The Dread Dormomoo sussed it out, all right.
The burnout, I mean.
As in me.
Some months back I posted about "not suffering fools gladly". I cannot handle arrant stupidity anymore, including (and O how I loathe the term) passive-aggressive posturing. And, given my previous post, this may give some a completely unwarranted "AHA!"...

I simply abhor doing business with women. Especially the sort who place their bad behavior upon me, as though it is all MY fault. I refer to it as "throwing their sex at me" (and not in a good way). The Dread Dormomoo has a handy talent for art. She was an artist for years, and then she discovered the airbrush, and made quite a nice bundle painting upon shirts and surfboards, tailgates, walls, skate cases, and ball helmets. Helmets are the current craze, and DD has quite the crazed and happy following for her work.
Invariably, the Special Jobs, the ones that require Special Handling, and Shoving Ahead of Other Work, these are the stuff nightmares are made on. She had to completely re-color the helmet to a sky blue (we thought the enamel would never dry), and then paint a softball on the front, with lovely pastel-shaded angelic wings trailing on either side of the helmet, and the child's name across the front as well. This is all done freehand, BTW.
The mother in question stolidly walked in with her daughter in tow. The little girl was enraptured. She LOVED the wings. They were the sort of wings one would get if Barbie became an angel. Her Mater was less enthused. "I had something different in mind." I had to fight not to inform her that we both flunked telepathy. Then she told The Lie. She said to her daughter "As long as YOU like them...". I recognised that she had slipped into Impossible To Satisfy mode. She began the Interminable Scan of the helmet. "The name isn't even straight." I gently pointed out that it was following a curve, but she HAD to be right, and pointed out an inconsistency in the freehand script, whereupon I offered to have it re-done, but it would take a few days. "Oh, no, she HAS to have it tomorrow." So I Made a Decision. It is clear that she is unused to having a man Make a Decision. I abruptly said "Well, take it, and bring it back next week." This is a reasonable solution to the problem. She had already decided, though, that she would NOT be satisfied, and that I had NO solution for her. So I told her to just take it. Period. Whereupon she accused me of being rude. Honestly, it had been a beastly day, but my temper was in check; I was merely being sudden in my decisions. No, she said I was rude. No, I said I wanted her to be satisfied. Contretemps. I gave her the opportunity to NOT PAY, JUST TO TAKE IT. She insisted upon dashing off a check, I assume to maintain the Moral High Ground. Then, she would not speak to me, or answer me at all. She took her broodlet to her SUV, and I cheerily wished her safety in the inclement weather coming.


I love my wife (and not just 'cause I'm commanded to!). I love my daughter (ditto). There are many women whom I love, or am fiercely fond of, or look forward to seeing again at the Next Convention; in short, friends. I have no trouble with customer service gals at the various vendors I frequent. I am NOT a misogynist.
I guess that I just cannot abide the ones who have no breeding, no manners, who cannot Maintain the Polite Fiction. Bad behavior disguised as "being honest" Trouble is, there are SO MANY of them, that I worry that I am becoming the "M-word".
I find that I cannot smile and just TAKE it anymore.
We are mailing the check back, with a sweetness-and-light note.
It's worth the $25. I paid Dormomoo out of my pocket, so she's not out; but she has so nailed it.
I used to be able, no matter my humor, to "put on my shop face" and be Mr. Rogers.
I can't anymore. I did not yell at this woman, or behave badly, but she sure picked up my on vibe.
Maybe she didn't flunk telepathy.
As for me, I'm just tired of women who cannot behave themselves in a civil manner. God bless her husband.
If this type of behavior was the norm historically, there would have been no Oldest Profession, and no human race to speak of, either.
Maybe I need some work, too. One thing I know, I am utterly ready to quit.I'm tired of these people.