- Wrapping myself in a radiator-heated towel after my shower.
- Taking my first sip of piping-hot tea.
- Starting the laundry. (I’m one of those weirdos who truly enjoys doing laundry. Sue me.)
- Watching the birds fly about the feeders, beating the squirrels at their own game.
- Planning a new dish for dinner tonight.
- Enjoying the background buzz in my head for a new project I’m considering.
- Reading creative blogs.
If you’ve noticed a lack of sarcasm around here lately, it’s because I’m pretty much a homebody since I stopped working, and with no people around to stimulate my sarcasm bone, it’s fairly tame. I try watching the news but that just drives up my blood pressure which squishes all the sarcasm out and brings up the sputtering rage. And nobody needs to hear that.
So I did see something yesterday. I was waiting at the deli counter to buy the sliced meats that Family loves to slap between bread and watching the numbers get called. (And really, why aren’t more things in life like a deli counter? Its choices are clearly arrayed before you and everybody takes a number and waits patiently. Just think how many things could be improved by that system! The mind boggles.) One smallish woman with her raincoat clutched firmly about her was hovering near the edge of the counter trying to catch the eye of the deli workers. They’re smart, though; they are too tall to make eye contact and too used to shenanigans like that to pay any notice. When number 46 was called, Smallish Woman clutched her ticket and said she was number 44 and she “didn’t hear” them calling her and she wanted to be waited on now. Number 46 was a tall young woman with a knitted hat and matching knitted Ugg boots (and it really wasn’t that cold out but I digress…) who looked her up and down, then said clearly “So that’s how it works? We all wait here patiently for our numbers but you go shopping and expect to be waited on whenever you’re ready? Really?” She looked about at the rest of us. “Really?”
Smallish Woman ignored her and started placing the order she wanted. Youngish Woman looked at the deli workers with a wide, pearly, are-you-really-going-along-with-this smile, and we all waited to see what would happen. Secretly, I admired the chutzpa of the Youngish Woman because how often do we find ourselves in those situations and think those things but never say them? She just came right out with what she felt. I could never do that. First of all, I’d turn beet red, then I’d choke on my words, and I’d end up looking like an enraged harpy instead of a cool customer mildly stating the facts.
Luckily, two deli workers were free at the same time and addressed both women, and the incident was no longer an incident. Youngish Woman ordered two items, thanked the men, and left, glancing once more at Smallish. Smallish still ignored everyone about her, squeezing between people and carts to see all ends of the deli counter as she deliberated if she wanted a quarter pound or a third pound of liverwurst.
I was number 48, and Smallish was still going strong, ordering quarter pounds of cheeses at this point. I looked over at her and whatever sympathy I might have had for her missing her number and being called out on it went right away: Smallish looked at her list, ticked off her items, then crumpled her list and threw it on the floor. Dealbreaker. You’re a public mess-maker? You lose all your sympathy points.
I have no clue what this story might mean to you, nor why I chose to write about it except my life isn’t too exciting lately and I have to seize the moments where I can. Hubby is working again though as a “consultant” which is a fancy way of saying “we’ll send you all over the place but no benefits” so he’s actually on another interview today which might involve International Travel. My parting wisdom to him was if they offered him a job it can only be to countries that offer outstanding chocolate and yarn for sale.
The helpful spouse, that’s me.