Ready, Set, No.

The 8 foot long drain cleaning cables I sell come in barrels of 20. At just about a pound a foot, that's 160 pounds each. At 66, I appreciate help lifting them into the new old van. Indeed, it's almost a necessity, though I can manage it if I must.

Wednesday last I went to Electric Eel (Electric Eel: for all your drain cleaning needs) and was happy to have me brother Phil along. But I did learn that when you ask a question, it's really important to wait for the answer.

I rolled a barrel up to the side door of the van and leaned it backwards for us to lift. As we each bent down opposite one another and began to take hold of the barrel I asked, "Ready?" and immediately started to lift.

"No," Phil replied. Consequently, I nearly heaved myself into a hernia. Fortunately, my hands just slipped off the barrel, and I was able to regain my balance with one backward step.

Have a question for someone? Wait. For. The. Reply. Your back will appreciate it.

Trashy Cloyce

The sectional drain snake cables which I sell come in large barrels. They're maybe three feet high and about two feet wide. They make great garbage cans once I've sold the cables, as they're just about the ideal size for 33 gallon trash bags. I have a couple in the Shop set aside for that purpose.

Once a plumber, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, came down from Saginaw to buy some cables. He paid me, and then grabbed a barrel. "What do you think you're doing?" I demanded.

"I'm loading my barrel, Marty," a confused and somewhat annoyed Cloyce responded.

"Well, if you really want to drive my trash to Saginaw, Cloyce, who am I to deny you the pleasure?" I then explained what he was doing, latching onto the first barrel he saw thinking it filled with sectional cables. Peals of laughter and much knee slapping then rang throughout the old barn.

Feeling Bad For Cloyce

I'm in sales, and I like sales. I particularly like to make big sales. Well, most of time, anyways. Sometimes a good sale does make me feel bad though, believe it or not.

There's this drain cleaner who comes into the old barn, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, who's a genuine, purely nice guy. Indeed you can't help but like him, he's so nice. But he's had a run of awful luck lately.

A couple of weeks ago Cloyce lost nine cables in a bad sewer; the homeowner didn't have the money to dig the line up for repair. The cables Cloyce uses are $65 each. We can all say ouch at that, can't we?

A few weeks back in a flood, his power unit was covered in water for several hours. There's another two grand to replace that.

Last Friday morning Cloyce needed another eight cables, again, remember, at sixty five bucks a pop, after someone did not tell him a line they knew was broken was broken.

Suffice it say that I've made a few dollars off Cloyce recently. Yet I honestly feel bad about it. All right, yes, I took his money. Still, I do hope his, ah, fortune improves soon.

He Can Be Taught

Many of us were taught while growing up that if you're carrying a sharp object and you drop it, let it fall. It's great practical advice, you know.

Among the accessories available (I adore alliteration) for the drain snakes I sell are retrieving tools. They are sharp and typically pointed objects. They have to be, so that they may puncture and burrow into a blockage in a drain and retrieve it. 

A year or so back I was carrying not one but two of them into a customer's office. And I dropped both. And I tried to catch them. 

It was like a juggling act which had gone off the rails. There I was trying to corral those two retrievers, each bouncing off my hands one to the other, and each time digging a barb into my palms. "Oh, ah, oh, ow," I repeated many times over trying desperately to grab them. Of course, they ended up hitting the floor anyway.

Why I had two handkerchiefs I don't know (usually only having one) but it was fortunate that day. I had to wrap them around my hands driving home, hoping the bleeding would stop by the time I got there. Tiny puncture wounds take awhile to seal.

The moral of the story, in case you - as I - didn't get the lesson originally: if you drop a sharp object, let it fall.

Easy Sales

I like sales. Sales are like, "Here are things. Give me $250 for them." 

And folks do. Just like that.

I like sales. Such power over people who trust me implicitly. Bwa-ha-ha-ha!

Me Pops Attitude Shines Through

Just to establish it clearly, the customer I am about to lament had an appointment with me at the Shop on Friday, December 16 at 10 AM. He was coming in (supposedly) for 15 cables, which I had at the time in reserve for him. He didn't show, nor call and tell me he wouldn't make it, nor respond to my calls over whether he still wanted the cables. That's the necessary background.

As luck would have it, we had a great run of business between Christmas and New Year's. I sold all of my cables. My cables.

The man in question called around two yesterday afternoon. "I'm on my way to get those cables, Cosgriff."

"I sold out. I won't have more until next week," I explained without the least hint of regret.

"You sold my cables?" he demanded incredulously.

"No!" I responded emphatically. "I sold my cables."

"All right, all right," he vaguely conceded. "Could you call me please when you have more?" I told him I would. 

The thing is, I heard me Pops tell several folks that over the years: I sold MY cables. They're mine until they're paid for. Then, and only then, are they yours.

The long and winding (wrong) road

I suppose this post should go under they don't listen or pay attention. I will try not to be long winded about it.

Yesterday (we're open because we're in the supply chain for water and wastewater businesses) I had a customer call me and ask about sectional cables. I said that 8 ft. cables were $52 and 10 ft. were $60 and that we had both in stock. I told him those numbers explicitly, and I emphasize that because you, dear reader, will need to know it. Then he asked where we were, a quite logical question as he had never been to our Shop before. I told him 4850 Rosa Parks, between Hancock and Warren. "If you get to Warren you've gone too far," I advised him. Rosa Parks is a one way heading north around the old barn, so you come to Hancock before Warren unless you're going the wrong way. He repeated, "So you're between Hancock and Rosa Parks?"

You got all that?

So an hour later as I'm headed to the bank he calls. "I'm at Warren and Rosa Parks but I can't see you," he explains.

"You should from there. Look over your right shoulder for a big gray building." Our Shop is clearly visible from the corner of Warren and Rosa Parks.

"All I see is big plastic house like where they grow plants."

This didn't help me know where he was other than that I knew he was not where he said he was. There is no greenhouse at Warren and Rosa Parks. I'm sorry, there is no big plastic house like where they grow plants at Warren and Rosa Parks. "I'm driving but I'll swing around to Rosa Parks and look for you. What are you driving?"

"A maroon van."

So I swung around to where I would turn onto Rosa Parks well below my Shop. And I see a maroon van sitting at Forest and Rosa Parks, south of Hancock, right next to a greenhouse. I had forgotten one was there, but the key thing is he was not at Warren and Rosa Parks as he claimed. "You're at Forest and Rosa Parks," I said, trying not to sound like I was talking down to him. I had kept our conversation open as the phone lay on the seat next to me.

"Yeah, Forest and Rosa Parks, right." Whaddaya mean right? You quite definitely told me you were at Warren and Rosa Parks.

"I'm in a black van. I'll come around you and lead you in." This I did.

So now that he's finally at my Shop I ask, "So which do you prefer: 8 or 10 foot cables?"

"Uh, I need the 15 foot cables," he stammered.

15 foot cables are made by a competitor. "I don't have those. Our cables are not compatible; I'm sorry," I replied.

"Oh, okay. I'll go somewhere else. Sorry to bother you,"

"No problem," I responded. It didn't bother so much as it left me stupefied. I told him expressly what we had and exactly where we were and neither point registered with him. It wasted his efforts more than mine. But what are you gonna do?