Skip to main content

Boneheaded Questions

In this episode, Bonehead Questions . . .



It’s been said, “There are no stupid questions,” right . . . ? You be the judge.


Here’s one, "If electricity comes from electrons, does morality come from morons?”

My recent retail experience at a Home Improvement Center I've heard more than my share of stupid questions. Admittedly, all those years of teaching, I gave people the benefit of the doubt. Repeatedly, I made it clear that there were no stupid questions. As an educator, you quickly realize the link between information and applied learning is closely tied to questions and one’s self-image.


But in these times of “I want it now” and “I’m the victim” that doesn’t seem to apply. Especially when it comes to dealing with the public and really cretinous questions.


During my four year retail transition, I was introduced to some really stubborn and ignorant Do-It-Yourself (DIY) folks trying to save a buck that asks really boneheaded questions.


You see, implementing a skill requires patience, specialized knowledge, dedication, concentration, practice, and lastly having the courage to ask those questions that were the result of simply not having the right experience.


Let’s call him lucky customer #13 - Thirteen enters the store with a frazzled expression on his face, a dirty, sweaty, torn tee shirt, and his smartphone (with a shattered screen) in hand.


“I’ve been hammering up floor tile. I need to remove glue from the concrete. There’s a tool you guys have, I’ve seen on your website. How much?”


That’s a valid question, don’t you think?


My response, “Yes, we have a coating removal tool that will do the job. It requires you to use a floor polisher. Have you ever used one?”


“No - but on my way in I watched the YouTube Video on how to run that machine. Looks pretty easy, I’ll take it.”


“Would you like a demo first?”


“No way, I’m in a big hurry and need to finish this project.”


“Ok, this machine requires a light touch, don’t try to muscle it, if you run into any problems just give us a call.”


30 minutes later the phone rings.


Customer is now furious. “How in the hell are you supposed to control this piece a shit! The cords too long. It jumps all over the room. There are now three large holes in my walls trying to control this crazy thing. (Bonehead question) What are you going to do about fixing my walls?”


What can you say? “I suggest you return the machine and call a contractor.” (Bonehead!)


Customer number two enters Tool Rental staring intently at his iPhone. Looks up for a split second then back to his phone, “Do you guys have a welder?”


“Absolutely, what are you trying to weld?’


“I need to attach a piece of metal to a fencepost. (Bonehead question) What will that look like?”


I’ll admit I had to pause - then ask. “Have you ever used a welder?”


“Nope. It can’t be that difficult. Can’t you teach me?”


Not really. (Bonehead!)


As you can see from these two examples people really do ask stupid questions.


By the way, "If space is a vacuum, who changes the bag?"


Any questions . . . ?


This is Patrick Ball, thanks for listening. See you in the next episode.

Labels:

Comments

Anonymous said…
I expect fresh commentary....when will this come forth?
September 15, 2020 at 11:33 AM
Post a Comment

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...
Post a Comment
Read more

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...
Post a Comment
Read more

Morning Coffee

In this episode, Morning Coffee . . . Now, I’m not saying everyone needs coffee. Some folks get by just fine on, I don’t know, sunlight and positive thinking. Me? I’m pretty sure I started drinking the stuff sometime around the Reagan administration. Reading John Gierach’s "Ode to Campfire Coffee" in Trout Bum (a book that should be required reading for anyone who sees sleeping on the ground as recreation) got me thinking about how we’ve managed to complicate something as fundamentally simple as boiling water and adding grounds. Taste, you say? Look, black coffee is an acquired taste, like tequila or cilantro. I just don’t get it. Gierach, bless his heart, mostly drinks his java streamside, probably while wearing wool socks and waders and contemplating the mysteries of the universe. As for me? My outdoor coffee experience is a bit different. Picture this: the High Sierra, where campfires are banned (to avoid agitating Smoky Bear), and I’m huddled over a Whisperlite , coax...
1 comment
Read more

A Tucson Typewriter Tale

One of the great joys of wandering without much of a plan is that the universe occasionally rewards your lack of organization. During my recent visit to Tucson, AZ, Robert and I were strolling through the Annex this afternoon, doing what tourists and newly minted retirees like me have elevated to an Olympic sport: meandering. The Annex is one of those places where every few steps there's another handmade candle, artisan coffee, or vintage object someone rescued from a garage sale and convinced the rest of us was always destined to become art. Then I saw something that genuinely stopped me. A young woman standing quietly behind a manual typewriter. Not a laptop designed to look like a typewriter. Not a quirky Bluetooth keyboard. An honest-to-goodness mechanical typewriter—the sort of machine that once announced every sentence to the entire office with a satisfying clack and enough force to wake nearby pigeons. With an iPhone 16 sitting in my pocket in an age when people write novels...
Post a Comment
Read more