He’d always call before coming into the shop. “Hey, It’s Bob with Sunshine, I need to pick up a 5 of your high gloss sealer, do you have one in stock?”
“We do,” we’d tell him, and a little while later a white van with a decal of the yellow sun on the side of it would tool into the parking lot.
Bob called his business Sunshine, I suspect, because Florida is the Sunshine State. It was just that simple. Bob called himself Bob because it’s less syllables than Robert and syllables take time.
Bob was always in a massive rush.
When he’d come into the shop, he had no time for fuss or wasted words. Words were distractions. The objective was very serious: to get the transaction over with, grab the merchandise (upon which the fate of universe depended) and get out of there as quickly as possible.
Bob was a bottom line kind of guy.
If a thing didn’t serve his bottom line, he had absolutely no use for it.
With him, it was all about reaching the cheese at the end of the maze, and if getting there quicker required chewing through the walls, he’d be the first one coughing up drywall.
We’d do the transaction, he’d grab the can and beeline out of the shop, sometimes while rummaging through the fathoms of his shapeless cargo shorts, grabbing his phone and dialing whoever he was soon to be visiting.
“Yeah, Bob with Sunshine…”
Bob was never in the place that he was, his mind was always either two steps ahead of itself or standing at the finish line with his wallet open. So it was no surprise when he came into the shop one morning with two fingers missing.
He’d apparently been working with a table saw and no time was to be wasted.
Bob sold his handyman business shortly after that and the last I’d heard – this coming from a former employee of his – he’d gotten a job selling quick temporary dentures for a wholesale firm in Boca.
Bob was a customer of mine for five years and I never saw him smile. Whether he did or not didn’t affect his bottom line.