I went to Bunnings today....something I try hard to avoid. It's one of those places that men frequent...(no, I don't mean one of THOSE places)... but a place where they congregate....where they spend hours in silence, looking.....looking....touching.....looking. Time has no meaning.
As I write I am reminded of a newspaper article of a few days ago, where Bunnings had been compared to the equivalent of Zen for men, in that once inside the store, they tend to enter a trancelike state for several hours, then find themselves on their way home accompanied by some purchase they had no recollection of making and have no intention of using, even if they knew how it worked.
However.....I digress. I needed to make a purchase, and Bunnings was the place I had seen it advertised....so there I was about to enter this vast interior and mingle with the crowd.
Not for me the aimless wandering....I knew exactly what I wanted. My problem was how to find it without a GPS, compass or similar device. Why didn't I ask the male door attendant who looked at least sixteen years old, you might ask....and well you might....and I would gladly have done that except I was having one of those moments common to women of my age.... I couldn't remember the name of the thingamejig.
So off I went at a brisk pace....down, around, across, up, back......looking....looking....trying to find the thing with a name that was on the tip of my tongue!
Finally a young woman, dressed in the red and green of a Bunnings uniform jumped out at me from one of the aisles I had been up and down several times, and said "You look as if you need some help" ....and of course I did. I told her my sad tale!
She whipped out an enormous catalog conveniently stored on her person, and we proceeded to scan the pages, and in next to no time we had found the very item of discontent. I was impressed....but not only that, she then escorted me to the very spot where this item resided, lifted it from the high shelf and began to extoll its virtues....how easy it was to assemble, and how she had bought the very same one for herself two years ago and it was still going strong......but she did recommend that when I assembled it, I should reinforce the back to make it stronger....a piece of pine was needed she said....so off we went again, trekking miles across the store to find a piece of timber the correct size for the job!
("Upselling" I thought to myself, then had a moment's remorse when I found it was only to cost me $1.10 )
She selected a piece from the barrel, examined it, then put it back, carefully chose another, examined it again..."knot holes"...she volunteered, then finally settled on one after she had looked down its length to see whether it was "true". "This should do the trick" she said and handed it to me with a smile.
I liked this young woman, not only for rescuing me from my situation, but for thinking that I could indeed assemble the said item MYSELF. I didn't have the heart to tell her I would be paying a handyman to do the job.
I asked her name - "Jenny " she said....pointing to the prominent tag on her uniform "I'm Jenny"
And "Yes" Jenny...I'm going to give it a go myself tomorrow.
You were a breath of fresh air !