How shall I overreact – let
me count the ways.
I had an obviously
unqualified electronics technician attempt to install a satellite TV system in
my house. This work involved
disconnecting and then reconnecting wiring on the TV set and satellite receiver,
installing a few different pieces of hardware on the outside of the building
(so lots of pounding and drilling, including an inch hole through the wood
floor of my living room), and some mysterious crashing around in the basement. I’m afraid of the basement area as a general
rule – that’s monster territory in my book – so I still don’t know what he did
down there.
When Mr. UnQualified left
about six hours into a two-hour job, the system didn’t work as promised. We were told that his company didn’t “guarantee”
that it would do everything that we were led to believe it would do. By the salesman. In the store. Before they had my money. I’m sure that somewhere in the fifteen pages
of microscopic legal chicken scratching that constitute the customer agreement
that there is jargon that backs up his assertion. At that point we just wanted this man out of
our house.
When I called to schedule
the service call for the service call to fix the whole freaking mess, I had my
finger on the trigger. No more Mr.
Mostly Pleasant-On-A-Good-Day Guy – I was itching to blow someone away with my
justified, righteous indignation. Can I
get an amen –AH? I have been wronged-AH!
The service sector has it out for me-AH!
Some of the best advice that I got from the old
timers when I entered recovery was: “Why don’t you just keep your mouth
shut?” As in Don’t talk even a little
bit. Not a peep, as my mama used to tell
me. The fact that I had nothing
worthwhile to say was a factor here but these guys didn’t feel the need to fill
me in on the reasoning. My initial
reaction was always wrong and they knew that I was going to save myself a lot
of grief by simply not talking.
I nearly chewed off my
tongue as the Replacement Service Guy came out and quickly remedied what was a
minor problem. The First String Service
Guy probably was as frustrated as I was at the end of day one and wanted to go
home as much as I wanted him to leave.
As my new hero left, I handed him ten bucks and said that I wanted to
buy his lunch. His face lit up like my
old Jimi Hendrix black light poster.
“Thanks, Mr. Seaweed. Have a
great day.”
Amazing to think how much
anguish ten bucks costs me when I think that I am being screwed somehow. And how much pleasure that little bit of
money introduced into my day. Ten
dollars.
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