David Spates "Therefore I Am" Published Nov. 15, 2005

Can't find the check-out lane? Ask your Sherpa

You can get away with anything if you just preface a request with "for your convenience." It goes to show that manners really do count for something. People will thoughtfully consider even the most outlandish demand as long as it's asked politely.

Recently I was in one of those humongous home-improvement stores -- you know, the ones that occupy a few thousands acres; the ones that are so expansive you need a compass and a well-packed Sherpa to find your way from the nails aisle to the paint desk; the ones where you have to dodge the two dozen Shriner-driven forklifts in order to buy a hinge.

Parenthetically, does anyone remember when we used to have hardware stores in this country?

They were quaint little shops where you could dash in for a plunger, pay for it, say hi to the owner, and be back in your car in less than four minutes. These days, in the age of super-, ultra-, mega-marts, it takes four minutes just to find a parking space. There is no owner, only stockholders. It's just so, oh what's the word, corporate. There's no character at all. I'm all for convenience, but does convenience mean we have to sacrifice personality?

Ah, yes, convenience. That's where I was headed before I started my little rant on the demise of Howard Cunningham.

I was in one of these mega-marts trying to find the check-out lanes. I walked by the customer service desk, which looked too much like a check-out lane, and noticed a sign that read, "For your convenience, check-out lanes are located at the far end of the store." Torok, my Sherpa, handed me my binoculars and pointed. There, no less than 175 yards away, were the check-out lanes. I could reach it with a three-iron -- maybe.

"Exactly what part of this is convenient?" I asked myself. Torok looked sad and slowly shook his head. It was as though he could sense my question, read my mind. The Sherpa are truly a mystical people, and in addition to guiding foreigners to the summit of Mount Everest, they're top-notch caddies.

So we began the long trek to the check-out lanes. We lost some good men along the way, but we made it. I paid for my purchases, returned my cart to the corral, and asked Torok for one last bit of guidance: Where was my car? He pointed to a spot about 90 yards away, just past the Corvette with the sheetrock strapped to the roof. He recommended a soft eight-iron.

A day later, I was buying gas and noticed yet another sign. This one read, "For your convenience, all pumps are credit card only. Cash customers pay inside before pumping." OK, I can understand the need for the sign. First off, credit cards are so ubiquitous that it makes sense that nearly all gas pumps can perform the transaction without ever going inside the store. I love it. It's quick, it's handy, and it eases my mind to know that high gas prices are somewhat tempered by the frequent-flier miles I get with each and every credit card purchase. Secondly, those high gas prices mean that a few more low-lifes pump gas and drive off without paying for it. Customers paying cash just need to pay for gas before pumping. Unfortunately, not everyone can be trusted.

So like I said, I understand the sentiment, but what does convenience have to do with anything? It's certainly not convenient for the cash-paying customer, although I wouldn't say it's inconvenient either. Everyone paid for gas the old-fashioned way long before credit card machines were built into the pumps. The guy with cash still has to walk inside the store, stand in line next to the Slurpee machine, and pay the cashier.

I'm not sure the pay-at-the-pump feature is worth touting as a convenience either. Those pumps have been around for quite a few years. Certainly the novelty has worn off by now. I'm sure there was a time when a standard landline telephone was thought of as a convenience too, but those days have long since passed. A telephone is nothing more than a basic tool that accompanies every aspect of modern life. It won't be long until pay-at-the-pump gas stations will be thought of in the same way, if they're not already.

As long as everyone's throwing convenient requests around so freely, I thought I'd toss in a few of my own.

"For your convenience, next week's column will not be written. For my convenience, however, I will receive payment anyway."

"For your convenience, winter will begin next month. Snow will fall, your heating bill will skyrocket, and you won't be able to go anywhere without dragging around a 50-pound coat."

"For your convenience, taxes will be collected in April. The federal government is unburdening us with the chore of spending a third of our money ourselves."

"For your convenience, that Thanksgiving turkey and heavy brown gravy will send you to the Land of Nod long before halftime."

As the Church Lady was fond of saying, "How conveeeeenient."

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David Spates is a Knoxville resident and Crossville Chronicle contributor whose column is published each Tuesday. He can be reached at davespates@tds.net