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Wow. Just wow. So it's a Sunday afternoon a few weeks ago. I'm the only person in like the entire top half of the store. (Hardware, Plumbing, Electric, and some of Paint and Lumber. Yikes.) I'm at the Key Counter. I've got one hell of a line.
This lady is a landlord. She wants two new copies for every apartment door in the building. She actually seriously wanted fifty keys. Wow.
So after about an hour and ten minutes, I finish; sweat dripping off my brow, my arms looking like shiny metal porcupines, a funny smell coming from the key machine, and about a dozen new gossiping customers later, I turn around to haul the bag of keys up to the lady, and get a glimpse of just how many people I have yet to serve. Wow...
The next lady wants eight keys. Okay, I can do eight keys. Takes five or six minutes. People behind her start to whine. Nobody stops them of course.
Next person wants 10 keys. The key machine is making funny noises at this point. I really want to stop, because I don't want the sawblade spinning off of its holder and cutting something off. X x. There is definitely an acrid smell coming from it.
Next person (Last person, luckily) is a cool guy in dark clothing with a peaceful expression on his face. He's definitely been there a while. He wants seven keys, and they're the very hardest kind to make. I'm somewhat delirious at this point from standing and concentrating for very nearly two hours in one spot so close to a melting key machine.
When I'm done, I stagger back to the hardware counter and present his keys to him with an ungraceful flourish, exhaling and panting, brushing an uncomfortably large amount of slivers off of my arms and vest and neck and cheeks and torso and who knows what else.
The guy has cash in his hands. Most do; they think they pay right there at the counter, when there is no register visible. I thank him and tell him there's no register.
"No, this is for you."
... what? ... w..why; are you serious?
"Look at all the keys you just made... That's no small accomplishment. You definitely deserve this."
I was touched. I was floored. ... I was semi-unconscious. But I was floored. I claimed my eternally grateful nature to be exposed towards him, and made some smalltalk while showing him that all the keys were flawless, (Luckily, they were indeed so. For him, nothing but the best.) and we wished each other well and he went to go check out and I went to go into the bathroom to relieve myself and see someone stuffing a bunch of nails from a baggie into his pocket. Yay.
This lady is a landlord. She wants two new copies for every apartment door in the building. She actually seriously wanted fifty keys. Wow.
So after about an hour and ten minutes, I finish; sweat dripping off my brow, my arms looking like shiny metal porcupines, a funny smell coming from the key machine, and about a dozen new gossiping customers later, I turn around to haul the bag of keys up to the lady, and get a glimpse of just how many people I have yet to serve. Wow...
The next lady wants eight keys. Okay, I can do eight keys. Takes five or six minutes. People behind her start to whine. Nobody stops them of course.
Next person wants 10 keys. The key machine is making funny noises at this point. I really want to stop, because I don't want the sawblade spinning off of its holder and cutting something off. X x. There is definitely an acrid smell coming from it.
Next person (Last person, luckily) is a cool guy in dark clothing with a peaceful expression on his face. He's definitely been there a while. He wants seven keys, and they're the very hardest kind to make. I'm somewhat delirious at this point from standing and concentrating for very nearly two hours in one spot so close to a melting key machine.
When I'm done, I stagger back to the hardware counter and present his keys to him with an ungraceful flourish, exhaling and panting, brushing an uncomfortably large amount of slivers off of my arms and vest and neck and cheeks and torso and who knows what else.
The guy has cash in his hands. Most do; they think they pay right there at the counter, when there is no register visible. I thank him and tell him there's no register.
"No, this is for you."
... what? ... w..why; are you serious?
"Look at all the keys you just made... That's no small accomplishment. You definitely deserve this."
I was touched. I was floored. ... I was semi-unconscious. But I was floored. I claimed my eternally grateful nature to be exposed towards him, and made some smalltalk while showing him that all the keys were flawless, (Luckily, they were indeed so. For him, nothing but the best.) and we wished each other well and he went to go check out and I went to go into the bathroom to relieve myself and see someone stuffing a bunch of nails from a baggie into his pocket. Yay.
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