Memory sticking it to the man

Earlier this week I reluctantly went to the camera fix ’em up store to drop my Precious off to be repaired, since repeated bangings on the table did not seem to be working.  I was reluctant not so much because of having to leave the camera there (because it is all kinds of broke, so it’s not like I was using it) (although dropping it off DOES suck) (especially when it is going to take them two weeks just to assess what’s wrong before they even start to repair it)(and then repairs can take up to 5-8 weeks)(which GAH I can’t even think about)(I’m not sure I can stop typing in parentheses now) but because the guy who owns the store is one curmudgeonly old sumbitch.  I have been by there before with smaller issues and have left feeling not so much like I’ve had a conversation as much as had a Very Stern Reprimanding for asking simple questions about, you know, CAMERAS. But he is close to my house, and having a broken camera was making me start to feel like I was missing an eyebrow or earlobes, or something like that. Not really crucial to functionality, but you know, NOTICEABLE.  The kicker for using him was that he offered me a loaner camera while he had mine in the shop, which was really enticing, since one of my kids was starting to take her first steps and was about to have her first birthday party. Which I might want documentation of.  Maybe you didn’t know, BUT –  I like to document things.

I spent some time steeling myself up for what was surely to be a challenging exchange of information, and by “steeling myself up”, I mean baraging L with a whole lot of reasons why that guy was not going to make me feel like a jackass this time, most of which included head waving and finger snapping and started with “and Ima tell you what ELSE…” I found this helpful. Not sure if L would agree.  So, appropriately moxied, I drove over to the store, hitched up the waistband of my pants and strode through the door.

Aaaaaand…..the anti-climax to that is that he had just undergone gallbladder surgery the week before, and maybe I wasn’t in med school long enough to learn about this, but I think the gallbladder may be where all the Curmudgeonly Toxins are stored because he was as meek and mild mannered as a grandma as he located a replacement camera for me, chatting like a normal even-tempered non-asshole person would.  Hopefully, since I still have my gallbladder, all my extra unused Moxie went there and is awaiting my next confrontational moment.  However, on the customer side of the counter sat a large older man dressed in a flannel shirt and trucker hat, obviously friends with the owner and familiar with his usual stool at the….camera repair shop (?). He gave me a nice long disturbing once over and then attempted to chat me up while the owner went to get a memory card for my loaner. When the owner returned with the card he slipped it in the camera to check to see if there were any pictures left on it, and Camera Shop Counter Creep chuckled and leaned over to me conspiratorially and said, “He’s deletin’ all the Gay Pride pictures offa there. Heh heh.”  Which I guess he thought was funny? Because it’s hilarious to infer that someone might have pictures of a joyful and celebratory occasion on their camera?

It turns out my gallbladder is working just fine, because I looked at him as innocent and doe eyed as a lamb and said, “Oh, so that camera is YOURS? Happy Pride Weekend!”  And then me, my camera and my rainbow colored memory stick walked out the front door.

5 comments

1 alianora { 10.30.09 at 7:48 pm }

..you might just be my hero. Seriously.

2 Elizabeth Hartman { 10.30.09 at 8:14 pm }

Your comment to him was so full of WIN. :-)

3 Carol { 10.30.09 at 9:17 pm }

Get ‘um, girl!

4 Leeann { 10.31.09 at 11:02 am }

ROCK ON.

5 Sara P { 11.01.09 at 9:08 pm }

You rock my world Rachel!

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