plonq | Did you say cyanide?

Background: some years back I worked as a warehouseman/part-time swamper for a furniture manufacturer and retail outlet.

In the latter time that I worked there, the store expanded considerably and moved away from selling our own expensive, quality merchandise to concentrate on inexpensive ~~crap~~ ~~junk~~ high-volume (and high-markup) consumer furniture. Part of my job in those days was prepping the deliveries, which included bringing them down from the sales floor and wrapping them in plastic, unpacking them from boxes and checking them for damage, and Scotchguarding the upholstery if the customer had paid for that.

Heh. My experiences there have made me check furniture over very carefully before I buy it (but that falls more into the "retailers_suck" category).

I was prepping one morning when I noticed that one of the invoices bore the instructions, "Contact customer before applying Scotchguard." I noticed that they had already paid for it, so I found that a bit puzzling. I tracked down the salesman who had written up the invoice and he explained that customer wanted to watch us apply the Scotchguard.

Me: Why?
Salesman: To make sure that we apply enough. The guy's a total nit-picking asshole. I'm glad I don't have to deal with him any more. He's convinced that we're trying to rip him off.

Rip him off? Maybe I might think the same thing if I was a customer, but I can assure you that if there was one thing I did not do, it was skimp on Scotchguard. I knew how much we charged for it versus how much we paid for it. When I sprayed Scotchguard on a sofa, it could double as a glue-trap. By the time I was done with them the cushions did more than just repel water, they could serve as impermeable flotation devices. To have a customer indirectly accuse me of trying to rip him off left me intractably miffed.

His sofa was scheduled for delivery that afternoon, so the shipper called the guy and told him to come on down that morning so that he could witness the spraying of his furniture. If this customer wanted a show, we'd give him a show. I employed the assistance of my little brother (who was also working there at the time) and another of the warehousemen. We prepared a bit before he actually got there by tracking down every bit of safety equipment that we had on hand. At the appointed time, the salesman led the customer down to the shipping area where we had his sofa and chair strategically placed near the large, warehouse doors.

Me = Me
PC = Picky Customer

Me: Ah, you're here to watch us spray your furniture. [Hits button to open main warehouse door].
PC: Yes. Will this take long?
Me: Not long, no. [Motions to co-worker, who helps me to carry the furniture outside onto the sidewalk.]
PC: Um, why are you taking it outside? Is that really necessary?
Me: You don't want to breathe the fumes from this stuff. Pretty nasty.

On queue, my brother emerges from the shipping office wearing boots, elbow-length industrial gloves, coveralls, safety goggles and a gas mask. In his left hand is an industrial canister of Scotchguard, and in his right hand is the application wand held at ready. The customer does a double-take at all of the protective gear.

PC: My God, that's a lot of gear. What's in this stuff?
Me: [I have no idea, but try to come up with something that sounds plausible.] Tetraflouromethylinecyanide. It repels water.
PC: Oh. [A beat.] Wait, did you say cyanide?
Me: [Did I? Whatever.] Well, a cyanide compound. It's mostly inert once it dries.
PC: [With a hint of alarm in his voice now.] Is this stuff safe?
Me: [Calculatedly casual.] Oh ya, once it dries. We couldn't sell it if it wasn't.
PC: Well... um... [He's watching with morbid fascination as my brother literally saturates his sofa in this "Tetraflouromethylinecyanide" compound.]
Me: Do you have any pets or kids?
PC: [At first I think that he didn't hear me.] Oh. Uh, yes. I have two kids.
Me: You might want to keep them off of this for a day or two until it's properly set.
PC: [Say, is he starting to look a bit pallid?] Thanks! Uh, I will. Thanks.

At this point he suddenly lost interest in the process and wandered back upstairs to the showroom area. It's probably just as well because I'd have felt guilty if I'd strung him along any more. I wouldn't exactly call what we did a moral victory but damn, it felt good.