Last week was the first time in our new house that we had several major and consecutive snowfalls. There was so much snow that we were a bit at a loss where to put it all. I quickly discovered that my boots just weren’t cutting it…my feet were warm, but my ankles were freezing (and my pants soaked) as the tall snow drifts just drifted right in. My mission was clear: get taller boots.
I did some research, narrowed it down to a few brands, and found a store that carried them all. At my first opportunity, I made my way there….only to wait. And wait. And wait for someone to serve me. When I finally did get served, the service was lousy. Of the two pairs of boots I’d asked to try on, the salesgirl brought me one completely random pair, and the other I wanted, well…the colours didn’t match…I tried them on anyway. I liked the fit, and if she’d have just come to see how I was doing, I was ready to buy them…provided she got me a matching pair.
So I put my own boots back on, and waited…Where was my salesgirl? She’d completely disappeared. After a few minutes of wondering and looking for her, I said “f**k it” and walked out of the store.
And right there is how I resemble my dad: not only by concluding that my time is important and that I deserve to be well-served as a customer, but by insisting on it….and (this is key) by walking out when the store didn’t deliver.
I went two doors down to another store, walked in and was immediately served by a friendly, smiling and attentive salesgirl. She was helpful, full of suggestions on fit, comfort and function…and (you know where this is going) I bought my boots from her!
Here’s what I got:
Sorel’s Cate the Great0