Saturday, February 21, 2009

You Had Me at Vigilante

Our house is falling apart, and the latest thing to go is our kitchen sink. I came home on Wednesday to find Jeff sopping up two inches of standing water that had pooled below the pipes with the ShamWows I gave him for Christmas. This sent me into a kind of catatonic panic attack, as I had just come home from a very late and stressful day at work, so even though my loving husband was on his knees elbow-deep in mildew-y water, I screamed into a pillow and went to watch LOST in the living room, clutching a wine glass close to my breast (I use "breast" here to mean chest; I did not favor one particular boob. Just clarifying.)

Anyway, that leads me to the reason that I stayed home today waiting for the plumber to come (Jeff to me this morning: "It's your favorite kind of day!" Me: "Why?" Jeff: "Because you don't have to go outside." Sad, but true.) He was supposed to come between 12 and 4, but I got a voice message around 2 asking me to call the company, Vigilante Plumbing—a name suggesting that perhaps you shouldn't expect to know when they're coming for you. But I called, and a woman answered thusly:

"It's a wonderful day at Vigilante Plumbing. My name is Gwen. How can I make you smile?"

I didn't know how to tell her that simply hearing that sentence was more than enough. My God! She delivered it politely, without sarcasm or comic deadpan, and I know that with most plumbing places, you're lucky to get a grunt, but man. That poor woman. I will never understand why employers force their receptionists to follow a souped-up script. There are a lot of things that benefit from a little bit of flair, but "Hello" is not one of those things.

Also, that level of professionalism kind of cramps the vigilante style. I'm just saying.
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