From our Why-the-no-handshake-world-sucks series.
The gas tabletop cooker in the French house needed to be replaced. We had pushed its lifetime beyond our comfort zone for years, so news of weekend sales at a large store in the nearest town were a welcome incentive.
After comparing, discussing, and debating, we settled on a mid-range two burner with piezo-electric ignition.
Hey, imagine how much money we would spend on matches, we joked as the very friendly sales clerk filled out a multi-page sales and warrant stack of densely printed paper.
When we were done, the man not only went over to the stack of boxes but offered to take our new gas burner to the car for us. We accepted and showed him the way to the car. He carefully placed the box on the rear seat, and we said our good byes.
Back at the house, we unloaded the purchases of the day, groceries and books first. In case you have ever been offered a ten percent discount on books without asking, you have an idea of the volume of books. Finally, the box with the gas burner.
Odd, did you notice this three or four inch tear on the side of the box at the store?
No, I didn't.
Ha.
After opening the box and taking out the burner, a deep dent in the sheet metal on the side of the torn box prompted a heartfelt exclamation "quel connard", which is, pardon my French, an asshole.
Does it look like it will work correctly?
We did buy a new burner, I'm not willing to let it go.
About half an hour later, we walked into the store with the box. Bonjour messieurs dames, the very same sales clerk greeted us calmly.
Just as calmly, we explained the dent and requested an exchange.
I can not exchange it for you like that, it is damaged.
Yes, it is, that's why we want it exchanged.
Well, you must have damaged it on the way, dropped it or something, so I'm afraid messieurs dames, I can only sell you a new one. That's what the sales contract says, he added, pointing to the wad of paper in our hands.
Wait a moment, you should know that a dent of that depth is impossible unless you run a forklift into the box or take a sledgehammer to it. You carried it to the car, hiding the gash. Can we speak to the manager, please.
One moment, please.
Then he walked into the depth of the store. When he returned, there was no other person with him but he was holding a brand new box. Without further discussion, we inspected the content and left with a nice thank you, have a good day.
And the handshake?
Call it pseudo psychology, but the blogster believes that the primary function of any handshake is to make the other person less of a stranger through physical touch, thus weakening, at least a little bit, the impact of the "ripping off a stranger is easy" paradigm.
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