A Bad Influence?

As much as I appreciate cute purses, I don’t always like to use them. Such was the case this last weekend when I went to Utah to eat turkey and be thankful. Since I was forgoing a purse, each time I went out somewhere, I’d grab a credit card, my driver’s license, a $20 bill, and my cell phone. With both hands and shoulders free from encumbrance, I was free to roam about.

It’s become a bit of a tradition for my niece and I to go to Gardner Village the day after Thanksgiving. While the crazies are fighting over $12 plasma televisions, it’s lovely to stroll around the little shops and admire the Christmas decorations. And, at some point each year, we stop at the bakery—usually for lunch. But, since we’d gotten off to a rather late start with breakfast around noon, we opted out of lunch and decided on a quick snack before concluding our trip into quaintness. My whopping bill came to $2.64, so I decided to pay with cash. When I paid, the clerk handed me change from $10.

Me: “Umm, I gave you a twenty.”
Clerk: “I’m so sorry. That’s the second
time I’ve done that today.”
Me: “No problem.”

The clerk then handed me a $10 bill.

Later that evening, I was emptying my pockets and getting settled at my friend’s house, when I discovered I had too much cash. (Not a problem to which I am accustomed.) Ten dollars too much to be precise. It appears that in my excitement over snack time, I had completely forgotten that I had broken my $20 at breakfast that day, and had indeed paid for my snack with a $10 bill.

I always thought that when I turned to a life of crime, it would be big and splashy and earn me one of those two-hour specials on a primetime news magazine. If I’m going down, I may as well make it worth it. Turns out my scandalous nature looks a whole lot like senility and not so much like the work of a criminal mastermind.

That Would be "No"

To answer the questions that have been asked with increasing frequency lately:

1. No, I don’t know where I’ll be working in January.
2. Yes, this is kind of late not to know.
3. Yes, it is frustrating.
4. No, there’s nothing I can do about it.

Ggrrrrr.

The Circles Don’t Intersect

There’s been a nagging feeling at the back of my head for the last few weeks, exacerbated when I think about Christmas. I assume this is because I hadn’t started shopping or even planning, and, if last year is anything to go by, the next six weeks are going to be gone in the blink of an eye. So Saturday, after receiving a tip from a neighbor, I headed to the local outlet mall in hopes of jumpstarting the buying.

As I closed in on hour five of dodging free roaming strollers whilst scanning the racks for those perfect somethings, I found myself in line at the very last store. This happened to be one of those stores that uses poles and nylon ropes to create one mega-line that feeds into all the registers; thus negating my incessant need to determine if I chose the best line. After a few moments, I sensed that the person behind me was standing strangely close. So, as soon as the person in front of me advanced, I stepped forward. Again, the gentleman behind me moved ridiculously close to me. So close, that as I executed a half turn (the universal signal for “that’s annoying”), the jacket that was folded over his arm brushed up against me.

While the line was admittedly long, it was single-file and the space wasn’t crowded. But every time I moved forward, he insisted on getting as close to me as physically possible. The jacket bumped me four more times. I tried ever-so-hard not to overreact, but I was tired, it was raining, and I have personal space issues. It was almost my turn to proceed to a register, when I felt something pull my purse. This time he had stepped so close to me that he had managed to wrap the hanger from something he was buying around the shoulder strap of my bag. I half looked over my shoulder and heard him mutter, “Sorry.” I am not the kind of woman to confront a stranger, but I found myself telling him that he really didn’t need to stand so close to me. I was a little taken aback by my behavior. I understand that different cultures have different standards around these things. I’d like to think if I was travelling abroad, I would have been fine with it. Go with the flow. When in Rome, etc. But here, in the outlet malls that make this nation great, I expect folks to play by my rules. AKA . . . don’t touch me!

Who Knew it Was All Right Here?

After living in San Jose for more than three months, I finally took some time to explore the local attractions. (Thanks to Amanda for visiting; otherwise, who knows how long it would have been before I got around to that.)

Turns out I live in a pretty cool place. Muir Woods alone would qualify as one of the most perfect places I’ve ever been, but then you add Sausalito, the Golden Gate Bridge, Monterey, and Santa Cruz and you’re talking serious hip-ness.

When It’s Okay to Lie

Last Saturday, in the middle of an otherwise goal-oriented shopping excursion, I took a brief side trip into the world of cheap shoes. I didn’t find anything that I just had to have, but I did have a quick encounter that intrigued me.

Teenage girl holding up two pairs of shoes: “Which ones should I get?”
Me: “The ones with the pink lining.”
Teenager: “That’s what everyone says.”
Me: “Well, they’re more unique.”

Had I been at all honest with her, I would have mentioned that both pairs were so ugly that I couldn’t possibly advise her to buy either. But I assumed that she wouldn’t be terribly enthused with that opinion. On the other had, if she was so crippled with indecision that she was asking shabbily-dressed strangers for advice, she may have wanted to hear the truth. I decided not to bet on that one.

I Thought I Was Sending a Clear Signal

About a year and a half ago, I acquired a set of noise-canceling headphones. Now I can’t imagine flying without them and the down blanket / pillow combo my dad gave me for Christmas a few years back. Muting everyone from flight attendants to chatty neighbors to screaming children certainly makes air travel more enjoyable.

Over the weekend I flew from my real home (Maine) to my current home (California). I drifted in and out of wakefulness on the early morning flight from Portland to Detroit, cocooned in my snuggly blankie and the soothing tones of my iPod.

Not only was the flight from Detroit to San Francisco completely full, the plane had less legroom than anything I’ve ever flown in. Before take off I made small talk with the couple sitting next to me. On their way to visit the grandkids. Yadda yadda yadda. As soon as we hit 10,000 feet, I put on my headphones, pulled out my book, and tried to find a Zen-like state. Thankfully, I found myself drifting off . . .

Only to be awakened by a distinct poke in the arm. I pried one eye open to find the woman next to me poking my arm, pointing to the flight attendant coming down the aisle, and mouthing the word “Coffee?” About two hours later, it happened again. This time it was for the drink cart.

Seriously? Barring oxygen masks appearing for immediate use, I cannot imagine a circumstance where it’s appropriate to wake a sleeping stranger on a plane.

Guess I'm White

If you believe the assessment of Stuff White People Like, there's no question about my color. In case there was any doubt, post #106 solidified it. I just can't get enough Facebook.