Several weeks ago, I decided to change paint stores after a several minute conversation with a sales clerk who insisted that I neither knew at which store I had bought paint nor who picked said paint up. So, I headed to a paint store down the street where I was helped and assured that any paint colors unique to the other store could perfectly be matched at this one. It was suggested that I open an account when I came back for the stain in a month or so.
Today was the day I returned. I told the clerk what I wanted and he asked if I wanted oil based or water based. Thinking that he, working at a paint store, would be more knowledgeable, I asked which he recommended. His response was, “well, that’s up to you, ma’am.” So, I chose oil. Then I showed him a paint chip of what I hoped was the color that matches my back door. I don’t know the exact color because according to the other paint store, I never bought it there...which I did, but whatever.
The lovely gentleman barely glanced at the chip, said, no problem,” and lickety split I was headed out with my paint. Something was nagging me, so I decided to check on the yellow paint to see if it matched my door paint closely enough. Not only was it not a match, but only in some odd color universe would it even be considered yellow. So, I put a spot of it next to my paint chip, dried it with the hairdryer and headed back to the store.
Same lovely young man helped me. I showed him the paint chip with the color he mixed beside it. I said (very nicely-still smiling), “this is what I ordered. This is what I got,” to which he replied, “ that’s a pretty bright yellow and yellow fades really badly so I thought this would be better.” So, now he decides to make a decision for me. I assured him (still smiling although on my Fitbit my heart rate was 112) that for me it was not better and I would really like a quart of the yellow. He told me to just go back to the original paint store if I wanted that color.
