When the cat deigns to look at her e-mail, I’d expect a rude answer from her. It’s expected; it’s that cat thing, being aloof and all.
[addressed to the cat’s e-mail>::> I loved your movie. I especially liked the part when you reached
:> around and licked your back. It was so unexpected and dramatic.
:> I hope you make another one real soon.
|We’re waiting on the right script.
|–
|meow.
|”A home without a cat — and well-fed, well-petted
|and properly revered cat – may be a perfect home, perhaps,
|but how can it prove title?”
|Mark Twain in Pudd’nhead Wilson
When I was looking at the list of popular links for the day, I found this article was way up there.
A few years ago, a Taurus friend, then living in Austin, was riding down the street with her friend, and she spotted me. “Hey, that’s Kramer!” When she told me about it, she said her friend driving, shortly after that, pointed out a homeless-looking indigent character, and said, “Hey, that’s Fred!” “You know him?” “No, but you didn’t know that other guy, did you?” “Yes, it was Kramer, he lives here, he’s a… never mind.”
A week or two ago, after I dined sumptuously on barbecue, as I was wandering homeward [trailer-wise>, I saw the store’s manager out, looking for a couple guys who just escaped with “$30 worth of food. Homeless guys. Did you see them?” Yes, they were on bicycles, and they went that-a-way. I was just worried, like the previous situation, that I looked homeless, too. “No,” she reassured me over her shoulder, “some of the girls know you, and anyway, you always pay.”
I’ve been rude to customers. I’ve done it recently. In my defense, though, how many times do I sift through various e-mails, how many notes that include a name and a birthday, and a command, “tell me my future”? I’m still stinging, more like singed, from one e-mail exchange, rearranged my schedule to accommodate an emergency phone reading for someone, only to get hung up on when I asked how they wanted to pay for it.
These are normal, day-to-day, business problems. I’ve long since learned to ask for money up front. Couple of bounced checks? After that, I learned, the hard way, the check **isn’t** in the mail, and I have to wait until a check clears before I can proceed.
The question is, at what point is the customer being rude to the merchant? Is it fair to expect exemplary “customer service” when the customer is pushy, arrogant, demanding, or impudently self-righteous?
It’s like a reading one time, I suggested a particular fixed sign was stubborn, and the client spent the rest of the reading arguing that he or she wasn’t stubborn.
Actual exchange another time: “I read an astrology book once, and what you say about [insert sign here> is so wrong. I’m not like that all.”
[turning on sarcasm> Oh really? [turning off sarcasm> I need to fix that leaky sarcasm faucet.I never claimed to be objective; I’ve recorded my observations. Pretty simple, see: I have my astrology chart. You have your chart. The two interact. My written word is filtered through the eyes of a middle-aged [not an X-er, not a boomer> Sagittarius. I can’t not write as such. I’ve done ghost writing, and that’s a simple exercise, but it’s still me, the Sagittarius author, writing as the ghost.
The problem is an astrologer [psychic, psychologist, & etc.> who posits a theory that they are completely objective; that’s not true. As one buddy with an advanced degree in psychology is so fond of pointing out, “They’re the most screwed up of all.”
Glad my degrees are English Lit, not psych.
I was standing at Jo’s one afternoon, ordering some coffee, and the pretty barista noticed my cell phone was blinking, “You’ve got a call,” she said. At the local sub shop, there’s a sign, “If you’re talking on a cell phone, you’re not in line.”
I’m not about to talk on the phone while I’m trying to order a cappuccino, or a vegetarian sub on whole wheat [with bacon>. That’s rude. I try to always include social grease, too, like “Please,” and “thank you,” and “that color looks good on you,” when it’s appropriate. Given my sartorial tastes, that last comment might be good for a laugh, as well. I’ve been told, although I’ve never corroborated this, that folks of Southern extraction tend to be more polite.
By the time confessional, demeaning, obstreperous e-mail wends its way down the virtual vacuum, and gets vomited onto my in-box, surrounded by offers to make my cat’s penis bigger, think about what’s written. “Make the font size bigger.” See #5. Maybe the font and the cat’s [non-existent> penis can get together.
Another batch of “you might be redneck if” jokes cycled this way. Some were old, one or two were new. One of them, all I can say, I have new aspirations:
>30. Your lifetime goal is to own a fireworks stand.
Someone is rude to me at my fireworks stand? All that rocket-launched firepower? Think of the fun I could have. Better yet, I’d only have to work twice a year, New Years’ and Fourth of July. I’ll get a big sign, “Buy one, get 11 FREE.”
Got a complaint about the fireworks? “Look, they all have 90 warranty on them, but see, you bought this in July and now it’s December….”
Yeah, I know I need to work on customer service, but then, it would be nice if there were more nice e-mails to answer. Like this:
[The user’s e-mail name is not found.>|> Know quite a bit about firearms and tackle.
|> Just one more unappealing thing
|> for a gal to know.
“Oh no, those are very appealing qualities. I like a girl who knows how to handle a firearm. Actual topic at dinner. You’d be amazed at the number of good Texas girls who knows how to handle a firearm. Over Cherry Creek catfish, we discussed the chickens in the neighborhood [poultry>, which girls should be armed, a few who shouldn’t be, and why I forgot to mention hush puppies, fried green tomatoes, and Pisces.”