No, sometimes the customer is very, very wrong...

Saturday was a fun one. I'd taken an afternoon job because I just can't say "no." The problems began before I'd even gotten out of my truck.

As I backed the trailer down the long driveway, "Kumar" walked along side my window saying, "I do not believe this will be sufficient." (Read all his dialogue with an Indian accent). "I thought you were to bring a Peneske truck."

Peneske? Did he say that?

I got out of my truck and said "Hi, nice to meet you. No, I only bring Penske trucks to larger jobs. It's not standard."

"Your advertisement said you would bring a Peneske truck. I expected a Peneske truck."

Look, man, I don't even know what a Peneske truck IS...

Instead, I said, "I'm sorry, but you're mistaken. I don't advertise Penske trucks as standard."

Then I walked by him to the seller of the couches I was picking up and asked him to show me the way.

Of course Kumar was in the computer field. And of course he'd never exercised a day in his life. And of course he wanted to take the long way around the house instead of going up the short flight of stairs on the OTHER side that would put us right at the back of my trailer. So, to avoid six stairs and a walk of about 30 feet, we went around the house and added about a 100 feet to the walk.

Did I mention we were carrying couches? No? He dropped the heavy couch twice.

"I am disappointed you did not bring a Peneske truck," he said to me while he caught his breath.

My truck and trailer were more than sufficient. I stacked the couches in the bed, and stacked the tables in the trailer. I had about 20 cubic feet to spare. Still, it all required numerous tie-downs, and as I was strapping the sixth or so tie-down down, Kumar helpfully pointed out that the last mover he used had a Peneske truck, and that he didn't have to strap anything down. He just packed it all tightly enough that he could just load it and go. It only took that guy a few minutes.

"Well, Kumar, we have a Ford Ranger, so that's what we're going to use. Got it?"

No, he did not.

We got the couches and tables into his little apartment alright, and at the end he asked me if I would take $60 for the hour-and-a-half work I did.

"No, I don't negotiate after the deal has been made. I charge $50 per hour for just my service, and $70 per hour for two men."

Since It was an hour-and-a-half, I charged $75.

"But you didn't bring a Peneske truck like you advertised--"

Ding! And here we are at my breaking point.

"Kumar, if you can find the ad where I say I always bring a PENSKE truck, I will gladly write you a check for $15 and mail it to you. But since we made a deal for $50 per hour, you owe me $75."

I kept my voice down, but I was seething. I wondered if turning the other cheek included accepting the shaft in business deals.

"Here is $70," he said. Then he laughed.

He laughed.

His wife and kids were there, and I'm no good at confrontation when I'm pissed off, so I just let it slide. I grabbed the money from his wimpy little hand and left without so much as a goodbye. I was sure that he saw me as being in a lower caste or something. He was going to get a strongly worded e-mail later.

How lame. How impotent.

I packed everything back up into my truck, and was about to drive away when he came running out. Ah, I thought, he must feel bad, and he's bringing the $5 he owes me.

"Stop!" he said. "Can I ask you a favor? It will only take five minutes."

What. The. Eff.

He put his hand on the open passenger window of the truck. "I need to move a TV, and my wife can't lift it..." He offered a fraternal grin. Me and Kumar were in the same club, you see. We men, we understood women. Or something. At that point all I wanted to do was grab his arm that was resting on the door of my truck and just start driving.

"Here's the deal, Kumar. I do this job to feed my family. We made an agreement that you broke. In other words, you stole from my family. So, get your hands off my truck and find someone else to screw."

I'm not sure that translated, but I could tell from the look on his face that something had gone horribly wrong, but he didn't know why.

I'm still debating whether to write him an e-mail explaining how things work in the free world.