Catching up....if you haven't heard the tragic story of the toilet seat caper, here's an abbreviated version for you......
Kevin Hansen, HAR's seat artist, gave me an extra seat he made commemorating the year we made our first million dollars. I had it on display in the bathroom of my store for years until some jackass stole it. I have a strong notion of how and when it happened, but since I didn't witness it, that's all Ill say.
Now, on to part II.
I didn't cry over the stolen toilet seat. Well, not until last weekend, and boy, when the tears came, there was no stopping Where did this happen? In the Honey Pot, of all places. I stopped by on Saturday afternoon to congratulate my friend Cindy on her retirement and to see if she had any fixtures that might work in my store.
I spotted it hanging on the wall in a tiny hallway. No, not the stolen seat, but a beautiful seat from a later year. I am sure that Cindy and her husband Cedric bid a generous amount on the seat, and even though I am sure I could not possibly match what they paid, asking if I could buy it was worth a try. After all, my goal was and still is, to pass a seat on to whomever eventually replaces me in the organization.
Cindy was working with two young women who were sifting through a display of hundreds of charms. Crowded in the same area were 8-10 other bargain hunters, as well as many more scattered throughout the store. When Cindy acknowledged me, I figured then was as good a time as any to ask. "Hey Cindy, would you consider selling your toi....". that's when it happened. A random flood of emotions, followed by tears. I attempted to choke out my tale of woe, no doubt frightening some shoppers and annoying others. You know when you try to hold back the sobs and you begin to gasp and quiver and turn red and blue and your nose runs? All of that happened.
I was aware of people staring and mumbling, but I didn't care. I clearly heard one woman offer a prayer for me. She said "Christ, get her some help." Another said, "I'm not sure exactly, it sounds like she needs a toilet seat." By that time Cindy had hold of my hand and was doing that annoying guidance counselor patting thing. The two charms shoppers had slid away from me little by little, but still, I offered them my apologies. "That's OK", one of them said. "We get it. You want to buy a toilet seat, but really, you might have better luck at Menard's."
That was the end. I ripped my hand from Cindy's grip. Turning to leave, head hanging, I plowed directly into the chest of the husband of one of our HAR ladies. When I cry, my nose lights up like Rudolph and my eyes puff like a pug dog. Must have been pretty scary for him to be in a store packed with women but add my hysteria to the mix - agoraphobia might be looking real good to him as a result. More. I tripped over a pile of boxes as I fled to the door.
All in all, Saturday was a crappy day to buy a toilet seat.
