Monday, June 07, 2004
TALKIN BOUT MY MAMA
My mother, the kind and loving woman that she is, does fly off the handle every now and again. It tends to happen, namely, in retail outlets, and is focused upon the employees of said establishments.
Yes, I can recall many times where my mom allowed her frustrations to get the better of her and let slip a few choice four letter words. When I was younger, seeing the woman who gave me life cause a scene in a restaurant was embarrassing. Now that I am older, I find it quite amusing.
From time to time I would like to share a story or two here of past situations involving dear old mom. However, today I will relate one that, while not quite as entertaining as the ones I’ll write about in the future, is sure to provide a chuckle.
Around a week ago my brother began to notice a weird noise when he would touch the brakes in his car. It was kind of a mix between a squeak and a repeated thud-thud sound. Luckily, we have a excellent mechanic right next door, so he was able to ask his opinion. After giving it a quick look, it was determined that the cause of the problem was advanced deterioration of his brake pads. The mechanic would be willing to fix it for minimal labor, however, he asked that we go and pick up the necessary replacement parts at a local auto parts outfit.
Since my brother was unable to go, the chore fell upon my mother, who was more than happy to help out. She didn’t want to go alone though, so I went along to provide her some company. First stop: Auto Zone.
We walked inside the shop and were greeted by an employee. My mom told him what we needed and he quickly looked it up on a computer and walked to the stock room to retrieve the parts. Moments later, he returned--empty handed. He looked at his computer screen again, then informed us that there was only one brake pad in stock. We needed two, so obviously this was a problem. Apparently what happened is that the guy who closed the store the previous night had failed to put in an order for a multitude of parts that were running low in stock. Among them, of course, were our brake pads.
My mom, never being one to enjoy ineptitude, was pissed. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t have what I need for my son’s car? This is fucking ridiculous! You people never have anything. I came in here a couple of weeks back for a headlight and there was none in stock. No, forget this shit. I am going to Murray’s.”
The Auto Zone employee, fearful of a confrontation and the loss of a customer, tried to reassure her. “I’m very sorry ma’am. But I’m showing on the computer that we have three pads in stock at our Reynolds Road location. Would you like to go there?”
“Why the hell should I drive halfway across town to get fuckin brake pads when I can just go right over here to Murray’s? No, thanks but no thanks. Keep your brake pads.”
With this, my mom turned to walk out. I walked alongside of her, laughing to myself. Here’s my mom, nearing her 50’s, chewing out a guy half her age over brake pads. It struck me funny.
"But ma'am..," the man interjected. Before he could finish his thought, however, my mom cut him off.
“You fuckers piss me off.”
That was the last words he heard before we exited through the automatic doors. We laughed about her verbal dismantling of the Auto Zone shop worker all the way to Murray’s. There we were able to easily buy the brake pads needed and even got a slip that will entitle her to a $10 refund. Not bad.
The moral of this story is not that you should always strive for the best customer service. No, the message here is that you should never lose an opportunity to see my mom bitch at retail workers. It’s a little something I’ve learned along the way, and now I try my best to never miss a minute.
My mother, the kind and loving woman that she is, does fly off the handle every now and again. It tends to happen, namely, in retail outlets, and is focused upon the employees of said establishments.
Yes, I can recall many times where my mom allowed her frustrations to get the better of her and let slip a few choice four letter words. When I was younger, seeing the woman who gave me life cause a scene in a restaurant was embarrassing. Now that I am older, I find it quite amusing.
From time to time I would like to share a story or two here of past situations involving dear old mom. However, today I will relate one that, while not quite as entertaining as the ones I’ll write about in the future, is sure to provide a chuckle.
Around a week ago my brother began to notice a weird noise when he would touch the brakes in his car. It was kind of a mix between a squeak and a repeated thud-thud sound. Luckily, we have a excellent mechanic right next door, so he was able to ask his opinion. After giving it a quick look, it was determined that the cause of the problem was advanced deterioration of his brake pads. The mechanic would be willing to fix it for minimal labor, however, he asked that we go and pick up the necessary replacement parts at a local auto parts outfit.
Since my brother was unable to go, the chore fell upon my mother, who was more than happy to help out. She didn’t want to go alone though, so I went along to provide her some company. First stop: Auto Zone.
We walked inside the shop and were greeted by an employee. My mom told him what we needed and he quickly looked it up on a computer and walked to the stock room to retrieve the parts. Moments later, he returned--empty handed. He looked at his computer screen again, then informed us that there was only one brake pad in stock. We needed two, so obviously this was a problem. Apparently what happened is that the guy who closed the store the previous night had failed to put in an order for a multitude of parts that were running low in stock. Among them, of course, were our brake pads.
My mom, never being one to enjoy ineptitude, was pissed. “Do you mean to tell me that you don’t have what I need for my son’s car? This is fucking ridiculous! You people never have anything. I came in here a couple of weeks back for a headlight and there was none in stock. No, forget this shit. I am going to Murray’s.”
The Auto Zone employee, fearful of a confrontation and the loss of a customer, tried to reassure her. “I’m very sorry ma’am. But I’m showing on the computer that we have three pads in stock at our Reynolds Road location. Would you like to go there?”
“Why the hell should I drive halfway across town to get fuckin brake pads when I can just go right over here to Murray’s? No, thanks but no thanks. Keep your brake pads.”
With this, my mom turned to walk out. I walked alongside of her, laughing to myself. Here’s my mom, nearing her 50’s, chewing out a guy half her age over brake pads. It struck me funny.
"But ma'am..," the man interjected. Before he could finish his thought, however, my mom cut him off.
“You fuckers piss me off.”
That was the last words he heard before we exited through the automatic doors. We laughed about her verbal dismantling of the Auto Zone shop worker all the way to Murray’s. There we were able to easily buy the brake pads needed and even got a slip that will entitle her to a $10 refund. Not bad.
The moral of this story is not that you should always strive for the best customer service. No, the message here is that you should never lose an opportunity to see my mom bitch at retail workers. It’s a little something I’ve learned along the way, and now I try my best to never miss a minute.
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