2004-12-31 - 1:03 p.m.
I hate stupid, ignorant people.
HATE.
This man came in this morning, his truck covered in mud. The grime and dirt was obscuring the entire vehicle. He had taken the truck off roading, and now wanted to paint it, fixing any scratches or dents. That were obscured by all the mud, grime and dirt. I told him no problem; let me have my detailer rinse the truck off so we could see what we were dealing with. He refused. Just wanted a �ball park�. I told him that I couldn�t see anything wrong with the paint right now, and that in order to even give him Lindquist Field (our local AA stadium) vs Yankee Stadium I would need to see the finish and for that it needed to be clean. It�s a free car wash and will only take a few minutes. He again told me it wasn�t necessary and to just give him a price. I couldn�t believe it. It�s a 1988 Ford Pickup, there�s rust, dents, and scratches from all his off roading under there and he refused to let me wash off the mud so we could see the surface. He was PROUD of the mud. PROUD, people. He wanted everyone to see that his small penis compensator had been rolling around in the hills, most likely illegally and wasn�t that special.
HATE.
He left angry, that I wouldn�t give him an estimate. He griped about my customer service skills and said he had a lot of friends (which I doubt, he had bad skin and his months growth of beard was barely fuzz) who he would not be sending my way. I hope he tells this story to some large group of jackass� who will think themselves that the whole situation is as ridiculous as I do. Or maybe he�ll be driving home tonight, slightly intoxicated on 3.2% Beer, driving like an ass on the 1 to 3 inches of snow expected to accumulate tonight when he will hit an ice patch, wipe out himself (and maybe a certain family that resides in Davis County whom I also loathe) and thereby saving everyone. And then I think, no, that�s really not the way to start out 2005, wishing death and destruction on people that are just pathetically stupid. And so my middle class, catholic guilt jumps in and ruins any sort of guilty pleasure conjured up by the image of his truck burning, the mud turning to clay on the doors and bedside as he lies there, gasping his last breath.
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