I love getting snail mail. Not the bills, but the fun catalogs and occasional letters from friends. I hope I never live to see the day when mail becomes totally electronic. I will be heartbroken.
So, this afternoon I run out to the mailbox and what do you know friends, but there's very little remaining of my wrought iron mailbox because it appears someone hit it. Thankfully, boy was home so I run in and grab him and as we're investigating our little hit and run a construction worker that witnessed it hollered over that it was that pest control truck parked a block down.
I can't even begin to tell you how thankful we were that that man witnessed it and that truck was still there, because some serious dollar signs were floating around my head.
So, boy walked down the block and the man rudely told him he was planning on coming back (yeah right you were). He wrote down his license plate and phone number on the truck. I decided to go ahead and call the company thinking it was more than a one man operation and let them know the situation so hopefully they could make sure that guy does return.
Now there are two things I don't stomach well and that's running from situations and a southern man that doesn't act very gentlemanly towards a woman.
Oh no sir that don't fly. I don't expect doors to be opened for me, but show a little respect in your words to me.
I call the number and politely explain we had one of your trucks hit our mailbox, take off and I'd like to discuss what we can do to make this right. Well this man pretended to be a secretary and not who he was which was the actual owner that hit the mailbox (I caught on pretty quickly- I don't think he knows just how much CSI I watch). Before I know it I'm getting an ear full and some yelling back because he'll be late for his next appointment and he already said he'd be there. I was so stunned and speechless because "dude you hit MY mailbox". I'd rather be catching up on my ironing and "Army Wives" then chatting with you. On a side note, I kind of wish I would have recorded his "kind" words because I'd surely send it to his mama. Maybe his mama could knock some politeness into him.
Then boy comes into the room and I tell him I just got yelled at and I might cry. He's not super pleased there's been a man yelling at his wife, but let me tell you boy handles these situations with some serious grace from God and 30 minutes later when the man comes back walks out there with all the kindness in the world. Sadly, it was not reciprocated and that man is firey mad that he got a call from me and is shouting at boy. I'm now very confused because once again "dude you hit MY mailbox". Well, friends the power of kindness proved victory and before long that man was apologizing and my mailbox is standing up straight again.
It breaks my heart to witness moments like these, especially when you're on the receiving end of the hurtful words. But let me tell you how greatful I am for my southern gentleman and his example because I probably would have just turned the front yard hose on him and then made him come in and iron my blouses.