Dear Mr. Important Consultant Guy,

I owe you an apology for my incompetence a few days ago. I know now that it was wrong to assume that just because I had explained the reason your wine is not available at the right price once before, apologized, and gave my word I was on top of it, that you should remember this information four days later. I can see why my Day Four update on Jug Wine Crisis 2005 was inadequate; while progress had been made, the issue had not yet been resolved. A mere second apology and assurance that I was waiting for someone else to follow through must have been infuriating. It had, after all, been four days. How inconvenienced you must have felt all that time, that you might have to drive to another store for the jug you wanted. But most of all, I regret the egregious suggestion that your tearing me a new asshole this second time was of no use, and that you might want to make your feelings known to those closer to the snag.

I also want to apologize for not being able to wrap my little mind around how your experience as a "well-respected consultant" also makes you an expert on corporate retail. It seemed so simple, the way you laid it out, that if there's a problem, the owner of the company should fix it immediately, and sort out the details later. As soon as the owner of my corporation drops by the store, I'll be sure to point that out to him.

You tried to explain, illuminating hand gestures and all, how I am the "crucial point of contact" between my clients and my company, and therefore am obliged to have my ass chewed into a pulp, regardless of my past attempts to correct the problem or the fact that I have done all I have power to do. I really appreciate that lesson. You see, I didn't realize that all you really wanted was to let fly on someone and watch as they tremble and stutter before your superior intellect. What a disappointment it must've been when I refused to tremble properly, and instead had the gall to suggest you stop barking at me. I'll be sure to pop a couple xanax next time and behave like the plebian I was born to be.

I felt so bad, having forced you into the irrational, arrogant critism with which you are obviously uncomforable. On both occassions, as I watched the veins bulge on your forehead and spit fly from your mouth, I thought it a shame that such an otherwise reasonable, socially adept, centered gentleman should be so pushed to the brink. But I sympathize: being unable for the second time in a week to purchase your favorite jug of cheap wine is enough to make anyone crazy. I can only hope you were able to take a breath before leaving the store. I would have hated to hear that your rage over a bottle of wine had caused you to veer into oncoming traffic in your SUV, which then burst into flames, reducing you to a smoldering briquette of bitterness. I would have felt really, really bad about that.

Sincerely,
T.