Well, you look like a yuppie, but I wasn't going to judge you.
I have an end-unit townhouse; it comes with a small front, side, and back yard. I did not buy a single home, as I like gardening, but did not want to spend every weekend elbow deep in dirt and weeds with a full-size yard. And initially, this worked well for me. It took a couple hours to mow/weed/plant the yard, and it looked nice and well-kept. My little bit of gardening proved to be a nice stress reliever, and the bright pops of colors in my yard from the variety of perennials and annuals were a cheerful welcome home. I had always loved the book The Secret Garden as a child, and having my small bit of earth as Mary had made me very happy.
Enter the asshole with the car. Said asshole threw his car into reverse, floored it, t-boned me in a parking lot, and nearly rolled my vehicle. So, now I've had back surgery, neck surgery, and so much PT that I could probably open my own school and teach classes on the subject. And also? I can no longer do my own yard work. My yard now has been overrun with weeds, and hasn't been planted with any perennials/annuals in over a year. It is, in fact, more brown than green and quite bleak.
In an effort to remedy this sad state of affairs, I decide to hire a yard service. I look on Angie's List. I pick the three highest rated companies. Company One comes out today to give me an estimate. Guy pops out of his Lexus (and okay, you play in the dirt for a living, and you show up in a Lexus?) in his polo shirt and khakis, not a hair out of place, and wrinkles his nose at my small, weed-infested yard. "We don't normally work with yards this small," is his greeting.
Well, hello to you as well, Alex P. Keaton. "I did tell the lady I spoke to at your office that I had a town house; she said it was no problem."
At this point, he blatantly looks me up and down. Checks me out like we're in some singles bar and he's deciding if it's worth his while to take me home. "I'm kind of surprised I'm here, actually. You look pretty healthy; a yard this size, I don't know why you can't take care of it yourself."
I'm stunned. And I admit, I do have a bit of a complex with my injuries. I HATE that I can't do all the things I used to do, and I HATE having to ask for help. But to have a total stranger, someone who is paid to provide a service for which I am trying to hire them, show up and essentially call me lazy? That was a slap in the face I didn't need. My first instinct was to tear him a new one in my front yard.
But I am a lady, dammit. Or at least my mama raised me to be one. So I took a deep breath, smiled as pleasantly as I could, and replied. "Well, I have to admit I was rather surprised to see someone from a yard care company step out of a Lexus, but I've always found it best not to judge people by their appearances. However, since my yard is too small for your company to care for, I certainly won't waste any more of your time. Thanks so much for coming out."
Then I turned, went in the house, and closed the door. He rang the bell, but I was already on the phone, calling his office, and explaining to the nice lady I had spoken to there why I wouldn't be using their company. And I told her I felt very badly that I was going to have to give her company a negative review on Angie's List, but that I would certainly point out how kind and helpful she had been, even if her co-worker was a pompous, judgmental, arrogant douche of the first order. Then I thanked her politely for her time, and hung up.
Now I'm trying to write up my experience for Angie's list without including any profanity, as that would be bad. I think my review is going to have to wait a few days. In the mean time, there are still two more companies who owe me estimates. . .
Enter the asshole with the car. Said asshole threw his car into reverse, floored it, t-boned me in a parking lot, and nearly rolled my vehicle. So, now I've had back surgery, neck surgery, and so much PT that I could probably open my own school and teach classes on the subject. And also? I can no longer do my own yard work. My yard now has been overrun with weeds, and hasn't been planted with any perennials/annuals in over a year. It is, in fact, more brown than green and quite bleak.
In an effort to remedy this sad state of affairs, I decide to hire a yard service. I look on Angie's List. I pick the three highest rated companies. Company One comes out today to give me an estimate. Guy pops out of his Lexus (and okay, you play in the dirt for a living, and you show up in a Lexus?) in his polo shirt and khakis, not a hair out of place, and wrinkles his nose at my small, weed-infested yard. "We don't normally work with yards this small," is his greeting.
Well, hello to you as well, Alex P. Keaton. "I did tell the lady I spoke to at your office that I had a town house; she said it was no problem."
At this point, he blatantly looks me up and down. Checks me out like we're in some singles bar and he's deciding if it's worth his while to take me home. "I'm kind of surprised I'm here, actually. You look pretty healthy; a yard this size, I don't know why you can't take care of it yourself."
I'm stunned. And I admit, I do have a bit of a complex with my injuries. I HATE that I can't do all the things I used to do, and I HATE having to ask for help. But to have a total stranger, someone who is paid to provide a service for which I am trying to hire them, show up and essentially call me lazy? That was a slap in the face I didn't need. My first instinct was to tear him a new one in my front yard.
But I am a lady, dammit. Or at least my mama raised me to be one. So I took a deep breath, smiled as pleasantly as I could, and replied. "Well, I have to admit I was rather surprised to see someone from a yard care company step out of a Lexus, but I've always found it best not to judge people by their appearances. However, since my yard is too small for your company to care for, I certainly won't waste any more of your time. Thanks so much for coming out."
Then I turned, went in the house, and closed the door. He rang the bell, but I was already on the phone, calling his office, and explaining to the nice lady I had spoken to there why I wouldn't be using their company. And I told her I felt very badly that I was going to have to give her company a negative review on Angie's List, but that I would certainly point out how kind and helpful she had been, even if her co-worker was a pompous, judgmental, arrogant douche of the first order. Then I thanked her politely for her time, and hung up.
Now I'm trying to write up my experience for Angie's list without including any profanity, as that would be bad. I think my review is going to have to wait a few days. In the mean time, there are still two more companies who owe me estimates. . .