Caveat emptor

A funny thing happened to me this morning -- I became involved in a customer service dispute without even knowing it.

You see, I, in fact, was the product. My wife the purchaser. What she failed to realize is that what she purchased over 9 years ago was not actually what she intended to purchase. Instead, she fell victim, as many of us do, to clever marketing ploys and fancy packaging. And like all products tend to do, they become somewhat less effective with age.

Unknowingly, our four year old daughter, Sarah, triggered a mechanism in the door frame of my wife's Honda CRV that amazingly rendered the door completely inoperable. The darn thing just wouldn't shut. Being outside of running distance to my garage, I listened, with great impatience, to her explain the situation as I digested the details. My mind quickly developed a number of suitable solutions:

1. Attach your sub-plans to an email explaining why you won't be coming into teach today, put your pajamas back on, and enjoy some morning cartoons while eating cereal with the girls.
2. Take some twine off one of the thousand of hay bales located in our barn and tie the door shut.
3. Accept the fact that it was not the driver side door or either of the two rear doors and proceed to your destination knowing that both you and the children are strapped safely in the vehicle. (It's not like we are in England and driving on the other side of the street. If the door flew open, just avoid the nearest mailboxes)
4. Saddle up the 1986 Ford F-250 in the barn. Strap the children in and hope there is enough brake fluid left to make it to school and back.
5. Worst case scenario: Fire up the 1967 John Deere 2020, affix the haywagon, and give the kids a ride to the sitter's house they won't soon forget. (that bad boy really hauls ass in 8th gear)

While all these options seemed plausible to me, my better judgement forced me to forgo offering any of these pearls of wisdom. I continued to listen and occasionally respond to her inquires with edgy, short, and perturbed remarks that heightened my wife's disdain, both for the situation and me, with each passing moment.

Facing such calamity, she called my cell phone in the hope that I would be able to provide a sense of serenity. A calm surrounding the vortex of crisis that she was momentarily stuck in. What she found instead was actually an accelerant, something to fan the flames rather than put out the fire.

People should come with personality disclosure forms, much like one finds for property when purchasing a house.

Let the buyer beware.