Just before lunchtime, the two police officers who had responded to the morning's incident came in and asked to speak to the clerk who had fired the gun.
"How is he?" she asked, as she handed over the chrome-plated revolver.
"The chief? He says he never had so much fun in his life," said one of them, in a low voice. "The squibs we got from the community theatre worked perfectly. When we were wheeling him out, he was having trouble keeping his eyes closed and not laughing."
"We should do this every week," said the other cop. Looking at the crowd waiting meekly in the waiting room, he observed, "It looks like it worked really well."
"Yeah," said the clerk, "But if you do it too often, they get used to it."
"Soooo," said the first one, "Lunch? The chief's buying."
"Deal," said the clerk. She grabbed her purse, gave the other clerks the high sign, and left with the two officers.
Friday, May 27, 2016
Dealing with the Customer From Hell: the DMV
It was a busy day at the Motor Vehicle Registration department. The waiting room was full of people cluttching their numbers and scanning the "NOW BEING SERVED" display above the door, waiting impatiently for their number to come up. Most of them weren't happy to be there, having put off this errand for as long as they could. The mood in the room was ugly. Most of them customers took the chance to take out their bad feelings on the clerks behind the counters in the next room.
At one point, a guy with an old corduroy jacket and a plaid flannel shirt stood up, muttered "finally!" and stomped into the next room. He sat at a desk opposite a slightly overweight woman in her 30s. She had short, dark hair and an expression that pleaded with him not to be the next person who dumped on her.
Too bad. What should have been a simple renewal of a truck license escalated quickly into a shouting match, simply because the guy refused to do what everybody else before him had to do, in order to renew the license. Sure, it was bureaucratic and onerous, but it wasn't the clerk's fault. In only a couple of minutes, he was standing, waving his fists in the air, and condemning the clerk and the entire DMV to hell. He was in the middle of questioning her education and her parents' intelligence when everything changed at once.
The clerk stood up, pulled open a desk drawer, pulled out an old-West-style revolver, and shot the man - twice, right in the chest. He didn't even have time to react. One moment he was yelling, and the next moment he crumpled to the ground and lay there, like a 230-pound rag doll.
The waiting customers screamed. A few of them ran out the front door and didn't return. Those who remained whispered among themselves in fear. The other clerks, startled by the noise, looked up and saw what had happened, then chose to just sit there and watch the aftermath. The customers they were serving looked from their clerks, to the clerk with the gun, to the body on the floor, and then back to their clerks.
In less than a minute, two police officers and two paramedics ran through the front door, pushing a gurney. By this time, the clerk had put her gun away and closed the drawer. Still standing, she watched as the four men muscled the guy onto the gurney and rushed him out the door.
The clerk sat down, straightened the papers on her desk, and muttered, "Asshole." Then she barked "NEXT!" and pressed the button to advance the "NOW BEING SERVED" number on the display.
The customers who remained were quiet and polite, conducting their business and leaving as quickly as possible. Word of the incident passed in whispers to the new customers who came in, and the rest of the morning was busy, but peaceful.
At one point, a guy with an old corduroy jacket and a plaid flannel shirt stood up, muttered "finally!" and stomped into the next room. He sat at a desk opposite a slightly overweight woman in her 30s. She had short, dark hair and an expression that pleaded with him not to be the next person who dumped on her.
Too bad. What should have been a simple renewal of a truck license escalated quickly into a shouting match, simply because the guy refused to do what everybody else before him had to do, in order to renew the license. Sure, it was bureaucratic and onerous, but it wasn't the clerk's fault. In only a couple of minutes, he was standing, waving his fists in the air, and condemning the clerk and the entire DMV to hell. He was in the middle of questioning her education and her parents' intelligence when everything changed at once.
The clerk stood up, pulled open a desk drawer, pulled out an old-West-style revolver, and shot the man - twice, right in the chest. He didn't even have time to react. One moment he was yelling, and the next moment he crumpled to the ground and lay there, like a 230-pound rag doll.
The waiting customers screamed. A few of them ran out the front door and didn't return. Those who remained whispered among themselves in fear. The other clerks, startled by the noise, looked up and saw what had happened, then chose to just sit there and watch the aftermath. The customers they were serving looked from their clerks, to the clerk with the gun, to the body on the floor, and then back to their clerks.
In less than a minute, two police officers and two paramedics ran through the front door, pushing a gurney. By this time, the clerk had put her gun away and closed the drawer. Still standing, she watched as the four men muscled the guy onto the gurney and rushed him out the door.
The clerk sat down, straightened the papers on her desk, and muttered, "Asshole." Then she barked "NEXT!" and pressed the button to advance the "NOW BEING SERVED" number on the display.
The customers who remained were quiet and polite, conducting their business and leaving as quickly as possible. Word of the incident passed in whispers to the new customers who came in, and the rest of the morning was busy, but peaceful.
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