Yesterday at work, a woman asked me if we had any variegated floss suitable for crocheting butterfly magnets. I showed her what we had, but she wanted only two colors involved, not several. Then she told me how she once took a whole year to crochet a golden Barbie-doll dress, using metallic thread and beads. I said I hoped someone appreciated all that work and she said, “No, I have no daughters or grand-daughters! And I hate dolls!”
My boss walked by about that time, then stood aside a ways, waiting for me to finish with the customer so he could talk to me. But the customer wasn’t finished. No! She opened her smart-phone and scrolled until she finally found a photo of the doll in its golden dress.
Then before I knew it, she was showing me a photo of a someone’s bloody skull stapled together, explaining that her husband fell on black ice at work on his first week at the job. (He is 75 years old, she told me.) Then she smiled, displaying her way-too-white teeth and finally, I was able to scoot away. I do like to think that I provided excellent customer service to that lady, though.
People are funny, aren’t they?
Earlier in the day, I heard a chattering child coming near, so I turned in time to see her walking alongside the cart being pushed by her mother. A baby sat in the cart’s seat. A small boy was holding onto the cart near the wheels, being dragged along along on his stomach. Oh, those days, I remember them well. You’re just trying to browse in a store but you literally have to drag your kids along with you.