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Chicken Little?
May 14th, 2007 07:29 pmI was in the store today (as opposed to in my office) on some sort business when a lady asked (commandeered) me to assist her with some chicken wire. Mind you that I am dressed in office casual with no identifying CFC features anywhere. After looking about & not seeing an available clerk to help the lady, I let her know that I will try my best to assist her.
After a long, run-on sentence about how she bought the wrong chicken wire, the lady informs me that she needs to buy the taller wire & that she should have done that to start with (duh). She marches out to where the chicken wire (good thing, because I wasn't sure it is kept) & all the while is she talking non-stop. Just listening to her is wearing me out already.
The chicken wire that she needs is on a wrapped pallet with other rolls of wire. She marches back into the store - still talking a mile a minute - in search of scissors. I try to locate a real associate to aid her, but it seems she has her talons in me at this point. Up to the front registers she marches with me in tow & after telling (not asking) the cashier that she is taking the scissors. I just gave the cashier a shrug & dashed off to stay with the lady who is now marching through the store with scissors.
Back to the pallet of wire, the lady attacks the pallet wrap with the commandeered scissors. She has not stopped talking yet either! Just as I am trying to tell her to stop cutting, the rolls of wire that are now of pallet wrap start tumbling backwards. We both dash to catch the wire rolls which is not an easy feat for two middle-aged ladies. One would think the lady would take some sort of break in her incessant chatter, but no such luck.
Fortunately, we are able to get one of the warehouse guys to come give us a hand (not fast enough for the non-stop chattering lady). As he & I make sure the rolls are are put somewhere safe, the lady goes on about how she is all scratched up by the wire. The warehouse guy & I both look alarmed only be met with her cackling about how all the scratches are from her chickens. You know, the chickens that she needs the wire for.
Thank Goddess that an associate was back at the register when we went back inside. I turned the whack-job lady over to the associate, returned the scissors & RAN back to my office.
After a long, run-on sentence about how she bought the wrong chicken wire, the lady informs me that she needs to buy the taller wire & that she should have done that to start with (duh). She marches out to where the chicken wire (good thing, because I wasn't sure it is kept) & all the while is she talking non-stop. Just listening to her is wearing me out already.
The chicken wire that she needs is on a wrapped pallet with other rolls of wire. She marches back into the store - still talking a mile a minute - in search of scissors. I try to locate a real associate to aid her, but it seems she has her talons in me at this point. Up to the front registers she marches with me in tow & after telling (not asking) the cashier that she is taking the scissors. I just gave the cashier a shrug & dashed off to stay with the lady who is now marching through the store with scissors.
Back to the pallet of wire, the lady attacks the pallet wrap with the commandeered scissors. She has not stopped talking yet either! Just as I am trying to tell her to stop cutting, the rolls of wire that are now of pallet wrap start tumbling backwards. We both dash to catch the wire rolls which is not an easy feat for two middle-aged ladies. One would think the lady would take some sort of break in her incessant chatter, but no such luck.
Fortunately, we are able to get one of the warehouse guys to come give us a hand (not fast enough for the non-stop chattering lady). As he & I make sure the rolls are are put somewhere safe, the lady goes on about how she is all scratched up by the wire. The warehouse guy & I both look alarmed only be met with her cackling about how all the scratches are from her chickens. You know, the chickens that she needs the wire for.
Thank Goddess that an associate was back at the register when we went back inside. I turned the whack-job lady over to the associate, returned the scissors & RAN back to my office.
