I Once Had Bought, But Now I’ll Not / Was Kind, But Now I See

Bright and early Saturday morning, I took off to seek my new refrigerator. We bought The Original Frig at a local business, right in Backroads proper. Hick likes doing business locally, with small businessmen. We found The Original Frig right away, dickered down the price, and had it delivered within four hours. Thevictorians don’t mess around when they set out to make a major purchase.

Our experience was so pleasant that I had no qualms about returning for a new Frig. In fact, I hoped to find one, bargain, pay, and get on the delivery schedule for that afternoon. Easy peasy. But no. The best-laid plans of Val…

The Pony and I got to the furniture store about ten minutes after it opened. We walked in, and I looked to the right, in the direction where we had found our beloved Original Frig six years ago. No Frigs. The Pony spotted them first. Along the back wall, to the left center of the building. Good thing. Because no employees came to help us. They were busy sitting behind the counter in the middle, three of them at least, maybe four.

I don’t know much about the furniture business, other than you don’t have to pay sticker price for the items if you are willing to negotiate. Sometimes you can get pillows thrown in for a couch, or get a second recliner half price if you are a good dickerer. But one thing I would think might be good policy is greeting customers as they come in, and asking if you can help them find something. At best, you’ll make a sale and get a commission. At worst, they’ll tell you to F-off because they’re just looking.

So there I was, ready to buy, and seeking my own Frigs while workers sat and chewed the fat. The Pony and I got over halfway to the back, and I saw the Frigs a little more clearly with my unglassesed eyes. Let the record show that I served out of Frig, I knew Frig, Frig was an appliance of mine…and these, my friends, were no Frigs. They were all white, with top freezers. Not a stainless steel side-by-side in the bunch.

As I turned to leave, telling The Pony, “They don’t have what we’re looking for,” a working woman came to greet us.

“Can I help you?”

“No thanks. I was looking for a stainless steel side-by-side Frigidaire Professional. I don’t see anything similar.”

“We don’t have any of them. We can order one. It will take about 30 days. When did you need it?”

“Today. Sorry. If we can’t find one, I’ll get back to you. Do you have a card?”

Because that’s the polite way of doing business, I think. But you would have thought that I asked that working woman for her left testicle. The contempt on her face was undisguised. Sure, I was wearing comfortable clothes, toting a purse with cracked leather handles, and shod in my run-down New Balance. Criminy! It’s not like I was wearing Crocs!

That alcohol-faced 40-something working woman, in her unseasonal tan and bleached hair the yellow of just-beginning-to-decay corn silk, handed me her business card with a little sneer. I thanked her and put it in my shirt pocket. When we reached T-Hoe, I took it out.

Funny. Her last name was the same as the business name.

I see. Now I have qualms.