Wednesday, August 11, 2004

I'm moving to Philly.

After today's sudden torrential downpour, I thought it might be wise to pick up some water and stain protector for my lovely new kicks. You know, the spray kind. So I went back to the Tip Top joint to get some. When I got there, the nice salesman who helped me yesterday (a grandfatherly type whose dignified, bearded mug inspires trust) came immediately to my aid, asking if there was a problem with my shoes. Fantastic customer service here, I thought to myself. I told him I was there for water-proofer. Even though that was something I could easily have gotten at the register myself, he escorted me over, took a can down, and hung around until the cashier was ready to ring me up. Looking out for the customer. Old-fashioned service. Brotherman kept a death-grip on that can though, right up until he handed it over to the cashier, so I never got a good look at it. I was feeling all warm and fuzzy about the excellent service at the store, so I didn't think too hard about it. "That'll be $14.95." Say what? Say. The hell. What? Not being known for my subtlety or grace, I believe I made some yokel comment like, "Holy crap, are you kidding?" before I could stop myself. Smooth. She was not kidding. "It's $12.99 plus tax." So I didn't get it. 'Cause that's crazy. I have never in my entire waterproofed-boot wearing life spent more than $5 for a can of waterproofer. I figured, being New York and all, it might get as high as $7. Never in my wildest speculations did I imagine it would get over $10. And do you know why? Because there isn't a water-proofing goddamned product in the world worth fifteen goddamned dollars, that's why. If it cleaned, shined, and conditioned my shoes, finishing them off with a lovely meadowflower frangrance and the sparkle of a sheen of genuine pulverized diamonds, it would still only be worth about seven fiddy. Christ. No wonder brotherman was holding on to that can. He didn't want me to see the price. Maybe he thought if I didn't find out until after it was all tallied, I would be too embarassed not to pay. He was wrong. As hell. On the way out, he had the nerve to say, "Maybe you can find it cheaper at a shoe maker, sweetheart." Well, yeah. I could hire somebody to go out and get it for me for less than that. Maybe. Hmph. And now another brick has been hacked from my wall of "everybody-is-fundamentally-good" naivete. Customer service, my ass. That was all about the commission. I mean, I'd love to help a brother out, but I ain't payin' three times what some isht is worth. Damn. I might go back and get another pair of those shoes, though. Never hurts to have a spare.


At 8/18/2004 10:44:00 AM, Anonymous Anonymous said...

Sid, Sid, Sid . . . You can't trust ANY salesperson! Remember that always and forever. It's all about smooth talk and getting into your pockets. Like a jive ass man trying to, well - need I say more. A salesperson will tell you anything, be kind as all that, and then go in for the kill - YOUR WALLET. Take it from me, I've been one for many, many years.

I love your articles, tho. Really funny.


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