Yesterday was a very busy day at work. The regular summer people are here now, and the big horse show is under way. This is frequented by the 1% of the 1% - not just run-of-the-mill rich people, but the uber-rich. These people fly their highly-pedigreed horses in from all over the country and all over the world, and then give each other tens of thousands of dollars for riding said horses around in circles and making them jump over sticks. Ten grand is pocket change to these people. They think nothing more of dropping $5000 on sheets than I would of buying a pack of gum. Less, probably.
Anyway - yesterday was busy. A $4000 sale, a massive special order for almost nine thousand dollars, other "smaller" sales in the $1000-$1500 range. It's all good for my commission, so I swallow my egalitarianism and paste on my customer-service smile and say have a good day.
But... I had a nightmare last night. Not my first nightmare about work, only the latest.
I was in the store, and a couple had bought a certain set of sheets, and then kept coming back for more pieces, one at a time, and unfolding them all, and piling them on the counter. The computer stopped working properly, and I had to figure discounts on the fly. The floor around my feet was littered with shams, plastic packages, scraps of cardboard. The counters were covered with boxes of this and that - business cards, promotional postcards, and just junk.
Then a couple came in with about 5 children, and the adults proceeded to ignore the kids (ranging in age from about 8 to about 14), who ran amok through the store, making noise, knocking things over. They all had rollerskates, and hit upon the idea of putting one of the expensive side chairs which we have on skates, and taking it out on the sidewalk. I was in the middle of folding up the crumpled shams the first couple kept handing me, when I saw these little blonde devils pushing the chair, with the youngest kid on it, out the door.
"Stop! Wait a minute! You can't do that!" I yelled as I sprinted for the door, but it was too late, and I saw the chair and the kid tumble down the concrete steps.
When I reached the scene, the kids were picking up their little brother, and all were laughing, and the chair lay shattered at the foot of the steps. "You just broke a thousand-dollar chair!" I said, but they laughed. Their father appeared, and I said the same thing to him. "That chair cost a thousand dollars, and you're going to have to pay for it."
"A thousand dollars?" he asked. "It doesn't look like it was worth that much."
"Well, that's the price the company put on it, and I can't just write it out of stock. You're going to have to pay for it."
I went back inside, where the mother, a trim, polished blonde, wearing a shocking-pink beaded blouse, was still shopping, oblivious to the carnage outside. "Your kids just broke a thousand-dollar chair, and I need your information so you can pay for it."
"Oh, okay," she said, still browsing.
"Let me get a paper so I can get your name and address." I went back to the cashwrap, where the first couple was still standing, waiting for their shams. I searched through the litter on the counter, looking for a functioning pen and an index card - notecard - scrap of paper - anything to write on. I finally found one, and went to find the couple with the vandalizing kids - and they were gone.
"They lied!" I shouter. "The stinking liars!"
Shaking with anger, I went back to the cashwrap, where the remains of the broken chair now mingled with the other stuff on the floor, and finally rang up the couple with the unfolded shams, and apologized to them for the delay. They were okay with it - patient or unaware - and left me with an unholy mess.
The thing is... though this was only a bad dream, it's not entirely impossible for it to happen - which makes it even scarier!
