*Facepalm*

In order to protect the guilty (and unbelievable), I will omit the name of the store where this happened…

For Christmas I decided to make a photo album for someone as a gift. I know, I know, printed pictures are outdated. But for this person, it’s the best way. So anyway, I spent several days filtering though all of the pictures on my phone and uploading them online to have them printed. My grand total was nearly 150 pictures spanning back about 18 months. I had no idea it’d be so many, but nonetheless, I thought they were all good choices and submitted them to have them printed.

Taking into account that they’d be ready on Christmas Eve, I took a deep breath and planned my day accordingly.

First step, call the store and ask what time they’ll close so I know when I need to be there.

*ring, ring*

“This is blah, blah, what do you need?”

Lovely greeting. “Yes, I’d like to know what time–”

“Doors close at 7 o’clock.”

“What about the photo lab?” I know this might sound like a stupid question, but what if it closes earlier? Some stores are 24/7 but their pharmacy and photo lab closes sooner so to me it seemed like a legit question.

WRONG.

“Lady, the whole store closes at 7 p.m. That means everything!”

Well, alrighty then.

After thanking her as nicely as I could, I hung up the phone and decided I’d swing by there before going to my father-in-law’s for lunch just in case the photo area did close sooner.

I go in with the expectation of collecting my pictures and I leave in a state of utter disbelief.

The lady in front of me pays for her order and the guy behind the counter decides as soon as she’s done checking out, that he’s done, too. He sees me, but he wanders off to go chew the fat with the two other lab techs about their Christmas plans.

So I do what any mature woman of my age would do: seethe.

Behind me, the lady in line says, “It must be nice to be paid to chat about Christmas plans while the line builds.”

Trying not to laugh, I jokingly parried with, “Think they’d notice if we jumped the counter and found our own prints?”

This seemed to grab the attention of one of the two ladies who were chatting with our wayward clerk. She lumbers on over and asks my name. I give it.

Humming, Santa Claus is Coming to Town, this woman who can’t be less than 50 years old starts digging through the drawer of photos–grunting every couple of bars.

“What’d you say your name is again?”

“Rose Gordon.”

“Can you spell that?”

“G-O-R-D-O-N.”

“And Rose?”

Seriously?! Straining to keep a straight face, I spell it.

“Not seeing them…” She looks up and taps her lips with her finger. “Do you have any other names?”

“No…” Well sure, there’s my maiden name, but what reason would I have had to have used that at the photo lab?

“Hmmm…” She digs through the files a little more. “I don’t see it.  When was it supposed to be ready?”

I tell her and she can’t believe anything would be ready on Christmas Eve (yes, because they’re all closed up…). So I dig out my phone and bring up my confirmation email. After LICKING HER FINGER, she starts scrolling on my phone. “Hmmm. Well, they should be here, then.” She went back to the drawer and started looking again. “Aha, we have a Louisa Gordon. Could these be yours?”

“Um, no.”

“Well, do you want to look at them to make sure?”

“Not really.”

Slamming the packet of pictures on the counter, she says, “Well, lady, all I have is Louisa Gordon’s pictures. So you can either buy these and go home now or you’ll need to resubmit.”

Stupefied that this lady wanted me to BUY someone else’s pictures, I left the store.

People never cease to amaze me.

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