I made a last minute adjustment to the configuration, waffled considerably, then changed it back. The final tally was calculated. Let me take a moment to say, "!!!!!" It's just as well I don't have a bigger kitchen. Ye Gods. Printout in hand, I strode purposefully to the front of the store. Good thing I didn't have to go through the Lumber aisle. That would've slowed things down.* As I approached the cashiers, a very nice young man opened up his register for me. I handed him the printout and a handful of seed packets (I had a lot of time to kill before the consultant fellow was ready for me. we'll see how I do raising peas and nasturtiums this year) and, as he was ringing it up, realized my purse was suspiciously light. "Oh, no," I said. "I left my wallet in my car! Can you wait a moment?"
The very nice young man smiled a very nice smile. "No problem."
After a rather blithering apology, I ran (full out, albeit rather clumsily thanks to my snow boots) to my car. My wallet was tucked under my coat, which I'd also left in the car, where I'd tossed it after filling the CARDIS at the gas station. Since I knew I wouldn't need anything more than my debit card and - possibly - ID, I left my purse in the car and ran (again, full out and clumsily) back inside. The very nice young man was still there and still smiling as I gasped another apology. Confident that we were nearly done, I swiped my card and entered my PIN.
"I'm sorry," said the very nice young man. "It says your card was declined."
Now I knew full well there was enough in the account. Even so, I felt a flush creep over my cheeks. Say the word 'declined' and I go into auto-shame. "Can I try it as a credit card?" The v.n.y.m. assured me that I could. We ran it through again.
I was beginning to panic. "Will you take a check?" I squeaked. The v.n.y.m. nodded. I reached for my checkbook... which was in my purse. Which was in my car. "I need to run back out to my car." Apologies floating behind me, I ran out again. As I did so, I called Don on my cell. "The card was declined and they said they'll take a check and I hope it'll be all right and I know we have enough to cover this and..."
"You have to call for authorization for such a large amount," Don said. "Remember? We had to do that when we bought the CRV."
Oh. OH. Of course. Why the hell hadn't I thought of that? Mind, calling for that authorization took a goodly amount of time. I'd already put the v.n.y.m. through two bouts of car-relay. "I'll just give him a check."
"That should be fine," my beloved assured me. "Are you okay? You sound like you're having trouble breathing."
"Gotta go," I wheezed as I stumbled along in my clunky footwear.
The v.n.y.m. was waiting, and now he had two others with him. Bugger, thought I. They're going to nab me for 'shady attempt to purchase cabinetry.' I wrote the check with shaking hands (from the running and the sheer amount of money I was signing over to Lowe's), showed my shiny new driver's license, and woohoo! all was well.
In about a month, I will have custom built new cabinets in my home.
Now to choose a countertop. And a sink. And lighting fixtures. And to schedule a visit from the electrician and the plumber, to buy a dishwasher and a microwave/hood/vent/thingy.
*you know how there are some jokes that just never get old? for me, it's walking down the lumber aisle as instructed: in a slow, heavy and awkward way. oh, I crack me up!