Well, color me surprised!

Okay, okay, okay.

So...here's the scoop.

Yesterday one of my daughters and I went to lunch...(actually I ordered the breakfast of biscuits and gravy), then went to haunt Joann's for a bit and finally ended up at Freddy's because I wanted to buy paint for my newly acquired park benches.

I think Freddy's must be going to phase out their paint department because I had a hard time finding it, waaay back in a 'coughing corner', two very short aisles in what is left of a worthless home improvement department.

Anyway, I'm wandering around all by myself, realizing no one seems to be in charge, when out of the corner of my eye I see the beginning of a cart slowly ambling along...this cart was being pushed by an old...old...I'm talkin' old man.  I ask him if he can help me purchase some paint.  To my amazement he said yes.

I proceed to tell him what I need, giggle, giggle...oh lordy...I can't seem to help myself...honest to the Almighty...I have absolutely no interest in this guy...but I find myself...well...flirting with him.  What heck is he matter with me?  This man is old enough to be my father.

He is sweet, and thoughtful, knowledgeable, and apparently has enough time to explain to me the type of paint I'm going to need. First, I need a color...he leads me to the swatches.

I had no idea how fan-dangled, efficient and complicated it is to buy paint.  You just can't walk up to a can of paint with the word Brown on it.  I pick a swatch Keoki Coffee.  All the while, I'm asking dumb questions, most of which I already knew the answers to, just to keep the conversation moving along...and...to hopefully boost his ego at the same time.  I'm tellin' ya I was a real Delilah.  What has come over me?

Anyway, he proceeds to punch figures and letters into the paint computer, and announces that indeed he can produce the exact paint I need. "Outdoor, glossy finish, beautiful, Keoki Coffee.  I smile demurely.  He makes a joke...I can't even remember what it was...and I laugh...I've got this guy, hook, line and sinker. 
What am I, nuts?  I can't seem to help myself.

He comes back to the counter with a jug of white paint and tells me the computer says he has to blend in three colors to make my Keoki coffee, and announces he's going to turn off his cell phone so he can concentrate on getting the correct color combination.

What a nice gesture, and I tell him so.  (Eyes batting, I'm sure.)  I'm being such an idiot.  But, there was just something about this guy.  He walks across the work area to another machine that has tubes of basic colors in them.  He has printed out a tiny piece of paper that apparently has the exact number of ounces of each color my particular choice of paint requires. 

I don't talk much here, cause I know he wants to concentrate on what he's doing.

While he's concentrating...another old man shows up and stands beside me...he's looking for denim repair patches...and asks my old man where in the store he might find them.  Denim guy is showing us worn patches at the knees of his jeans, apparently he wants to cover them to make his jeans last longer.  I thought I might have to tell him where the patches were, but paint guy knew exactly where they could be found and jean's guy walks away.

I was thankful my old guy did not lose his concentration.  He completes adding the colors and explains now a machine will jostle the paint up 'just a bit' to blend the colors.  He uses his hands to show how the jostling works.  Up and down, back and forth.

 After the jostling is complete, he opens the jug to show me he had created the exact color I want, I compliment him profusely. With his thumb, he puts an imprint of the paint on the small computer generated slip of paper and adheres it to the lid of the paint jug.  Then he proceeds to take a paint dotted hair dryer and dried the blob of paint he had added to the paper atop the jug.  I think we are done.

I thank him profusely and tell him how pleased I am he had put together the exact color I wanted.  Yes, I should have walked away.  I'm telling you, he was older than dirt, all bent over, had a running nose he could not seem to keep under control, withered hands, and moved about with just a bit of a shuffle.  Still he was accommodating, and eager to help, I continue with my dumb questions.

Do I need sandpaper?  Yes, says he, perhaps I should have some sandpaper on
hand.  (I actually do) but (honestly) I don't know if I have enough.  So, he walks
me to the sandpaper aisle, and explains what I will need to do, and how to use the sandpaper. 

I'm telling you I was absolutely shameless...I've no idea what the heck got into me.  I complete my purchase.  He tell me to be very careful, that the blob of paint on top of the jug might not be completely dry, he does not want me to get paint on my clothes.

Then out of the blue...for absolutely no reason at all...I tell him next time I see him I will tell him how my paint job comes out.

As I begin to walk away he asks my first name, to my shock, I actually tell him.  He says he is Richard.  I walk away.

Oh my word...did I actually do that...I have not flirted in mumble, mumble,
mumble, years...well, I'll be dang...I didn't know I had that in me. 

Well, color me surprised.