On a recent trip to a fireplace store, I had an encounter—or should I say, a run-in—with an employee. And no, the employee was not a Gen Z. Gen Zers, in my experience, may be slow to notice you if they’re absorbed in their phones, but they aren’t rude.
This employee was a Boomer.
Boomer Jane became defiant, insisting that my order for a fireplace insert was not scheduled for that day at 1:00 p.m. She seemed almost proud to announce it wasn’t “on the books.”
When I gently explained that someone from the store had called me and confirmed the appointment, she triumphantly repeated that it wasn’t on the books. Then she reminded me that when she called me, I said I wasn’t ready to schedule.
I replied that I wouldn’t have made this up.
She fired back that she had not called me. When the conversation started taking a turn for the worse, I reminded her she wasn’t the only employee in the store. But she kept wanting me to be wrong and herself to be right.
Finally, a coworker stepped in:
“Please reschedule it.”
The other employees rolled their eyes at her, and I got the distinct feeling they did not enjoy working with Ms. Boomer Jane. She probably has no idea how abrasive she is. Or maybe she does — and doesn’t care.
Just as she turned to the computer, she suddenly exclaimed that the appointment was on the calendar for today. Zero remorse. She immediately went back to insisting she hadn’t called me and that when she did, I wasn’t ready. Enough already.
I interrupted her:
“Please — I don’t want to fight about this. Could you take my credit card so I can leave?”
The other employees looked sympathetic. People like Boomer Jane cannot be wrong. They must be right. No matter what.
And after all her negativity, she even tried to flash a fake cheery smile as she handed back my card. I grabbed it and made a hasty exit.
When I got in my car — rattled and discombobulated — I thought, “What a shame. I was in a good mood before I walked in.”
But I wasn’t going to let Boomer Jane steal my vibe.
A few blocks later, I spotted El Bolillo Bakery. I pulled in, dashed inside, and instantly felt calmer surrounded by rows of beautiful Mexican pastries.
I settled on two conchas.
(For the unfamiliar: a concha is a soft, fluffy Mexican sweet bread with a crunchy, cookie-like topping scored to resemble a seashell.)
There is nothing like a little sugar to settle your nerves after an encounter with an energy vampire. In their absolute need to be right, they suck the energy — and the good mood — right out of you.
I hope you don’t have to work with any of them.