card combination under the rainbow to my counter knowing they wanted something in red, but why? Did they think I could shed some interior design light on their decorating dilemma and convince them that a lovely shade of battleship gray would be just the ticket? No, I'm quite certain it was to annoy me. Some will leave the cards on my counter and I will have to sort through them and put them back in their little holders when the store closes. Others will take them home to convince themselves they have some how gotten one over on the store; such simple minded creatures they are".
She puts the color code of choice in the computer and opens her 50 millionth can of paint. In goes the tinting colors and she turns to quickly help the next person in line. He, of course has some question about a particular flavor of avocado and would it match his wall paper at home. She waits for him to produce a sample but of course none is forth coming. He forgot to bring a piece of wall paper with him but he could describe it to her.
"Idiot", she mumbles to herself as she recaps the paint can, deftly plucks it from the color computer machine, and in one smooth motion transfers it to the big paint can shaker ma-bobby thing.
Back she goes to the frontal lobotomy patient and does her best to convince him that indeed, avocado would be just the right color choice to match his wallpaper. I snicker at this because avocado is quite a horrendous color choice for any home and I know she is just screwing with the guy. Perhaps she has learned to derive pleasure from the stupidity and cluelessness of others; makes the time go by faster and all that.
Anyway, I snicker not only because of her actions, but because I am perhaps the most prepared customer she ever has, or ever will, have the great honor of serving.
You see, I listened closely to her advice and I've decided not only on the color I want, but the shine and type of paint as well. I even fetched the can of paint for her with the right color base so she would not have to leave the counter again, saving a significant amount of wear and tear on that aging body of hers.
The required color base is clearly noted right on the paint color card but this fact goes widely unnoticed by the home improvement masses. But there I stood a beacon of light in her otherwise dreary night. I have my paint can in one hand and my one and only color card in the other. I have circled the appropriate shade and formula code for her convenience and have even helped myself to a free paint stirring stick and can opener so she would not have to take the time to ask if I needed them or not.
Life was good. I was slowly getting over the fact that my plan of arriving later in the evening to avoid the crowds had been foiled, and was very pleased with myself at having figured out which paint to buy all by myself. Yes, considering the situation, I was happy.
And then the most annoying lady on the planet came out of nowhere and waved a fat little finger in the paint lady's face and loudly voiced her opinion of the understaffed store. She said, and I repeat in G-rated fashion, "You are the only bleepin person in this bleepin department and you're playing bleepin cashier?!"
I'm not sure if it was meant to be a question or a statement but it was certainly mean spirited. The paint lady looked at her calmly and stated for the record that she was "not" a cashier, and I don't know this for sure, but she seemed to be more offended at being labeled a cashier than by the ladies hostile rant. I'm also not certain of hardware store hierarchy, but I'm guessing based on her reaction, the paint mixer demands much more respect than a cashier among her home improvement peers.
Anyway, this hateful customer said she didn't give a D*** who or what she was. All she cared about was getting help over in aisle four figuring out what type of ceiling paint she needed. She shouted a little more at the poor paint lady about how stupid it was that she was the only person in the entire paint department, like it was her fault the store was under staffed.
To my surprise, the old woman behind the counter calmly stated that she would help her right away while the paint shaker did its thing and that she was just as important as everyone else.
"Don't bother" the lady spat, "these people have waited long enough because of your stupidity, I'll just take my business elsewhere!"
Now, a few things went through my mind as all this was happening. The first was, I could understand this annoying ladies frustration, but why on earth was she taking it out on the poor paint lady? She hadn't made the work schedule. She was just there doing her job, making the best out of a shorthanded situation.
Secondly, I was amazed at how clam and controlled her response was to this uncalled for attack, especially after dealing with num-skulls all day. Which brings me to my third point. Why would the irate lady be concerned for the people standing in line and not for the person actually busting their butt to keep things moving along? She was mixing paint as fast as the machines would let her, it was the ignorant and unprepared customers slowing everything down. Why was I the only one who could see this?
Is it her job as the paint lady to put up with our abuse because we are the customer? That's garbage in my opinion; she's still a human being and neither I nor anyone else is any better than she is. Perhaps some of us make more money or live in a nicer home but that doesn't give us the right to treat her like a second class citizen does it?
I suddenly had a flashback of being the little guy, working at a fast food joint doing my best to serve the customers in a timely and professional manner and then some arrogant uppity type strolls in like he owns the place and treats me like crap. I know why the paint lady bit her lip when she should have stood up for herself. She needed her job.
She's not a doctor or lawyer or a successful business woman but she has bills and commitments and responsibilities just like the next gal.
I remember having to control myself as well, but I could (not that I ever did) at least spit in the guy's drink when he wasn't looking to make myself feel a little better; the paint lady just had to stand there and take it.
Before I knew it, my emotions had gotten the best of me and I started yelling and screaming at the surprised customer saying all kinds of horrible and PG-13 rated things. Years of pent up aggression came flooding out of me and I really let her have it!
No, of course it was not the right thing to do, and had I been on an airplane, I most certainly would have been detained upon landing and held as a terrorist suspect. It felt good though, and I could see a tear in the paint ladies eye and a nod of thanks when I had finished verbally assaulting the quickly departing customer.
I had said all the things she had so desperately wanted to but couldn't for fear of losing her job. A customer had finally stood up for her and I could see the gratitude across her weathered face.
I completed her day by giving her my pre-circled color card and two gallons of paint picked right off the shelf with the right base formula and all. Out of the millions of gallons of paint she had mixed over the years, it would be my ridiculous shade of purple she'll forever remember.
I suddenly realized why I was led to wait until late one Friday evening to buy my paint, a little guy needed me; it was finally my turn to give back.
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