Even at 51 this old dog can still learn some new tricks or, shall I say, some new lessons. Let me tell you what I mean. Father's Day is coming up. My mother called me for some advice on something in which my dad had shown some interest. As he doesn't usually give any clue as to any gifts he'd like, she remembered it.
I researched the item, we discussed it, and we decided I would get it for her. An internet purchase seemed the easiest way; after all I'm in Arkansas and she's in Alabama, but they're planning to be in town on Father's Day. She insisted on giving me her credit card number with which to purchase the item. I would either have it shipped to me or, as the case would be, have it held for me to pick up at the local store that sold the item.
I tried to purchase the item on their website but ended up wasting over half an hour trying to get the data to enter so I could order it. No joy, so I called the customer service number on the website-- on hold for 20 minutes. I finally spoke to a human being, one who could actually speak English, and began the arduous task or ordering the item.
We identified the item in question, make, model, features, etc., agreed that I would go to the local store to pick it up and got to the actual purchase. I told the operator I would be the one picking up the item, that my mother was paying for the item, but that I had all her pertinent information. She took the information then informed me that she would have to speak with my mother. Well, that's not necessarily a problem but as my parents are retired, they are often together--a beautiful thing unless you're trying to surprise your spouse! Anyway, my mother happened to be alone and able to take the call giving permission for me to use her card to make a purchase for her that I would simply be picking up. When the operator got back to me I clearly remember asking if it would be any problem for me, not the cardholder on record, but the son of the cardholder, even with same unusual last name to pick up the item from the local store. "Oh no sir, not at all. I've noted all the information you'll need to pick up the item at the North Little Rock location." Cool, all I would need to do is be able to provide my personal i.d.
Upon entering the store I felt a pall come over me and I knew this wouldn't be as easy as it should have been. Sometimes I hate to be right. I went to the pickup desk, gave the clerk my name, showed her my i.d., and told her what the item was I was there to retrieve. She found the item, set it down in front of me, and then asked me if I had the credit card with me that was used to purchase the item. [Let me pause for just a moment and let you know that at this stage of my life, I have experienced some shortening of my fuse. I can become easily agitated with the smallest of stimuli, something like, exactly like this exact experience.] I sighed and long, deep sigh and began to explain the clerk the transaction from the day before on the telephone. I asked if there were any notes on the invoice that could prove that I had actually had a discussion with, and made previous arrangements, for there not to be this very problem. Of course there was nothing on the ticket! I asked what would need to happen for me to take possession of the item that had already been paid for. She said that the cardholder (mom) would have to call 1-888-the store name and explain the problem to a totally different person with no knowledge of the transaction and that somewhere between one hour and 3 days the item would be released. I asked if they could call the cardholder (mom) and have her share proof that indeed, she had used her card and that it was in her possession...300+ miles away. Uh, no, that's not our policy. [Oops, too late, agitation!] I swallowed my anger and the words that had come naturally to my consciousness, did an abrupt about-face and began to walk away. I called my mom to explain the situation to her and have her jump through the necessary hoops to satisfy their company policies. The more I talked to her, the more agitated I became and I asked her to just hang tight, that I was gonna take one more shot at a reasonable solution and then call her back.
I asked to speak to the highest ranking member of management on the property, the door manager called someone on his walkie-talkie and told me someone would be with me in just a few minutes. This gave me time to take some deep, cleansing breaths and try to get the rage to subside before I began to run roughshod through the store destroying merchandise and inflicting much harm upon innocent bystanders. After a moment (really too many for my liking) a round little man with fat little hands walked up to me and extended one of the Vienna-sausage looking appendages for me to shake. I was all too eager to give him the grip of death. He then made the mistake of asking me what the problem was and what he could do to make me a satisfied customer. (insert another very heavy sigh to blow off accumulated pressure.)
Attempting to remain calm, I went through the whole story with him. He explained to me why the policy was in place that the clerk had explained, but that he said some leeway as a manager. He would be happen to look at the transaction on the computer and see what he could do. So he and I walked back to the counter where the clerk was standing, wondering how soon I was going to lose it and jump over the sales counter. Manager dude looked at the ticket, asked a couple of questions, then asked if we could call my mother to try to straighten this out, once and for all. "Sure," I said. Hoping that dad had not come back into the house and was close enough to mom's phone to spoil the surprise. Thankfully dad was still at a safe distance and mom could talk, she answered all of his questions, "who she was, how she spelled that, was that German, and what was the credit card number"? After being satisfied with her response, he thanked her for providing the information.
It was then that the lesson became clear. I heard ole' sausage fingers say, "Well, no ma'am, he didn't tell me that." He laughed his fake manager laugh, told her have a nice day and hung up my phone. He smiled and told me my mom was 'precious' and that she had asked him if I had said anything ugly because "he's a preacher you-know?"
After I quickly rewound and played back all related conversations in a nano-second, I just smiled at him. He asked where I ministered, I told him. The poor clerk who heretofore had shrunk back against the back counter said that she lives very close to the church. Trying to gather my quivering self I invited both of them to come visit us with their families anytime, gave them the times of our services and left them each one of my business cards. They handed me the little box that had started all this hoopla, we all exchanged thank yous, and I quickly exited the facility.
How quickly I could have brought reproach upon my reputation and that of the church I am blessed to serve? How quickly could I have reinforced the stereotype of what the world thinks of Christians, how quickly could I have soiled the beauty of my Savior?
From now on, I will try to remember to ask the question. How would you proceed with this conversation if you knew the very next person they speak to will be your mother? That will change your whole attitude, at least it will mine!
Lord, please help me to always guard my heart, my tongue, and my composition, so as to never bring reproach upon You, Your church, or me--Your servant. Amen.
