"Minuteman Press: Printing for the Job You Needed Yesterday."

 I have in my possession an order of 1000 business cards from Jeff Culbreath's enterprise. All I can say is that I'm blown away. From the parchment paper to the detailed thermal printing, the work is superb. The options Jeff's designer offered were staggering, too--it was hard to pick just one. 

 And--even though I didn't need it fast, it was a quick process overall--the only delays being on the part of the dithering buyer. So, take this testimonial as a recommendation: if you have some printing that needs to be done, give Jeff a call. OK, Jeff, now about that invoice...[ducking]. Juuuust kidding. 

Here's my wife's favorite haggling story, involving her father, which I like to call: Germans Do Not Haggle. Louis Blaesing (God rest his soul) was of stout Teutonic (and Irish, too) descent. One of his first jobs was working at a suburban Detroit paint store in high school, a teenager determined to do his best. The owner of the store was Polish and he and Louis got along fine. One day, an old Polish lady comes in and lugs a bucket of paint to the register. Louis looks at the paint and says: "That'll be $1.59." The lady smiles at him and says, in a heavy accent, "I give you 75 cent." Louis blinked. "It's $1.59," he replied, baffled. "But I give you 75 cent." Bafflement quickly grew into irritation. "The sign says," he said slowly, and gesturing expansively, "$1.59." Smiling a little more brightly: "Fine. I give you 80 cent." Irritation began to morph into into anger. "It's $1.59!" Still smiling, and settling into Old World Haggling Stance: "OK, I give you 85 cent." 

And so it went, back and forth, for another minute, as the veins in my father in law's neck began to bulge out and the old woman, enjoying herself immensely, no doubt began to admire her opponent. "Oh, he's a good one." Just in time to prevent an international incident, the owner arrived from the rear of the store, gently steering the red-faced, borderline-enraged teenage clerk to the side, saying he'd handle it. "Stop bothering my boy," he admonished the old woman. Then the two began to commence haggling in Polish while Louis' blood pressure came back down from the red line. After he sold the can to the woman, he told Lou he'd only dropped it a nickel. Apparently it's an Eastern European thing.