Tuesday
Service with a smile
I've blogged before about the wacky dry cleaners' around the corner from us. It seems like everytime I go in there it's a sitcom or a drama.
Today I went in to pick some stuff up. There were three people in front of me. The first was being served by the Indian lady who runs the dry cleaning bit, and it looked like she had a fairly complicated order. The Italian guy who repairs shoes started helping the next people in line; they were both women, and he greeted them each in turn with, "How can I help, angel?"
When it got to my turn, he said, "How can I help, mate?"
I said, "What, you're not gonna call me angel?" The Indian woman broke up laughing.
Italian guy leans over the counter, sees I'm wearing shorts, and exclaims, "Not with legs as hairy as that, mate! People would talk." The Indian woman laughs harder.
He tries to find all the items in my order, but has trouble. The Indian woman's free by this time, and shoos him away to do it right. While she serves me, another woman comes in with a pair of shoes. Italian guy leans over the counter.
"How can I help, Angel?"
"Hey!" I add, laughingly.
The woman looks at me, then back at Italian guy, confused. "Did you just call me Jill?" she says.
"No, dear; I called you angel. I'd have called you Jill if your name was Jill." The Indian woman just shakes her head.
The woman with the shoes still looks confused, but continues. "You repaired these for me the other day, but this piece you've added in is giving me terrible blisters. Can you do anything about that?"
"Let me see those," he says. "Who did this? It must've been the other fellow in here who did this work." I've been in that dry cleaners' a thousand times. He's the only one I've ever seen working on shoes in there. "Hmmph." He goes off to work on the shoes.
The Indian woman hands me my dry cleaning. "Thanks very much," she says, with a big smile.
Today I went in to pick some stuff up. There were three people in front of me. The first was being served by the Indian lady who runs the dry cleaning bit, and it looked like she had a fairly complicated order. The Italian guy who repairs shoes started helping the next people in line; they were both women, and he greeted them each in turn with, "How can I help, angel?"
When it got to my turn, he said, "How can I help, mate?"
I said, "What, you're not gonna call me angel?" The Indian woman broke up laughing.
Italian guy leans over the counter, sees I'm wearing shorts, and exclaims, "Not with legs as hairy as that, mate! People would talk." The Indian woman laughs harder.
He tries to find all the items in my order, but has trouble. The Indian woman's free by this time, and shoos him away to do it right. While she serves me, another woman comes in with a pair of shoes. Italian guy leans over the counter.
"How can I help, Angel?"
"Hey!" I add, laughingly.
The woman looks at me, then back at Italian guy, confused. "Did you just call me Jill?" she says.
"No, dear; I called you angel. I'd have called you Jill if your name was Jill." The Indian woman just shakes her head.
The woman with the shoes still looks confused, but continues. "You repaired these for me the other day, but this piece you've added in is giving me terrible blisters. Can you do anything about that?"
"Let me see those," he says. "Who did this? It must've been the other fellow in here who did this work." I've been in that dry cleaners' a thousand times. He's the only one I've ever seen working on shoes in there. "Hmmph." He goes off to work on the shoes.
The Indian woman hands me my dry cleaning. "Thanks very much," she says, with a big smile.
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