Ain't Happenin'. Not Today, Not Tomorrow, Not Ever.
From 2016: There is a sign on my shop door: This property is closed to the public. Internet Sales Only. Some days I think it's a little harsh. And then a day like yesterday comes along, and makes me think a sign isn't enough. Maybe a spiked drawbridge over a moat filled with hungry Nile crocodiles might be more in order. After a few jarring phone calls over a clutch I didn't want to sell (because the couriers drop them and break them) this customer decided to drive all the way from Calgary Alberta to pick up the clutch in person. That's 2040 miles each way. That should have been my first clue. Well, my second. But whatever. On the phone, he talked loud and fast, and stammered before each sentence with, "OB OB OB...", before finding his words and driving his demand. Well, he showed up last night. All 6 foot 3 or 4 of him. In wooden clogs. Wooden clogs which added another completely unnecessary 2 inches or so to him. He somehow folded all of that up into a Che...