 |
| My pearl-handled six-shooters |
My previous experience with this garden supply outfit was confined to that which was available outside in the yard. GlutenFreeMama would go inside to pay for materials and I would track down a yard person and tend to the logistics of loading what we had purchased.
Since what I sought was not going to be found outside, I ventured into the low-slung building, noting the counter on the right, behind which stood three employees. Directly ahead of me, the shop sprawled out, with various options available in which to stroll. As much as I am certain I would have enjoyed the tour, GFMama was waiting patiently in the car, and I had no interest in trying her patience.
Turning to face the broad counter, I noted there was one customer at the cash register. “Great success!” I thought to myself. The other two workers were engaged in conversation. I waited patiently, until after a minute, the older of the two men glanced up at me and tilted his head back.
 |
| My high school photo |
“Help you?” The man looked at me as though I were an exhibit at a zoo, an entertaining one at that.
“Yes. I’m looking for those electronic beeping devices that deter gophers,” I answered.
His smirk broadened. “De-ter? De-ter.” He nodded for emphasis. “You mean, de-tour. I like that. Detour ‘em.” He giggled at his own inventiveness.
I grinned, appreciatively and said, “Great success. Where will I find those de-tour-ants?”
He said some words that eluded my cauliflower ears, and I know he thought he was done by the way he turned back to his buddy. I managed to snag his attention at the last tick. “Yikes! I missed that. Can you repeat those die-wreck-sions?”
He squared up again, facing me, and said some more words that did not compute, except for the last phrase, “…back against the far wall.”
Granted, it’s not his fault that I have a hard time processing information through my ears, but I do understand “straight ahead, left and right,” and none of those words were involved in the instructions. I decided I could navigate my way to the “far wall,” and that ought to put me in the right church.
 |
| My tools enable the little varmints. |
I may have been in the right church, but I was in the wrong pew. There was, however, an usher-sorry, employee-right there for me to pester. He seemed far more willing to listen to me than the dude up front. When I explained what I wanted, he was genuinely apologetic. “I know what you’re talking about, but I’m not sure where they are. Let me check it out.”
Time elapsed.
In reality, probably a lot less time went by than I may have imagined, but my “don’t-give-a-sh*t-o-meter” had been activated at the front of the shop, and was pinging in my ear in a most annoying fashion.
“I should have just gone to Weathertop’s in the first place,” I chided myself, and went out to the car, snapping my seat belt into place with a certain finality, while explaining to GFMama, “They evidently do not want my business.”
Before I could commence to begin to start my rant, I was interrupted by a face appearing suddenly at my window, and a voice saying, “I found what you wanted, if you are still interested.”
In the space of an eye twitch, I waged a Battle Royale in my head, one side clamoring for me to “…hit the road, Jack…” the other arguing that someone with a sense of integrity, had pursued me out into the parking lot, to tell me that he had done as I requested.
“I recognize you,” he started out. “You used to teach at the middle school in Laytonville. You may not remember me.”
Well, I did not recognize him and I said as much, just as I do any time this scenario comes up. I never tried to fake middle schoolers out when we shared a classroom, and I wasn’t going to start now. “You got me. You’ve changed,” and I accompanied that with a chuckle, to acknowledge the understatement.
“John H,” he responded, only he told me his name. J.J.? Not remember Johnny? I vividly remembered him as a sixth grader, respectful, friendly and popular. Somewhat caught off guard, I said the first thing that came into my pea brain.
“Dude!” I made him stop while we did the impromptu greeting old friends will always do. “How could I not remember you? I’m pretty good friends with your sister, actually.” If that sounds lame, I can’t help it. Carissa and I got along just fine, back in the classroom and when the 21st century finally caught up with me in the form of social media, I was delighted to reestablish a tie with my former student.
I encountered her once in person a couple of years ago, at Samantha and Caleb’s wedding in the redwoods. As a retired teacher, I pause and reflect at the wonder of it all, how technology has allowed me to see how they all turned out. Carissa’s sense of humor and her pride in her kids reveal much to me, and I cherish the connection.
“Yeah, what you wanted is in the Poison Room,” John explained. Well, that explains that. My internal radar would have sent a jolt to my solar plexus that would flatten a rhino, had I ventured accidentally into that room.
Though there is nothing about the electronic devices that would be considered poisonous, they would-just like poisons-be considered, well, deterrents. There’s that pesky word again.
“I gotta tell you, Johnny, I was on my way to Weathertop's when you flagged me down. You kept me as a customer,” and I headed out front to pay the man.
Trapped once again into assisting me, because there were no other customers at the counter, the man with the neatly trimmed, mostly gray goatee, stepped forward and began to work the register. In a last-ditch effort to make with the palaver, I offered,
“You know, I planted 156 tomato plants out in the orchard last week, and this is the only thing I have ever encountered that-“
“That will be $45.50,” he interrupted. Talk about rudeness abounding.
I stared at him, appalled, and waited. It took a few seconds but he figured out that just maybe he had come across too strong. “So they work, huh?”
As if you care, bro. “Another day in Paradise awaits. Great success!” was my response as I headed forthwith out the front door.
This garden supply place, in its new location, practically across the street from the other, has been around too long to have its reputation sullied by rude cashiers.
Fortunately, there was Johnny to save the day.
No comments:
Post a Comment