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For once in his meticulously-planned-out life, Harold Bruhnmen had actually decided that he'd actually stop on his way in, like on purpose, at Tearimisu. He as put together as he always was, hair pulled back out of his face (Why didn't he just cut it?), jacket triple checked to be free of hair or lint or dirt (lint rollers just weren't powerful enough sometimes), and, once at the door, the same kind smile he always wore on his face.

The young woman at the register was usually never ready for him, but especially not so early in the morning as opening. But there were other customers to check over as Harold looked over the stock, and she watched him with a wariness and posture that betrayed her intentions. As soon as she had a free minute, it was off to pass him off to Jane. But as long as the red haired man stood looking over their loose leaf stock, she was safe.

At least until his stormy grey eyes turned up towards the front register. "No Breakfast Green yet?" he asked, tone inquisitive, but she knew that his disappointment would be more painful than any mean words. She kept her face taut as she managed a 'Well, let me go check' and scrambled back to get Jane.

Harold, in the meantime, waited. It shouldn't have been both amusing and offending that he could send a cashier bolting when he had, as long as he'd been a regular at the shop, never pulled out his scathing voice of distaste. He tried so hard and yet, there they were. The way things always were.

He'd been looking over a particular package of tea when a familiar voice came to the counter. Of course the woman with her pink ribbons had been summoned upon his appearance. Gingerly, Harold hung the bag of loose leaf back up on it's peg, making certain the correct face was hanging out forward. Ginger Peach. Funny.

At Jane's inquiry, Harold gestured simply with one hand to the open spot. "I may have come earlier than your shippers have," he stated simply, gesturing to the spot for his usual fare with one hand, then with his other to the place where the Hibiscus tea from his previous visit was meant to live. Clearly, even if he hadn't enjoyed it, somebody had.

Yes, he'd been planning to buy some, simply for appearances sake.

"Am I still able to get my usual Breakfast Green when it is not available in the open stock as well?" he inquired, always a creature of habit with his normal smile on his face.

A rather unusual look came over Harold's face. His brows lifted ever so slightly at the news that their shipment was late, then furrowed when she said they were expecting it by Friday. However, his disdain was not to be aimed at Jane - a young woman simply trying to do her job, but at....

"I understand. Which shipping company are you going through? Have they given any explanation for the delays you are experiencing?" His own mind was whirling back through his own lists and calls from the evening before, as well as what updates he'd been given that morning by his ever so lovely and diligent assistant. Okay, Harold didn't think quite that highly of her. But simply put, he had information, and his information said one thing: "We have been informed of absolutely no weather patterns, traffic accidents, political rallys, vehicle maintenance, or any other domestic concerns that would have delayed your product that long, and if they have no such information for you, I will have a terse phone call with them myself."

Because if nothing else, Harold could verbally lash someone into tears without being mean and he was ready to do so.

Harold had already pulled a phone from his pocket and had paused in his contacts screen to look up at Jane as she insisted that it didn't need to be his problem. There were a handful of reasons that could be the reason as to why Jane had been given no explanation, but two in particular stuck out to him; someone had damaged the container because they were an irresponsible moron, or they had lost it.

"A shipping delay is not trivial." he said gently, if perhaps not a bit more forcefully than he had intended, and internally he chided himself for it. "It is my particular line of work, Miss Baker, and I would like to see that they treat you as the professional you are." It was perhaps this particular nitpick of quality and detail that had helped Mr. Bruhnmen rise to where he was, or perhaps he was simply trying to be charming.

"Which shipping company is it? Do you have a tracking number?" because he had several people on his phone just a tap away for him to get to the bottom of this travesty.

Harold looked up from his phone, brows furrowing. Well, he'd certainly gotten her to put down the professional tone - an amusing little detail, yet somehow aggravating in this context.

"I am sure you can," there was no sarcasm to his tone, "but sitting on the phone for fourty minutes trying to get straight answers - with no guarantee of them - where do you find the time for that in the day?" By neglecting getting what stock they did have and not getting it out where it needed to be? By ignoring customers? By putting off their pastries and other baked goods? What about other phone calls that could come in? Harold didn't share those options, because as it stood, there were no good ones. "I am offering a single phone call. Ten minutes of my time to get you a straight up answer as to where your stock is and why it was delayed and let you do what you would rather be doing with your time."

Ten minutes was perhaps a generous amount of time, as once given what he needed - a tracking number and a carrier - Harold was immediately on the phone - and he wasn't put on hold. What could have been a fairly long song and dance was cut down in stern words.

"Richard. Harold Brunhmen here." A pause. "They are doing well, thank you. I am calling because we have a client in common that it sounds like you have dropped the ball on. I have a tracking number." He read it off with an intonation that gave each number and letter it's own pitch, making it easy to follow even as it practically fell out of his mouth. "Yes, delayed. We have not received any notice of universal delays. What did you do?" It wasn't accusatory in tone, but it was sharp and perhaps that was worse for whoever was on the other end of the line.

His brows raised slightly at the answer he received. "I sincerely doubt that. If you could not tell that to the customer when she was on the phone asking it, you should not be trying to play it now." A longer silence. "Absolutely unacceptable. If that is the case, I will send someone over to take it from that sorting facility immediately. Mistakes like this hurt small businesses and I happen to be rather fond of this one. You will make it available and if I have to call back..." he trailed off, but the silence lingered long enough that when he hung up, he didn't seem bothered by having left it unfinished.

He then turned back to Jane. "We will have it to you either before closing tonight or first thing in the morning. Which would you prefer?" His hand lingered over his phone, obviously waiting to make a phone call until she picked.

"First thing in the morning, then." and just like that, Harold was back on the phone. "Chauntel, Harold. You can relax. I am going to send you some tracking information, I need you to find out which location Richard has that delivery at and get it delivered tomorrow morning - first thing. Preferably half an hour to an hour or so before opening so they have time to process things in. No, you do not have to do it personally. Just make sure it gets done. Thank you, Chauntel."

Harold didn't seem pleased with himself - at least not his expression or posture. Still, the fact he was getting under Jane's skin was rather plain to him. She was the only one who got annoyed with him, after all. At least visibly so. "Of course not, no need to have to change your days plans because other people aren't doing their jobs." he agreed, not rising to her bait and instead simply waving it by. Was she describing him? Why yes, yes she was.

"Once I know who will have your package, I can contact you with a number to determine a more precise delivery time if that will not inconvenience you." Oh yes, he was just going to layer up how many nice things he could do with a single phonecall.

He remained completely neutral - if not vaguely pleasant - about the entire situation. In fact, Harold firmly placed his motives in a sealed box and hide it away in a corner of his endless void. This expression didn't change as he saved the number away in his phone, debating to himself if he wrote 'Jane' or something else more amusing for her name.

For the sake of less questions later, Harold settled on 'Miss Baker'. Because sometimes, his phone wasn't just for his eyes. Alas.

"No. I did not have to do that. Just like you do not have to come and serve me personally because your hires do not like me," Harold stated calmly. "I wanted to because I enjoy my visits and would hate it if your numbers faltered because of an irresponsible shipping company." Something he took pride in as the owner of one. Certainly he didn't have a business as large as Fedex or UPS (lord, would he have had any control over it if he had?), but it was just the right size for what his purposes were.

"So you are very welcome, Miss Baker. Please, do let me know next time you have an issue so you do not have to wait as long."