Cloyce at 10

A fine way to get on my bad side is to try to dictate my schedule. One customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, tried to do that a few minutes ago.

Cloyce called yesterday and asked when he could bring his machine in for a chuck. I told him to be at the Shop this morning at 10 and I'd take care of it.

So why was he calling at 7:45 AM asking if I was available yet?

Times like that I completely sympathize with me Grandpa Joe's temper. I wanted to lose mine at Cloyce. "Cloyce, I told you be here at 10," I reminded him, calming myself enough to not yell it in his ear, even though Joe would've. 

That irritated me, no, angered me, no, infuriated me no end. He had an appointment. I would honor it. But I also had to honor commitments made to other customers, such as the ones I promised could get their orders or repairs by ten. If their stuff isn't ready at 10 they would be rightfully upset at the excuse, "But guys, Cloyce needed his machine." They would likely think, if not say out loud, if not half scream in consternation, "Cosgriff, you told me I could have mine by 10. I need mine too." I most certainly would not hear, "Oh? You had to get Cloyce's machine ready? I understand, Cosgriff. Go on and do it. Hey, I'll wait until next week if you need me to. Anything for Cloyce."

If I give you a time, I will honor it if humanly possible and anticipate that you will too. But as I write, if Cloyce gets at the old barn even at Nine Fifty Nine and Forty Five seconds, he'll get nothing but a stare for that last quarter minute.