Forget anything bad I’ve ever said about customers. They are great. They are wonderful. They are definitely in the plus column with enough points to stay there (until the next time I get yelled at).
Today a customer fixed my air conditioning without the promise of monetary or sexual favors.
We’ve been setting up a secondary business in a spot that not only is at the top of the building, but also in full sunlight. Normally this wouldn’t be a problem, but all we’ve all been pretending that we’re box-haulin’, fixture buildin’ machines who scoff at those who believe that our Olive Oyl arms cannot handle the strain.
Breaks? We don’t need no stinkin’ breaks. And water? We spit on the wimps who need to hydrate. We bare our cardboard scraped arms and box bruised knees to the world proudly for we are strong women, hear us roar.
But even strong women need a freakin’ A/C that does more than move the air around. Unfortunately the mall had locked down the program on the “unoccupied space” setting, and our inefficient hacking skills were no match for the seven-buttoned panel of doom (at least not without an instruction manual).
So in between box runs and product shifts today (in an effort to make the place look less like a war zone), I rang up the few, brave customers who could look beyond the mess and my lack of proper personal appearance. My hair was a mess, my eyes shadowed from lack of sleep and in my war against the cardboard mess, I had moved way beyond a gentle perspiration to an all out sweat.
(If had I attempted to hug someone, I would have stuck to them; it was that bad. I definitely wasn’t feeling Sure.)
Most my customers didn’t seem to have a problem with the warmth in the store. It wasn’t until my last of the day—a gentleman who spent twenty minutes hopping over my stacked boxes and maneuvering various carts—that it was mentioned at all. He stood there at the counter, face damp, while I rang him up, and our conversation about the sauna-like atmosphere led to the following offer: “I can take a look at it if you like. I’m pretty good at working these things.”
Similar words led to the almost disaster that was the Garage Door saga 2001, but since mall engineering wasn’t going to send anyone by until Monday I let him have a go.
Twenty minutes later cool air was blowing from the jets and he’d set all the timers for me.
If it wasn’t for the wedding ring, I would have offered to have his children. Now, at least, I can attempt (I say attempt because I might get called in tomorrow) to start my weekend in the comfort that my coworkers can shelve product in a cool, refreshing atmosphere that won’t require frequent reapplications of their deodorant of choice.
Here’s to customers. This beer’s for you!