Buying boots.

Want to annoy me?

Here’s how.

This past April, I was in Santa Fe, New Mexico with my dad.

We drove from the Albuquerque airport to Santa Fe where I immediately dropped my bag at the hotel and set out on foot to explore the town.

My dad stayed back to take some work calls and rest up.

On my own, I wandered through the quaint town square just a few blocks from our hotel.

I dipped in and out of art stores, clothiers, and gift stores selling all things Santa Fe.

I eventually came across a leather store specializing in western style boots. 

Curious, I walked inside to browse. 

As soon as I walked in, a short and spritely middle-aged gentleman with an eager grin on his face rushed to greet me. 

As is custom of retail employees, he complimented my jacket then began probing my life’s details. 

“And how are you feeling this fine afternoon, sir?” he asked.

“Pretty good, though I was a little caught off guard by how chilly it is outside,” I said. 

“You’re not the only one,” he said. “I’m a little shocked myself.”

I sifted through some of the shirts hanging on the round rack as he lingered from a distance. 

“Visiting from outta town?” he asked.

“Yup.”

“Where from?” 

“Nashville, TN,” I said.

“Ohh… how I love Nashville! You know we have a store there, too, right?”

“Hmmm… no. I don’t think so,” I said. 

He gave me a few details of the whereabouts of the store. I didn’t pay much attention, so I thanked him and left the store. 

Two days later, my dad and I ended up in front of that store again.

This time, my dad wanted to check it out. Since I had nowhere better to be, I joined him.

Once we were in the store, my dad and I went separate ways. I was again approached by the salesman who approached me two days earlier. 

Surely he’ll remember me, I thought.

As I browsed the perimeter of the store, he started the same dialogue using the same cadence.

“You from outta town?” he asked.

“Yup. Nashville, TN,” I said. 

By this point, I was unamused by not only his pestering questions but by the fact that he’d not yet remembered we’d had this same exact conversation in the same exact spot just two days earlier. 

He professed his love for Nashville again (though I have reason to believe he’d show the same level of excitement had I told him I hail from a small town in the middle of Idaho) and continued: 

“You know we have a sister location, in Nashville, right?” he said. 

“Yes. I do know that only because you told me two days ago.” I said.

“Oh, my apologies,” he said. “Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you.”

Satisfied that I’d gotten my message across, I waited for my dad outside.

As we walked down the street, I thought about what happened. I began to feel bad for the way I treated the man. I even asked my dad if he felt what I’d said was harsh. 

He did. 

I thought a while longer and ultimately decided that I could’ve been more forgiving to the man but what I’d done was actually in service of making him a better salesperson.

I don’t expect the man to learn every customer’s life story. I’m not even asking that he asks the questions beyond the ones he asked me. 

What I am asking, however, is that when he asks someone a question, that he at least take the time to listen to the response. That he takes the time to remember who they are, what they tell him, and what all of this says about them as a person.

That he doesn’t just use it as a means to get what he wants. 

If he’d have given a damn about the response I gave him the first time we spoke, I probably wouldn’t have had to be so blunt with him the second time.

I still probably wouldn’t have purchased a pair of boots. 

I just woulda been more polite.