Retail, re tale, re tell

I'm working in a store. During Christmas. I feel this gives me perspective on the human race, how they are feeling, what they are thinking, and what the general mood is out there. After surviving the pre-Christmas shop, I can say that overall I am pleasantly surprised. I expected the masses to be raging, for people to pass their frustration on me--the lowly worker bee. For the most part, this didn't happen. Many people passed along their "happy holidays" and "merry Christmases" and "thank you for helping me because I can't help myself-ises." Of course, there were those who couldn't help themselves. They were complainy, wouldn't be satisfied if I had delivered the products to their home in my bikini, and could have done with a good old-fashioned throttle (ah, how I daydream!). 

Which brings me to the next surprise of the season. How short-tempered I've become. Oh how short. tempered. I've. become. Seriously. I'm so easily bothered by how stupid people can be. And how quick they are to treat me like I'm stupid. I cried one day, as one lady impolitely asked me to hurry up and just tell her what the total was, and as she took her dear time writing her check, I just looked over the line of people and realized none of them knew me. How much I like to read. How many instruments I can play. What a delightful sense of humor I have. And the tears came for minutes after that. The customers after her pretended not to notice that I was having difficulty controlling my emotions. No one asked if I was okay. No one told me to take a moment for myself. And ever since that day, I make less of an effort to make the customer care about me. I roll my eyes at them as they struggle to remember the name of the book they drove all the way across town to pick up. I walk away from them before they have a chance to ask another question or (heaven forbid) thank me. I interrupt them when they take too long to say what I already know what they are going to say. One day, a man was in a hurry and decided to take it out on me. I proceeded to move as slowly as possible. What little power I have over the consumer, I have decided to abuse.

This is not me. I don't like it. Yet, I am unable to stop the behavior. Sure, some days are better than others, and I'm able to pull lame jokes out of thin air for the entertainment of my customer, or I'm able to smile through some small abuse. But others are so bad I can feel the hatred seeping out my pores (and I despise anything seeping out my pores). I think the solution is to quit. To stay in bed all day (or for as long as I want), and to never work in customer service again. Problem solved. 

Where Does Time Go?

I don't mean to get philosophical, but time is complex. Think about this time and that time, and time to come. Time on a speeding train. Time capsules.

And all the time I waste on the weekends.

It's a strange phenomenon. Time speeds up on the weekends. It slows down to a halt when I'm having a bad day. And since it's easy to talk about time in terms of speed, someone needs to invent a time brake and a time gas pedal.

Then again, what would I do with my manipulated weekend time? This weekend, I had to nurse a hangover and avoid my neighbor (long story). I didn't have the energy to take Oscar to the dog park. So is my real problem time management, or an energy deficiency? That said, I probably don't deserve a time manipulation device. I like to think I'd use it to get more writing done, and to accomplish very important tasks, but let's face it--I'd just take more naps.

It's Been Ages

This is the first week I feel somewhat settled in Denver. The first week was a flurry of unpacking and decision making about what I could live without for the next two to three months. Then I took a trip to Dallas to visit my friend Kristin, and due to heavy holiday travel, wound up spending an extra day in the airport trying to get home. When I did get home, I was looking forward to some stability, which would have helped when I fell off my bike and hurt my wrist. Along with the wrist injury came an annoying head cold, and finally, this week, I am on the mend.

I suppose I owe an update in other areas as well. We're still looking for a house. We viewed a gorgeous bungalow with the highest ceilings, and I was getting that I-really-want-it feeling in my stomach until we walked to the backyard and saw the most atrocious carriage house backing the property. Half of the backyard is taken up by a giant, red, adobe-looking square thing with windows that is apparently a residence. And owned by someone else. Grrr. I really was hoping for a two-car garage. Why does every home have its compromise?

And the only other update is that I'm training for a 78-mile bike ride in the lovely Colorado Rockies on August 4. The ride goes over the Copper Triangle, and as of right now I am not in any sort of shape to do this thing. This has made my little wrist injury and head cold especially annoying. But, with some heavy training over the next three weeks, lots of goo and water, I will hopefully make a decent showing (and by decent I mean I'll finish).

That's all from Colorado Land for now. I'll be on the computer all week, perhaps with something interesting to say.

No More Talk About Houses

I'm pretty sure I jinxed this one too. We're not getting the cute house on the end of the cul-de-sac. It's turned into an awful situation that could possibly drag on for some time. I'm not even going to speak about houses until I'm living in one.

Can I Hitch a Ride?

I was planning on going home tomorrow, flying standby, to Colorado. Now, thanks to the snow (which I had been raving about, way to repay the favor, Mr. Snow Maker), I can't go home until after Christmas. Do you realize what this has done to my Christmas spirit? Completely ruined it. I'm crushed. No--melted, into the little raindrops I so despise.

The only way I see out of this is to hitch a ride with Santa on his sleigh on Christmas Eve. Then I would be home in time for brunch with Grandma. But since my Christmas spirit is gone--there is no Santa to hitch a ride with, because he's not real (if you are five and you're reading this, sorry I ruined it, but you are five and reading, so you should probably be curing cancer or something).

My mom told me to make cookies. Yeah, like cookies can give me hugs and presents. It's not the same. Bah Humbug!

Will people stop trying to break into my car? It's getting very expensive. I'm shelling out another $191 because of your antics. What do you think I am, made of money? You made me cry. I don't like giving the mechanic my Christmas bonus. And I don't like you stealing my things. Please stop.

It's a Day

I'm having one of those days where you feel like everyone can see your underwear, but no one is nice enough to tell you about it.

What does this mean? Am I feeling extra vulnerable this morning?

Or can people really see my undies?

I gotta go look in the mirror...

Confessions of a Bachelorette part five

It's a sad day in bachelorette-dom. Invitees are dropping of the list like flies. I don't think I came on too strong, so hopefully these girls have something better to do than spend a refined, intellectual night out with a young lady who is about to lose her freedom to household chores and marital spats. Don't feel guilty.

The fun will go on! It's easier to keep track of a smaller group of women anyway. Perhaps the girl who was going to make out with a different guy at every bar has just declined her chance to smooch the night away. Perhaps the girls who are going out of town will miss out on the most incredible night imaginable. We'll never know.

Or will we? After the big night, look for a detailed account of the bachelorette events, complete with pictures and embarassing tales. Then we'll know. But really, don't feel bad. More shots for me.

Confession #5
I felt a little rejected at first, but I'm still determined to have a good time!