I’m a designer at a sign shop. In our town, most of the car dealerships are named for the owner (things like “Johnson Ford” or “Smith Chevrolet”). Our local Hyundai dealership is no different: it’s owned by someone we’ll call Mike Taylorson (not his real name), and is thus named “Taylorson Hyundai”.

We have a customer come storming across the parking lot of the sign shop one day, with smoke pouring out of her ears. She was clearly VERY upset about something.

Customer: “Do you guys make bumper stickers?!”

Me: “Yes, ma’am, we certainly do.”

Customer: “Good! I want you to make a bumper sticker that says, ‘Taylorson Hyundai screwed me!'”

Me: “Okay, well, yes, we can certainly make something like that. However, because they’re a local business, like us, it’s a little bit of a sensitive issue. The last thing we want to do is upset anyone or burn any bridges. So, while I’m not saying that we CAN’T make this bumper sticker for you, I do need to check with the boss first, to ensure it’s something he’s comfortable with. Unfortunately, he’s out of the office at the moment, but if it’s all right with you, I can take down your information and have him call you when he returns?”

Customer: *Grumbles.* “Yes, fine, you do that.”

I proceed to fill out a work order and take down the customer’s contact info.

Me: “Okay, great, you’re all set. The boss should be back within the next one to two hours. I’ll get this in front of him, and have him reach out to you, so you should be expecting a call from him within that time frame. His name is Mike Taylorson Junior-”

Customer: *With eyes suddenly as wide as saucers.* “WHAT?!”

She proceeded to storm out as quickly as she’d entered, and I waved to her retreating back.

Me: “Would you still like me to have him call you?”

Related:
A Sign Of Things to Come, Part 2
A Sign Of Things to Come

This story reminded me of a conversation I had with my friend as we were browsing in a department store.

Friend: “I’m thinking of getting into art.”

Me: “Really? Why?”

Friend: “I’m always doodling instead of studying. Maybe I’m meant to be an artist.”

Me: “Yeah, but doodles are one thing. Making art is something else.”

Friend: “Well, it can’t be that hard.”

We hit up the art supplies/stationery section to fuel his newfound interest, until he sees the prices.

Friend: “Wow, these are a lot.”

Me: “Yup.”

Friend: “Never mind, I’ll just express myself through memes instead.”

Related:
This Is Why Artists Suffer

I was working as a sign painter’s apprentice years ago, and we did a bunch of hand lettering work for a local church, the main sign out front, their van, and on their main glass doors.

My boss slams down the phone and, red in the face, spins around in his chair.

Boss: “That was the minister. He says he’s not paying. Said there’s nothing we can do about it.”

Me: “After three months of excuses? Seriously?”

Boss: “Oh, there’s something we can do about it. Are you willing to meet me here tomorrow at 2 AM?”

Me: “Uh… I’m getting paid?”

Boss: “Of course!”

Me: “Then yes.”

The next night, it’s quiet; the whole village is asleep. We ride our bikes under the cover of darkness, backpacks clinking with supplies. We stop in front of the church, the van glinting in the streetlight, the proud glass doors gleaming with the hand-painted lettering we’d worked so hard on.

Boss: *Pulling out four cans of Easy-Off.* “God may forgive, but oven cleaner won’t.”

We spray everything. Every careful brushstroke, every letter, until the paint bubbles and melts. Then we rinse it all down with a weed sprayer. By the time we’re done, the signs look like blank slates, as if we’d never been there at all.

Me: *Chuckling as the paint washes into the gutter.* “Guess he was right, there’s nothing we can do, but we can undo.”

Back at the shop, we crack open a couple of beers and lean back, watching the clock tick past 4 AM.

Boss: “That’s that. If he calls, I’ll tell him to pray on it.”

He never did call. Six months later, the local paper carried the headline: “Minister Charged with Embezzlement, Removed from Position.”

I overhear two young guys looking at a large piece of abstract modern art.

Friend #1: “I could’ve painted that.”

Friend #2: “Sure, but he actually did.”

Friend #1: “Fine, give me some paint and a canvas and see what I could do in an hour.”

Friend #2: *Googles something.* “This is how much oil paint and a canvas this size costs.”

Friend #1: *Looks at phone.* “D***. It might be cheaper to buy the painting and just pretend I did it.”

A customer has ordered a fitted office. They’ve chosen the style, custom sizing, and most importantly, the colour. All our colours are RAL specified, using the specific codes. These are included on the order form. 

She calls us on the day the office is being installed.

Customer: “Your installers are here, and I’m sending them away! They told me to call this number to complain! The colour is all wrong! They look nothing like they do on your website!”

I go through her order and confirm the RAL code used for the colour. What she ordered online matches what was delivered.

Customer: “No! This is unacceptable! I ordered a specific colour and it’s completely different! I don’t care what your fancy forms say, I wanted—”

She’s stopped mid-rant by our chief installer, who I can hear on the phone, coming from somewhere in the room.

Installer: “Madam, sorry to interrupt. Is this the computer where you ordered the office set?”

Customer: “Yes, why?”

Installer: “Are you aware it has a tinted film over the screen?”

Customer: “Yes, it makes the screen less bright!”

There is nothing but silence on the other end of the call now. I can imagine the customer having a look of dawning realisation.

Customer: *Click.*

Well, that settled THAT call. She still tried to return the custom office set and get a refund, but since the RAL code she ordered matched what was delivered, she didn’t get it.