Never fear. The proposed handbasket factory is in the works again.
People just cannot do their jobs the right way these days.
My mom went to pick up a pork steak from the deli of her grocery store. The deli where she quizzed the minimum wage dude, probably a stockboy called in to assist, about the relative merits of the BBQ pork steak vs. the unseasoned pork steak.
This time, there was a woman behind the counter. It was fairly early in the morning. Mom could see the delicious and undelicious pork steaks waiting to be bought. She waited politely for the woman to finish putting an item in the deli case. And waited. And waited.
"There were a lot of people working back there. And she was the one up front, right by the counter. She knew I was there. But she kept going back to get other things to put in the case. I'd had enough. I just left. If she couldn't be bothered to wait on me, she didn't need my business." Way to go, Mom. But the sad fact is, that gal got paid just the same, and you went porksteakless.
Yesterday Farmer H went to a lumberyard for some plywood and screws to finish his hay shed. "I usually go to Lowe's, but I decided I didn't want to mess with loading it myself. Besides, even though it's a dollar a sheet cheaper at Lowe's, there's still the gas to get down there and back. So I bought my plywood and came home to unload it. I only had 7 sheets! I had clearly ordered 8 sheets of plywood. And paid for it! I had the receipt. When that kid was loading it, I even said, 'Are you sure that's 8 sheets, Bud? It looks a little thin.' And he said it was 8 sheets. So I came in the house and called the manager. I was sure he would say, 'Sure, you only had 7 when you got home. I can't help you.' But he said to come on back with my receipt, and he'd get my other sheet of plywood." Way to go, Farmer H. Of course you had to use your gas to drive all the way back to town for your one sheet of plywood. And that loader dude got paid just the same. But you showed that lumberyard manager!
Today I cashed in a scratch-off winner to buy more tickets. I told the guy which ones I wanted by number, like you do everywhere, and he took them out of the case. He rang them up and took off my winner, and said, "That will be $71." Of course I looked at him askance. Not that he knew what askance means.
"I don't think that's right." I didn't even have $71 in the store with me. I had two twenties, but I had been counting on trading in a winner for more tickets. I turned through the stack he had laid face down on the counter. "Here it is. I did not want these tickets. They're twenty dollars apiece!"
"You said 'Two number twos.'"
"No. I said 'Two number tens.' Those are five-dollar tickets, not twenty-dollar tickets."
He voided out the whole transaction, got my other two tickets, stuffed the unwanted ones back in the case, and rang it up again. "That still looks like too much."
"No. That's right. That's what I expected." Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not take her lottery lightly. Like an obsessed coupon addict, she knows to the cent how much she's putting in, and how much she's paying out of pocket. Way to go, Mrs. HM. You refused to take unwanted scratchers just because they had mistakenly been ripped off the roll. You backed up the line to five people. But that clerk got paid just the same.
Is there no pride anymore in a job well done?