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This happened yesterday night I got to work midshift in the frame shop, instead of either opening or closing, for once.
A woman, her son, and her mom came in. They were getting 'The Last Supper' framed, for their house, despite the woman admitting to not knowing any story about the picture.
I keep religion out of these things, but seriously, why get that framed if you don't know about it? If you do, it's depressing.
Problem 1: lady didn't care, accept to offer approval or disapproval. Not unkindly, mind you, but her mother was doing the work, and just did not understand the concept of a mat.
I Her daughter had to grind it into her head that the demos we used are not the actual mat.
Examples:
You do not have to stick with the four inches of mat. You can go larger or smaller.
If you go larger, there is more mat. There is not a gap between the frame and mat.
If you go smaller, the mat is not just hidden behind the frame. it is cut down.
No, we do not cut off that white border--the mat just covers it.
And, my personal favorite: the demos mats we have are about six inches to a side. I had to explain to the lady, no less than four times, that those are only demo corners. The actual mat is a large, solid piece that goes all the way around. Not just four corners.
Seriously, we have complete demo pieces hanging right there, Sherlock.
Problem 2: The child.
A boy. I'm guessing fifth or sixth grade. Old enough to know how he should act in a store.
Sub-problem A: This kid is bipolar or something.
When he's sitting still, he's staring at me. Not an "I'm curious, because I've never seen hair that's left uncut until it's one your shoulders and a beard worn together" curiosity that I'm used to and comfortable with, it's the "I have a bowel of Sugar-O's and Pokemon is on," 'Saturday morning TV' stare.
When he's not trying to bore that grey-eyed deadpan into the depths of my skull, he's fidgeting. There's no medium between 'OMGWTF-stare' and 'ohhh, what does this button do' activity. And the ladies aren't doing anything about it.
Seriously, juggling the print weights (dense leather or cotton bags of beads), sliding mat demos across their piece,, pulling the cornermost frame demos off the wall and studying them, even playing spaceship with the glass demo.
No, not the shadowbox with something in it that sold thousands of dollars of the glass you can't see except for the floating fingerprints. Not the demo piece with all three glasses side-by-side that corporate took away because it includes glass they don't want us selling right now.
No, this glass demo is an eight-by-ten piece of the invisible glass, kept safe only by tape wrapped over the edges. And he's zooming it around.
Normally, I wouldn't mind the fidgeting so much if it weren't for...
Sub-problem B: the child is sick.
Not the perpetual runny nose of elementary-school children. Full-on sick.
Runny nose. Mild phlegmy cough. Red nose. Glazed forehead. Red, baggy, swollen eyes. It's so bad his minor extremities (fingers, obviously) were pale and the rest of his skin was splotchy.
I wish I was exageratting, the slightest bit. He should have been in bed, and subsequently into an induced coma via Nyquil.
And his mother actually asks him how school went that day
And the whole time this kid is staring at me, and we catch each other's eyes, and I hide my cringe, I'm silently begging this woman to please, for the love of whatever deity deems fit to watch over your barely-sentient soul, take your little plaguebearer out of my store, and prevent him from touching the handful of items that have yet to be subjected to his spreading patina of pestilence.
Now, all today, I've been exhausted and every joint in my body aches.
I hate retail.
A woman, her son, and her mom came in. They were getting 'The Last Supper' framed, for their house, despite the woman admitting to not knowing any story about the picture.
I keep religion out of these things, but seriously, why get that framed if you don't know about it? If you do, it's depressing.
Problem 1: lady didn't care, accept to offer approval or disapproval. Not unkindly, mind you, but her mother was doing the work, and just did not understand the concept of a mat.
I Her daughter had to grind it into her head that the demos we used are not the actual mat.
Examples:
You do not have to stick with the four inches of mat. You can go larger or smaller.
If you go larger, there is more mat. There is not a gap between the frame and mat.
If you go smaller, the mat is not just hidden behind the frame. it is cut down.
No, we do not cut off that white border--the mat just covers it.
And, my personal favorite: the demos mats we have are about six inches to a side. I had to explain to the lady, no less than four times, that those are only demo corners. The actual mat is a large, solid piece that goes all the way around. Not just four corners.
Seriously, we have complete demo pieces hanging right there, Sherlock.
Problem 2: The child.
A boy. I'm guessing fifth or sixth grade. Old enough to know how he should act in a store.
Sub-problem A: This kid is bipolar or something.
When he's sitting still, he's staring at me. Not an "I'm curious, because I've never seen hair that's left uncut until it's one your shoulders and a beard worn together" curiosity that I'm used to and comfortable with, it's the "I have a bowel of Sugar-O's and Pokemon is on," 'Saturday morning TV' stare.
When he's not trying to bore that grey-eyed deadpan into the depths of my skull, he's fidgeting. There's no medium between 'OMGWTF-stare' and 'ohhh, what does this button do' activity. And the ladies aren't doing anything about it.
Seriously, juggling the print weights (dense leather or cotton bags of beads), sliding mat demos across their piece,, pulling the cornermost frame demos off the wall and studying them, even playing spaceship with the glass demo.
No, not the shadowbox with something in it that sold thousands of dollars of the glass you can't see except for the floating fingerprints. Not the demo piece with all three glasses side-by-side that corporate took away because it includes glass they don't want us selling right now.
No, this glass demo is an eight-by-ten piece of the invisible glass, kept safe only by tape wrapped over the edges. And he's zooming it around.
Normally, I wouldn't mind the fidgeting so much if it weren't for...
Sub-problem B: the child is sick.
Not the perpetual runny nose of elementary-school children. Full-on sick.
Runny nose. Mild phlegmy cough. Red nose. Glazed forehead. Red, baggy, swollen eyes. It's so bad his minor extremities (fingers, obviously) were pale and the rest of his skin was splotchy.
I wish I was exageratting, the slightest bit. He should have been in bed, and subsequently into an induced coma via Nyquil.
And his mother actually asks him how school went that day
And the whole time this kid is staring at me, and we catch each other's eyes, and I hide my cringe, I'm silently begging this woman to please, for the love of whatever deity deems fit to watch over your barely-sentient soul, take your little plaguebearer out of my store, and prevent him from touching the handful of items that have yet to be subjected to his spreading patina of pestilence.
Now, all today, I've been exhausted and every joint in my body aches.
I hate retail.
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