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The following is a true story. No embellishments were made, because none were necessary. I hate the saw.
"Ah, sundays..." I thought, as I approached the main service desk in preparation for my break. It had been a long day, and I was covered in drywall dust and wood shavings from the flurry of customers crashing into the store like waves of fast zombies out of some obscene zombie ocean. Turns out that, as usual, most of these customers had in fact put off their "to do list" of home projects for the entire weekend, and were now filled with the urgent frustration of a thousand dungworms finally realizing what their name in fact implied.
"Break time?" inquired my trusty coworker, halfway between words with a customer of his own. Flipping him an exaggerated grin, I nodded the affirmative and started to reach into my pocket for my package of smokes. It was definitely time for a dart. Then, the world came crashing down around me. At first I couldn't believe my ears; it must be some kind of flashback to bad customers that, like a resevoire of LSD in my spinal cord, is causing this feeling. But then, I heard it again:
"Lumber associate to the saw for customer service! Repeat, a Lumber associate to the saw for customer service!" It came booming over the loudspeakers again, the sickly sweet female voice disguising the darkness that was a visit to the saw. Sighing, I turned on my heel and-accepting that I would probably lose my entire break to the evil power of the saw-walked back to the cutting center. There, standing at the panel saw with contempt in his voice and malice in his eyes, was my soon to be tormentor. The words he greeted me with betrayed his ultimate feelings to me, setting the stage for what was to come.
"Ah, whats this! You're awfully young to know how to run one of these aren't ya boy?" he sneered in a thick east european accent.
"I'm 21 sir, and I've been using this saw, or a saw similar to this for over five years. Now, what are the dimensions you need this plywood cut to?" I responded, my pleasant smile masking the frustration I was already beginning to feel with this ageist.
"12 by 12." the ageist replied, using his hands to draw the shape of a square on the plywood, just in case my foolish young mind thought that 12x12 implied anything else. I started to pick up the plywood, 5/8 thick, when he slammed it back down out of my hands.
"You can't possibly pick that up on your own! Get somebody else!" he exclaimed with a look of horror that I would attempt such suicide. I shrugged, and then lifted the plywood up over my head and set it down on the upright panel saw. I adjusted the settings, set it to cut a 12 inch strip to start, and punched in the code. Hitting the on switch, the saw roared to life, the blade beginning to cut down the wood with ease.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" I heard a voice yell behind me, just audible over the saw. Suddenly, something grabbed my arm, yanking on it hard while I still held the saw with it. Turning off the blade, I turned to face the man.
"I'm cutting your lumber for you. You said 12x12. This is a 12inch strip, which i will then cut into 12 inch squares for you." I said, gritting my teeth and trying to remain calm, even though the man had just invaded my personal space and committed a safety violation which I could easily be fired for.
"NO! I said 12 by 12! As in two pieces 12 inches by 8 feet!! Oh my god, how could you do this! What will I do now!" the man cried out, reaching towards the heavens for salvation.
"Sir, you distinctly told me 12x12. In the world of carpentry, that means 12 inches by 12 inches. If you wanted 12x8', thats what you should have said. I'll get you a new piece of plywood and cut it for you, but you need to calm down."
"You just need to admit you don't know how to work that saw" My eyes narrowed, and I immediately walked away to get a replacement board for him. When I returned, I set it on the saw, and made the cuts. I turned off the saw.
"There you go. TWELVE BY EIGHT. Two pieces even. Have a good weekend." I said, trying to maintain a calm in my voice that really, was not there.
"I'm still waiting" was his reply. Now realizing that this was not going to end well regardless, I turned to him.
"Sir, I will not say I don't know how to use the saw. I am very well trained on it, and I in fact am very seldom off by even a 16th of an inch in my cuts. I cut the initial board to the dimensions you YOURSELF told me to cut it to. Because you do not understand how to describe what you want cut, and yet expect me to take responsibility for YOUR MISTAKE, I am done working with you. You will not be charged for the initial board, and you have your cuts done. Please leave, and don't ever expect me to say I don't know how to run this saw." With that, I turned to leave the cutting center and finally take my break. But the path was blocked. Blocked by ten more customers, all demanding their lumber be cut.
Hollywood Horror has nothing on big box retail.
"Ah, sundays..." I thought, as I approached the main service desk in preparation for my break. It had been a long day, and I was covered in drywall dust and wood shavings from the flurry of customers crashing into the store like waves of fast zombies out of some obscene zombie ocean. Turns out that, as usual, most of these customers had in fact put off their "to do list" of home projects for the entire weekend, and were now filled with the urgent frustration of a thousand dungworms finally realizing what their name in fact implied.
"Break time?" inquired my trusty coworker, halfway between words with a customer of his own. Flipping him an exaggerated grin, I nodded the affirmative and started to reach into my pocket for my package of smokes. It was definitely time for a dart. Then, the world came crashing down around me. At first I couldn't believe my ears; it must be some kind of flashback to bad customers that, like a resevoire of LSD in my spinal cord, is causing this feeling. But then, I heard it again:
"Lumber associate to the saw for customer service! Repeat, a Lumber associate to the saw for customer service!" It came booming over the loudspeakers again, the sickly sweet female voice disguising the darkness that was a visit to the saw. Sighing, I turned on my heel and-accepting that I would probably lose my entire break to the evil power of the saw-walked back to the cutting center. There, standing at the panel saw with contempt in his voice and malice in his eyes, was my soon to be tormentor. The words he greeted me with betrayed his ultimate feelings to me, setting the stage for what was to come.
"Ah, whats this! You're awfully young to know how to run one of these aren't ya boy?" he sneered in a thick east european accent.
"I'm 21 sir, and I've been using this saw, or a saw similar to this for over five years. Now, what are the dimensions you need this plywood cut to?" I responded, my pleasant smile masking the frustration I was already beginning to feel with this ageist.
"12 by 12." the ageist replied, using his hands to draw the shape of a square on the plywood, just in case my foolish young mind thought that 12x12 implied anything else. I started to pick up the plywood, 5/8 thick, when he slammed it back down out of my hands.
"You can't possibly pick that up on your own! Get somebody else!" he exclaimed with a look of horror that I would attempt such suicide. I shrugged, and then lifted the plywood up over my head and set it down on the upright panel saw. I adjusted the settings, set it to cut a 12 inch strip to start, and punched in the code. Hitting the on switch, the saw roared to life, the blade beginning to cut down the wood with ease.
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!" I heard a voice yell behind me, just audible over the saw. Suddenly, something grabbed my arm, yanking on it hard while I still held the saw with it. Turning off the blade, I turned to face the man.
"I'm cutting your lumber for you. You said 12x12. This is a 12inch strip, which i will then cut into 12 inch squares for you." I said, gritting my teeth and trying to remain calm, even though the man had just invaded my personal space and committed a safety violation which I could easily be fired for.
"NO! I said 12 by 12! As in two pieces 12 inches by 8 feet!! Oh my god, how could you do this! What will I do now!" the man cried out, reaching towards the heavens for salvation.
"Sir, you distinctly told me 12x12. In the world of carpentry, that means 12 inches by 12 inches. If you wanted 12x8', thats what you should have said. I'll get you a new piece of plywood and cut it for you, but you need to calm down."
"You just need to admit you don't know how to work that saw" My eyes narrowed, and I immediately walked away to get a replacement board for him. When I returned, I set it on the saw, and made the cuts. I turned off the saw.
"There you go. TWELVE BY EIGHT. Two pieces even. Have a good weekend." I said, trying to maintain a calm in my voice that really, was not there.
"I'm still waiting" was his reply. Now realizing that this was not going to end well regardless, I turned to him.
"Sir, I will not say I don't know how to use the saw. I am very well trained on it, and I in fact am very seldom off by even a 16th of an inch in my cuts. I cut the initial board to the dimensions you YOURSELF told me to cut it to. Because you do not understand how to describe what you want cut, and yet expect me to take responsibility for YOUR MISTAKE, I am done working with you. You will not be charged for the initial board, and you have your cuts done. Please leave, and don't ever expect me to say I don't know how to run this saw." With that, I turned to leave the cutting center and finally take my break. But the path was blocked. Blocked by ten more customers, all demanding their lumber be cut.
Hollywood Horror has nothing on big box retail.
Good times.
"What are YOU doing?! You nearly yanked my arm out of the socket while I was running a power saw!!!" 
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