Sad Lady has been to our lab several times. sonicyakk has dealt with her once or twice as well. Each time, she bring in a bunch of slides twice as old as I am. The first batch were from 1962, and her second were from 1958 and '59. These slides are in craptacular condition. Some are so washed out as to be nigh unprintable, and all of the rest bear that lovely red cast old film picks up.
When Sad Lady dropped off her first order for one-hour processing last week, we were really busy. My Manager, a wonderful lady, made the time to print all twenty-or-thirty-or-so slides. She didn't have the time to fix their color or anything, because just doing the slides as they were made us late. So she just printed 'em as they were and got on with her day.
When Sad Lady came to pick the slides up, she complained that they were of unacceptable quality. So the boss said we'd give her free remakes. Sad Lady went away, apparently satisfied with this. Later that day, she called to say that we'd- gasp- lost one of her slides! She had a picture from that slide, so I know that we did print it, but in spite of the rush we are always METICULOUS with slides. We kept them precisely where they ought to be; we did not lose the slide and that is that. Sad Lady refuses to believe this. She is most insistent that we did in fact carelessly lose her precious forty-year-old slide that she couldn't be buggered to print FOR TWICE AS LONG AS I HAVE LIVED.
The fun does not end there. I spent an hour and a half on her remakes. I painstakingly corrected the color and fixed cropping errors in each and every slide. They still looked like crap, but they looked like a little less crap. This held the lab up considerably. So, when she came to pick the remakes up, she left me MORE SLIDES.
Great. Just bloody great.
And every time I've dealt with this woman, she has given me the same tale- how the slides are of her son, who killed himself a couple of years ago, and of her parents who died of cancer, and of her cousin who has terminal cancer, and of all of her sundry relatives (most of whom seem to be ailing). I have nothing but sympathy for her loss. On the other hand, she talks OVER other customers who form up in a LINE behind her, five and six people deep waiting for her to finish the Tale of her Personal Tragedy.
I am not a therapist or a grief counselor. I am a dissolute college student working at Wal-Mart. Therefore I find it difficult to truly sympathize with her pain, and am instead concerned with getting her the hell out of my way so that I can continue to do my job.
I am rapidly tiring of dealing with this woman.