Or: When Push Comes to Shove
When your business serves the general public you can expect every type of customer: courteous, surly, reasonable, demanding; the good, the bad and the ugly. Occasionally people even cross the line to be downright threatening. A few days ago we had an incident in the shop involving one of those.
The customer wanted some data transferred from an older Imac to a new laptop. Without any prompting whatsoever Norm (his real name) assumed two things: (1) the job was a simple task, and (2) it would be done same day, neither of which was correct. It was actually a pretty large task, and would therefore take some time to complete. And since Norm didn’t want to pay for priority service, either, that meant going to the back of the queue. Fair is fair. This was explained to him but he either ignored it, or it somehow didn’t register. Nevertheless, in the spirit of compromise I ordered a special adaptor that would shave some time off the process, with a projected delivery date two days hence.
The phone calls, about once every hour, started before the day was even over. By noon the following day, we had quit answering. Early the following afternoon, he showed up unannounced, demanding to know why his job had not yet been completed. When I tried to explain, in detail, he became abusive. Really abusive. You-rotten-lying-MF type abusive.
Norm was older, maybe around 75, but very large, probably six six, two seventy. When young he must have been formidable. I realized that he was one of those guys who had figured out early in life that he could used his bulk to intimidate others. He might even have made a career of it. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine him having once been an enforcer for a biker gang or some such. He was a classic bully and working it hard. His voice took on a unmistakably menacing tone.
But his glory days were long past, so the bully act wasn’t working as well as it once might have. Norm walked with a cane and moved slowly. Even in my diminished, post-surgical state I could have run rings around him. The intimidation routine was falling flat but he pressed on, undeterred.
I kept trying to reason with him, but he wasn’t in a mood for it. At some point Norm said something that went way over the line, and suddenly I was done. “Take your goddamn computer and get out of my shop you son of a bitch,” I seethed, red-hot yet icy.
He stared at me, unfazed, and began waving his cane around like a weapon. I moved back a couple of feet to get out of range. He then backed up to a heavy display case full of expensive laptops and started rocking it back and forth, clearly intending to push it over. I mentally girded for battle.
But around this time, Norm’s wife, who had been standing impassively off to one side, stepped in. She took him by the arm and began guiding him toward the door, her face bearing the expression of someone who had long since gotten used to it. He shook her off, turned back toward me, and made as though to smack me with his cane. I said something along the lines of “Just try it you [unpleasant person].” as Richard yelled: “GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT!”
Reluctantly, tugged along by his wife, he exited, issuing a stream of vague threats over his shoulder as he departed. And then, just like that, it was over.
I’m not an Alpha, but I carry the DNA of people who definitely were. And when things get sticky, that trait, normally submerged, becomes activated. I have little control over it. Punch the right button with sufficient vigor and I morph without warning into a genuine SOB; a seriously not-nice person prepared to do whatever seriously not-nice thing is necessary to end the situation. It’s not a trait I’m proud of, but in truth it’s a good one to have in a pinch, such as when someone threatens violence.
Ironically, had Norm just been patient for a little longer I could have solved his problem. The adaptor I ordered to finish the job arrived about ten minutes after he left.