I am one of those people who if served scrambled eggs when I ordered over easy will probably eat them and happily shutty uppy than make the nice waitress unhappy. If someone cuts me off in traffic I often say "whatever." If I am parked on a hill and the standard shift car is rolling backwards, I maintain. In fact I'm often judged as happy and easy going. Why -- maybe because I was born a Libra -- or maybe God slipped up and gave me a double dose of the drug of humor and patience.
Maybe I just know all people crave attention -- I would rather have people respect me by doing and saying positive things. Maybe I know that no one likes to hear compulsive complainers because they kill the happiness level and I hate it when they do it to my good time. Maybe I am solution oriented, a positive thinker, but whatever I like happy regardless. So if I have a problem, I don't carp or whine, I fix it so it doesn't ruin my happy or so I thought I could do.
On Saturday a.m. I happened to look out my front window and spied what I thought were a pile of weeds face down on my front step. Another closer look and I discovered cellophane and in actuality the weeds were a $100 bouquet of gorgeous flowers sent by my daughter for my birthday on Thanksgiving weekend. The flowers had been left out all night, thrown face down like an old newspaper in freezing cold weather on cold cement. There was no delivery note to alert me they were there -- not a pre delivery phone call ever made. It was a fluke I found the flowers -- I was just eyeing the weather before I took off.
What started out as a perfectly good sunny day now had a note of dissatisfaction. However, as I believe everything is fixable and you get more flies with honey than vinegar, I calmly called the Florist in my humorous, relaxed way. I left a light message so we could make this unhappy event happy again. He didn't call -- I called back again. My daughter said "first mistake is in how you make a call. You're too nice Mom. Always start off like a shrieking bitch demanding that the owner send someone out immediately to pick up the ruined flowers or you will be in his store, in his face, in 20 mins. " She says, squeaky wheel seems to always get the oil. Now I know!!
Take note -- I spoke with Owner of Boxwoods on Richmond Street and he doesn't care a toot about satisfied customers. I have him filed under lying sack of shit in the roll-a-dex. Get this, the owner now joins or swipes my Victim role and is on to the blame game. He became expert in verbal stick handling excusing, avoiding, defending faster than Wayne Gretzky on Stanley Cup night.
As I said his victim blame game went like this -- "I have to use a crappy delivery system and suggest you call them and complain." I agreed awaiting any form of compassion or compensation. None came. Then he lied "we called, you were not home and anyhow we don't call in town orders." Deflect that lie. "No call was made to my home and your delivery sticker says an out of town delivery ." He skated left and then right and shot a good lying one to my chest -- "my staff didn't know your delivery was out of town" --I countered with " your store delivery slip states Mt. Brydges." Another lying Defense shot -- "Girl in store missed that one." This jerk was like trying to nail jello to the wall to get an apology or an ounce of compassion. All I could think of "how do asses like this ever get a business -- does his mother have money?"
When I mentioned my concern about keeping flowers that were face down on the cement -- well here's a whopper "flowers travel 3000 miles from the rain forests of Bora Bora all crushed together", and the frigid temp over night -- " his store coolers are colder than that" -- more than an Eskimo's just washed jock strap no doubt. This guy had a lie for every occasion.
Despite I still kept my blood pressure within the legal limit but there is a point when you can feel you have had enough. It feels kind of like the coming of the cramps before your period. You know it isn't going to be good but just as God programmed the body for the pain of creation, this jack ass has programmed you to give him the pain of a smack down. And like the incredible hulk, Goldie Hawn is slowly turning into Janice Dickinson.
Well in the second half of play, and still in sane solution seeking mode still skating around looking for compensation (knew compassion was impossible) sick slick met those with his repeated retarded shots to my brain as follows:
Me: Can I get some new flowers today for my birthday????
Him: No flowers in store, no person to deliver.
Me: Can you send someone to pick these up, or I can drive down town and return these for a refund?
Him: No flowers in store, no money back -- out of town order. Don't know if you daughter's credit card is good or not.
Me: Can I have new flowers on Tuesday?
Him: Maybe -- if you follow my instructions -- cut all flowers on the angle, put them in water so I can resell them. If you make a mess, you will only get a percentage of the refund.
Now the final puck to the head that I really didn't see coming and sent Goldie to Janice Dickinsonville -- I suggested to him that if he had a wife she would be very offended by the poor presentation and condition of these flowers. Hello!!!
Now BE ready here it comes in his highly offended soprano tone -- POW "I am offended that you would suggest I (and highlight the IIIIIIIII and hold your heart while you raise the I an octave or two) I have a wife." Well kill me now for that insult. It was a compliment more than an insult. When I said it I was truly wondering who would marry this jack ass and was feeling sorry for her!!
This is the moment of insanity when I, with the defunct flowers, am being reamed out for insulting him by saying that he had a wife when he was clearly gay and I should know better and here it comes "especially since I live with a woman and calls me a liar." Well what the hell has sexuality got to do with his flower screwup and if I could have thought fast enough, I should have asked him if his nose was growing rapidly as we spoke?
I now feel I am trapped in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest with Nurse Wratchett in drag. I do know this is the why -- you know, the why -- normal people hyperventilate, want to kill themselves or would rather drown their kids at birth -- than to hear those magic words "I am gay!" Even i wanted to join Jimmy Swaggart in his campaign to run off the gays. This is the poster child for crazy gay guy.
Anyhow as for my belief system -- when life gives you lemons, you work to make lemonade, what the hell can you do when crazy gay guy owns the juicer and refuses to turn the dam thing on? Well, on that note, and you know when all else fails, you roar at the jackass just like the Incredible Hulk until those little veins that run along the side of your temple are so popped out you look like an 80 year old man and the neighbours, well they are calling 911 because they think you are killing your own spouse equivalent.
And guess what, now crazy gay guy says he CAN refund my daughter's money and says in his rude tone, keep the flowers and is now calling me the crazy one. Tell me -- why is it always the crazies, who drive others to the edge of crazyville, call their victims crazy???? Oh God --the joy of my birthday and dealing with a crazy gay guy.l I thought last year's birthday event being hit by a hit and run tractor trailer driver on the 401 was the icing on my cake!!! Question -- what do you do with a drunkin sailor -- well what do you do with a CRAZY Lying Sack Of Shit?? Hit him -- hit him hard and Get Tee shirts made up that say " I Hit the owner of Boxwoods' to the back woods!" Kind of like I hit a home run -- and I don't believe I will be the only one wearing a shirt!!!
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