The telephone rings. Twice.
Me: Hello, [insert store name here].
An elderly Southern woman’s voice is on the other end of the line. She clears her throat as an introduction. Twice. She then says firmly, and like Howell Heflin: Yes. I need Rachmaninoff’s Warsaw Concerto in Blue. [Notice the efficiency of her delivery - no niceties, let's just get to the fucking point.]
I take a few seconds to mentally digest her request. Then: Ma’am, it sounds like you’re possibly looking for three different pieces. Are you looking for a Rachmaninoff piano concerto, Addinsell’s Warsaw Concerto, or Gershwin’s Rhapsody in Blue? They are all three classical piano concertos. We should have at least one recording from that lot in stock.
Mrs. Heflin shuffles audibly, mutters something like “whahtevah,” then says – one more time for good measure: Whahtevah. I need it on cassette. One of those tape things to play in mah cah.
Ma’am, we don’t carry cassette tapes. We only sell CDs and some vinyl.
Well, no wonder y’all are going out of business.
Followed quickly by a Mrs. Heflin-instigated click.