COLUMN: Thingamajig

We live in a divided world, where tempers can flare at the drop of a hat. Add a pandemic to the mix, and you've got a short-fused populace desperately low on patience. Pity those poor folks whose job is to be nice to the rest of us, because we're mostly all terrible. If you think YOUR fuse is short, imagine what it must take to work in retail these days.

I thought I was the king of social awkwardness. That's why it's reassuring to experience awkward moments that AREN'T my fault.

Last weekend, I was working on a project and needed a thingamajig. I can't go into detail, because I don't want to get anyone in trouble. But the easiest place in town to procure said thingamajig is a store I try not to frequent. Let's just say their corporate owners subscribe to a different set of values than my own, and it's a place I prefer not to support.

But I really wanted that thingamajig.

In the great ethical battle in my brain, it turns out I value material goods over moral integrity. Good to know. "Besides," I argued with myself, "it's not their employees' fault that their owners are horrible. Get off your high horse and go shopping." So proudly I strolled into a store I try to never enter, for once grateful to be wearing a mask. I went to the customer service desk and happily ordered my thingamajig.

Or so I thought. After fooling with her computer for almost 20 minutes, the clerk (who was very nice) gave up and said their system was down. She asked if I could possibly come back in a day or two when their thingamajig expert would be working. Sure, I said. It happens. A couple days later, I returned and successfully ordered my thingamajig.

Or so I thought. I was told I'd get a call when my thingamajig was ready. I never got a call. Several days later, I went back and inquired. "Oh, it's been here for days," the clerk said. "I thought you were going to call," I said. "Well, it's here now," she said. Okay, fine. At least I was going to get my thingamajig.

Or so I thought. It was the wrong thingamajig. "This is what you ordered," she said. "No, it's not," I replied. She was super nice and said they'd rectify the problem and asked if could I come back in a couple days. I did. The thingamajig was there and it was perfect. Success!

Or so I thought. Procuring the thingamajig was easy. Paying for it, less so. They brought the thingamajig to the cashier, I presented him with my credit card, and he slid it throught the little payment doohicky at the register. As he was waiting for it to process, he turned to the cashier next to him and struck up small talk.

Except it turned into large talk. They talked about the weather, then his car, then his work schedule, then some general complaining about his schedule and life in general. Mind you, all the while he's standing there with his back to me, my credit card in his hand.

I went from being mildly annoyed to really annoyed to kind of amazed and finally just amused. After about four minutes of a literal front row seat to this guy completely ignoring me, I eventually coughed and let out a timid "helllOOOooo?"

That's when the cashier spun on me and exasperatedly said, "Can I HELP you, SIR?"

"Umm," I replied, "Just need my credit card and maybe a receipt?"

I watched as this poor guy's brain suffered the equivalent of a Windows Blue Screen of Death. It took him a good fifteen seconds to fully reboot. He looked at me, looked at my credit card in his hand, blinked, looked at me again, and said, "Wow. I totally spaced on you, eh?"

I'm not sure which one of us felt more awkward, but I like that I'm forgettable enough to actually forget me in the middle of a transaction. 

We all have bad days. Once, when I was a greenhorn at the paper, I answered my phone just as my computer really DID get the Blue Screen of Death. In MY mind, I was efficiently taking stock of the situation and determining the fastest way to get up and running again. From the customer's perspective, though, I'm pretty sure they just heard a guy go, "Classified Advertising, this is... umm...," as if I'd suddenly forgotten my own name.

So cut our friends in retail some slack, they've earned it. I have mad respect for anyone who has to deal with weirdos like me every day. For what it's worth, my thingamajig is great, and I don't think my great moral compromise upset the natural balance too much. I might even (gasp) shop there again, if my name isn't... umm...