The airport at rush hour.

It's 4:53 p.m., do you know where the boss is? The flight information says his plane is delayed one hour, seventeen minutes. We spend a bit assembling Zoltan's wife's bike and fielding sales reps phone calls. A friend had referred one of his dad's friends to me. Apparently he came down to the shop on Wednesday when we're closed and had a hard time parking as he said that several times on the phone. He called to eliminate the need to come back and nothing I could have said would have been right. I was polite, but about five minutes into the call, I wanted my five minutes back. He could not state a price range he wanted to stay in nor avail me of his size or any preferences other than that he wanted a hybrid commuter fast bike. I really dislike when people call with preconceived notions and self-fulfilling prophecies. I liken it to asking someone if they're stupid and if they say no, saying, "well if you are stupid then you wouldn't know you are stupid". Save me stripping down my existence and motivation for you and get on with it. I guess some people can only tell you what they don't want. My only point is we have bikes for sale but nobody's going to ram them down your throat. People buy our bikes for many reasons: price, quality, color, fit, service, reputation, and guarantee. This guy didn't want to buy a bike, he wanted to find a reason not to come back to the Marigny and at some point in the conversation, he found it. Congrads A.H.!
So off to the airport. 30 minutes of Metairie and park on the third floor. The flight does not appear on the list of arrivals. In the amount of time it takes to look up the airline on the phone internet, the boss shows up. A nice ride back with a slight tease about wanting a raise, hey I want to buy a house, and we've back. Zoltan found (liberated) some wheels for the new bike and we almost polished it off. Maybe tomorrow, aside from chip y salsa, the cleaning will happen. I'm sure nothing will possibly distract from that end.