Picking up women at Church

As I slid out of my van yesterday at a Dearborn McDonald's I was startled by a hearty 'Hello!' and the sight of a man who had approached within about five feet of me. Then he stopped, himself startled. "Oh, I'm sorry," he quickly explained. "I thought you my friend I was waiting for. He drives the same kind of car you do."

"No problem," I assured him. He went on his way and I on mine. But it reminded me of a similar incident years ago.

After Church one day I made my exit and hopped into my van to, of course, head home. Right after I started the engine the passenger door swung open suddenly. That concerned me, as I had went to Mass alone.

I turned my head sharply to find myself staring at the woman who had opened my door. We glared at one another, each surely asking the same question: what are you doing in my car?  

The tension in the air was palpable.

Then she laughed out. Roared in laughter in fact. "I'm very sorry!" she said. "I thought this was my husband's car!" Sure enough, right in front of me was a van identical to mine.

"No worries!" I responded. I think we were both relieved at that point.

Cloyce confusion

Sometimes as I get older, often as I get older if you read this blog too closely, I find myself making honest and kinda dumb mistakes. Mistakes like yesterday's.

A customer, I'll call him Cloyce just to give him a name, called and asked if his machine was ready. I told him sorry, but the news was pretty bad. He needed a motor, and was looking at $600 parts and labor.

There was stunned silence on the other end of the phone. Eventually Cloyce said, "But Marty, I brought it in for you to weld a broken handle." And he did. It was a different Cloyce who needed a motor replacement. When I saw Cloyce's name appear on my phone, I assumed it was that Cloyce.

I did laugh out loud as I apologized profusely for the confusion. Once I explained it Cloyce the first laughed too, although I could tell it was more a laugh of nervous relief. He was pleased, very pleased indeed after initially hearing he had to have a motor, with a $35 weld job.

When I hung up I added his last name to his number on my contact list. I then called the other Cloyce with his bad news. He didn't think it was funny, but took in stride and is having me install the new motor anyway.

I'm not who you think I am

I certainly hope this post comes across as innocuous. That's my intention, just to write a fun post based on something that actually happened.

Last week I found myself needing a valve stem for an old sink. When I say old, I mean sixty to seventy years, if not more. Fortunately I knew where to go for the stem. There's a place called Tenny's Plumbing in Hazel Park, and they specialize in old, hard to get parts. They've helped me before, and I highly recommend them.

And they did have the part I needed. But before paying, I had to take a call, so I stepped back from the counter and dealt with it.

When I apologized and returned to the counter Mr. Tenny was there. He looked at me and asked, "You're Cosgriff, right? Bill Cosgriff?"

"No, he was my dad. He passed away a couple years ago," I answered.

He coughed and said, "Sorry to hear that. But Cosgriff was a black guy, wasn't he?"

"No," I replied.

"But he had two black guys working for him?" Mr. Tenny pressed.

"No. Just my brother and I."

He studied me more closely and ventured, "Your shop is across from Murray-Wright High School, on Rosa Parks. Just after a green house, back from the street."

"That's right," I said.

Tenny just kinda shook his head and said, "But Cosgriff was a black guy. He had black guys working for him."

"I'm afraid not," I responded. I even showed him my license, just so he'd know I was me. He then shrugged his shoulders, and I paid for the valve stem and left. It was all on good terms, and he just seemed to have a mental block about it.

And I think he still thinks we're black guys. Ah well. No harm no foul, right?

Mistaken Identity

I certainly hope this post comes across as innocuous. That's my intention, just to write a fun post based on something that actually happened.
Last week I found myself needing a valve stem for an old sink. When I say old, I mean sixty to seventy years, if not more. Fortunately I knew where to go for the stem. There's a place called Tenny's Plumbing in Hazel Park, and they specialize in old, hard to get parts. They've helped me before, and I highly recommend them.
And they did have the part I needed. But before paying, I had to take a call, so I stepped back from the counter and dealt with it.
When I apologized and returned to the counter Mr. Tenny was there. He looked at me and asked, "You're Cosgriff, right? Bill Cosgriff?"
"No, he was my dad. He passed away a couple years ago," I answered.
He coughed and said, "Sorry to hear that. But Cosgriff was a black guy, wasn't he?"
"No," I replied.
"But he had two black guys working for him?" Mr. Tenny pressed.
"No. Just my brother and I."
He studied me more closely and ventured, "Your shop is across from Murray-Wright High School, on Rosa Parks. Just after a green house, back from the street."
"That's right," I said.
Tenny just kinda shook his head and said, "But Cosgriff was a black guy. He had black guys working for him."
"I'm afraid not," I responded. I even showed him my license, just so he'd know I was me. He then shrugged his shoulders, and I paid for the valve stem and left. It was all on good terms, and he just seemed to have a mental block about it.
And I think he still thinks we're black guys. Ah well. No harm no foul, right?