I live in a small town. (Around thirty thousand inhabitants.)
I was reminded of that fact yesterday when WR and I stopped at a business that provides cleanup services for homes and businesses. They hire out teams to mop up after small fires, sewage spills, floods, and other major messes of your choice. In addition to renting out their staff, they have a small store front in which they display and sell a limited amount of janitorial supplies to others who "clean" for a living.
My quest for a real ostrich feather duster was why I ventured there. I had used my daughter Karmyn's feather duster (while helping her after her surgeries) and thought it made dusting less excruciating . There was something kind of French Maidy about it.
Dusting is my least favorite chore, so I won't say I was excited about finding them on display. I will say, however, that I was pleased there were several choices and they were in my price range. I chose one and we set it on the counter.
When WR pulled out the debit card, the middle aged woman behind the counter smiled and said, "Sorry, we only take cash or check."
He rummaged through his pockets and found nothing. I shook my head and squinched my lips declaring that I didn't have any cash on me, either. We rarely carry the check book.
"We will come back later," I sighed and attempted to appear a little sad, of course.
"Oh No!" Was her immediate response. "You go ahead and take it and I will just send you a bill. What is your address?"
We told her we didn't want her to have to mail out a bill for a feather duster and that we truly could wait for another day.
She then handed me the feather duster and laughed, "You just take it. Come back and pay for it when you can. Give me your name and your telephone number and I will call you if you forget!"
So I took it. Oui! I now own my very own real ostrich feather duster.
(And I went back later and paid for it, too.)
1982 Again and The Big Sort
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