Encounters of a Glassy Kind

I had one last thing to do for the condo that was once my father's residence. It is in an old, 50s building, and some of the windows are louvres. The rectangular panes easily crack, and a few had during the clean up of the apartment after dad died. Not a big fix, nor an expensive one, but I had to find a place that made/cut glass. Like everything in renovation or fix up, there are a million tradespeople and not all of them are necessarily equally legitimate. But for something I knew would be so relatively simple, I did not worry. I found a place in Los Angeles, and was on my way to it, when I saw another, closer by. I parked, ran across the wide street without a crosswalk available, and ran in. I gave the young man at the counter a sample pane. He measured it. I wanted threem exactly the same length and width. He said it would be only a few minutes, for this was an easy job. Great! Another tick off the list of things to do. I was exhilarated, if buying a pane of glass could rightly be called that. He came back with the original and the newly cloned panes all wrapped in newspaper. They were heavy, together. I paid a small 26 dollars and ran to the condo to place the original back in its spot and the fresh ones where cracked had been.

But the original was somehow, shorter than what I had brought in. "How can this be" I exclaimed along with a pithy favorite expletive. Although I knew that the others were exactly the same as the somehow three inch shorter original, I tried them anyway. Nothing could stretch the glass other than my hope.

I went home and called the place, and got a gentleman who spoke only Spanish but managed to communicate that he was only the "answering service". I did not believe it for a minute, and I told the "answering service" exactly what I thought in rapid English. Then I reported the business to the Better Business Bureau. It wasn't the mistake that enraged me. It was that the craftsman, using the word loosely, could not have failed to realize that he cut the original short. Instead of simply telling me, which would have resulted only in my disappointment, but not rage, he wrapped them up together hoping, correctly, that I would not immediately notice the change in length. I have thought and thought how I could cut the man a break, but the original was simply longer when it went in than when it came out with all the copies.

That'll teach me to give a small business owner a chance, thought I huffily.

I managed to find another place closer to my neighborhood, and I am slightly ashamed to say, but not entirely, given what happened, in a better one, although for some reason I noticed glass companies are in seedy places. (What's that about?). The place was open early and closed early so I made my way one morning as I headed to work. A sole older lady let me in, as did her two cute dogs. Already, I was feeling better, animal lover that I am, particularly as I made my request, the English Boxer had brought me his pull toy and we were playing tug while he growled with delight. The other, a pedigree I could not identify, barked a request for my attention. I was happy as the proverbial clam. And the next day, when I came back to pick up my now original plus five copies, I was greeted by the lady, the dogs, and the proper size glass, each solidly ensconced now in their slots in the windows at the condo. I wish I had some immediate reason to go back there, if only to visit with the dogs and chat amiably with the mother of the owner who had assisted me. What is the lesson in all of this? No lesson. For a bit I was walking around, like Dr. House, yelling "Everybody lies". But I had a reparative experience with my encounter with the second glass store and so, maybe there is still hope for the human race.