Never Walked In High Heels

It was ten minutes to 8 o’ clock in the morning, and I was going to one of my favorite businesses in London that I often frequent in the wee morning hours. This particular place is like a second home to me, full of young women who to me feel as though they are my sisters rather than a client-professional relationship. That being said, the lever of professionalism and expertise in this particular establishment is stunning. That being said, driving up to the door there was a gigantic water heater about 5 feet tall and 3 feet in diameter, which not only did not belong there, but also had nothing to do with the store itself.

“What in the world…!” I yelled inside, opening the door as best I could while moving around the obstruction. Two employees came out and, although laughing hysterically at the situation, told me that the obstacle had nothing to do with the store. At that moment a maintenance man got out of his van and walked past.

“Is this yours?” One of the employees asked. She’s barely five feet tall and has pixie-cut blonde-white hair. She’s one of my favorites because she not only looks as if she can cause mischief (which she often does) but also has been put forward for several awards in her industry at an alarmingly young age.

“Yeah,” said the man. A single word spoke volumes of subtext such as, “and I’m having a really bad day, so don’t you dare bother me.”

“Well, we’re going to have to move it to get her inside,” she said rather directly.

“Fine, fine, fine!” And at that moment the maintenance man kicked over the metal cylinder at full power.

“I’m all alone here today, I can’t do everything,” he said, continuously kicking the water heater. At this moment, the pixie became fierce.

“Well there’s no need for that kind of behavior now, is there?”

I began to speak up, feeling as I often do in such situations, that it is somehow my fault. Logically, I realize that this is not the case, but there is always that emotional tweak inside me that cunningly says, “You should have never gone out of the house in the first place. Look at what you’ve done.” And so I opened my mouth to defend everyone possible in the situation.

At that moment, the owner of the establishment, Karine, came out. She is a model entrepreneur in every sense of the word, someone I lovingly respect as well as professionally admire. Her Australian accent and blonde hair always makes me feel like there is the grace of Nicole Kidman nearby.

“What is going on here?” she demanded. And the pixie and I immediately began talking at once. The pixie to Karine, myself to the antagonist.

“Get inside, both of you, get inside right now,” she demanded, opening the door further and guiding my wheelchair in.

“Karine, I’m so sorry-” I began, wanting to apologize for the entire situation.

“You’re my customer. Get inside and go get yourself something to drink.”

I turned around to say something to the man. “I said, get inside, you’re my customer.” And with that, I was inside the door.

Sometimes, it is, unfortunately, refreshing to have someone do the right thing without being told to do so. And when you don’t even realize that their action is the right thing to do until they do it, it takes your breath away even more. Someone decisively blocked my entrance to Karine’s business. As a paying customer, it wasn’t my job to fix it. It wasn’t my job to apologize for someone else’s idiocy, or even attempt to be diplomatic. It’s rare in this city that a business person has such capitalistic foresight to realize that for all their customers to be equal, and to want to spend money at their establishment, they have to do some human rights work themselves. I don’t know why I found Karine’s behavior so shocking, because of course, I chose to spend my money there as a vote of confidence in her establishment, as recognition of value, when I discovered that hers was one of the few places in London that voluntarily put in a stairlift between their upstairs and downstairs, and as a statement of satisfaction when I knew that her employees would treat me as professionally as anyone else, and do whatever it took for the effects of my disability to disappear within the walls of her business.

People often say that human relations and business can never go together. They are opposing poles that will never meet. I don’t believe that. From what I see, the businesswoman I respect in Karine doesn’t believe that either. In order to be worth your payment, you must be willing to see the human being, what she needs, and take it upon yourself to provide a service of value. That’s why, even if there is a water heater in the way sometimes, I walk to Karine’s with the full knowledge that my money will be well spent.