Observations from suburbia...part three

I had a great summer job. Really. It was so perfect for right now. But it had its...moments.

For example...

Wednesday. A lady comes and buys a robe for her daughter. Mom picks out monogramming. Great. Saturday. Daughter comes to pick up robe. She cries. Literal tears streaming down her face. No, it's not the wrong initials. No, it's not a family heirloom that has been ruined. She just hates the font. She thinks it's too "scripty." The font used was almost block. Picks another monogram. Leaves. Tuesday. Daughter returns to store. Picks up robe for the SECOND time. Just looks at it. Manager asks if there's anything wrong. Girl stares some more. Monogram is fine. Manager asks if we need to take it out. Again. Girl quietly says no. Girls Leaves. We take bets on if she went to her car and cried. There are just bigger things in life to worry about, you know?

I can't leave this kind of drama.

But it gets better.

This is the story that will forever go down as the best work moment of all time:

I'm in the back of the store taking inventory. Cake is sitting on the table. Owner is holding a stocking in one hand and juggling something else in the other. Stocking and cake make contact. Icing is on stocking. Owner licks icing off of stocking. I stare. I ask owner, "Did you just lick that stocking?" Owner responds, "Well, I guess I just did." Owner giggles. I stare. No further conversation needed. (Side note: the stocking never made it out to the sales floor.)

Or this one...

Owner is helping customer. Customer finds aromatherapy bottles. Customer wants to smell a different scent. Owner opens a different bottle. Owner spills liquid everywhere. Owner walks in the back and says, "I spilt that stuff all over me, and now I smell like a french whorehouse." More expletives used. Question remains: how does she know what a french whorehouse smells like?

But then again, sometimes my job involves just listening to people.

One day, a lady told me that she needed a gift for a cousin with whom she had just reconnected. Great. That's still a little more than I need to know, but not too intimate. She keeps going. Apparently, said cousin's great grandparents took a covered wagon out to Idaho. This is when I know I'll be keeping on my fake smile for quite some time. Customer continues to tell me about what life was like out west back in those days. Lady, I took years of American History classes AND played Oregon Trail back in the day. I think I have an idea. Plus, YOU WEREN'T THERE. I don't care how much it snowed. Does that affect the huge linen pillowcase you're buying? Didn't think so.... The things we do to make sure customers are happy in the store.

Frequently overheard phrases:

Crap-a-doodle-doo

If it's not one thing, it's your mother

Shut the front door.

Oh, WHOA.

Are you KIDDING me?

I'm having a hot flash.

You're a hot mess.

We got another email from Indonesia...

If more of us valued food and cheer and song above hoarded gold, it would be a merrier world

10 Test Birmingham Restaurants.

1. Ocean Holy smokes. Best meal of my life. Words cannot even describe how amazing it is.

2. Rojo Superrrr trendy, but delish. And everyone can go there and be happy since there's an American side of the menu as well as a Latin American side. (Go for the second.) And if you don't take my word for it, I mean, Bob Dylan eats there. NBD.

3. Nabeel's Greek food at its finest. And the little market attached is super cute, too.

4. Savage's Bakery I've been going here since I was in the womb. IT IS SO GOOD. Lunch or just a snack, it's one of the best bakeries in town.

5. Surin West I'm not super into Thai food, but I will eat just about anything here.

6 Iz Cafe Best chicken salad and lemon squares in town. For sure.

7. Taziki's Is it sad that I know what their specials are everyday and always get them on Wednesdays and weekends?

8. New York Pizza We used to celebrate our wins (and heck, our losses, too) for church league here because they have the best pizza in town.

9. Pappas' Grill These people are legit off the boat from Greece. And they fight all the time, but Mrs. Papas wins every time. It is like watching a scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. And they have the best hamburger in town. Odd, for a Greek restaurant, but it's true.

10. Cobb Lane Too bad it closed. Super upsetting. I used to have tea parties here when I was itty bitty.

observations from suburbia...part two

Back in 8th grade, I took an etiquette class with a bunch of my friends. We addressed the usual: table manners, ballroom dancing, phone etiquette...pretty standard stuff. However, we neglected to bring up the entirely different code for another place: the gym. If you spend enough time in there, you pick up on the rules pretty quickly, especially if you're the subject of nasty, sweaty-browed glares and you can feel the judgement strapping you in like a decent sports bra.

The choice of a machine is a potential hotbed for latent anger by fellow gym-goers. Unless you go to an all-ladies fitness center, the boys bring their similar attitudes about urinals with them to the gym: it's practically a sin to pick a machine right next to someone.
First it's awkward.
Then they think you're trying to one-up them.
So it turns into a race.
First it's who can actually move the fastest.
Then it's all about bumping up resistance/slope.
Then whoever appears to be in the most distress is automatically deducted points.
But whosoever shall abandon his or her machine first is automatically the loser, especially if it was the person who started the whole controversy in the beginning.

So...there's a lot to learn.

Then there's the whole "wipe down the machine with the provided moist towlettes" thing. Watching someone walk up to a machine without first wiping it down is like watching someone leave the bathroom without washing their hands. Utter disgust. Especially if you're on a treadmill or an elliptical, or any other machine that is sweat-inducing. So it's expected that everyone wipe it down before beginning. But then there are people who sweat exorbitant amounts. Like just walking into the gym kicks their sweat glands into overdrive. Hey, I'm one of them. It's cool. But if you're going to sweat all over the place, it's a common courtesy to also wipe down the machine post workout. Look, we don't want to spread swine flu, hepatitis, or the bubonic plague here. Just keep your germy business to yourself and we can all workout peacefully.

And then there's the locker room.

Let's be honest; I spend as little time in there as possible. And when I say that, I really mean I will only enter if I absolutely MUST use the restroom right at that very moment. But it's just an awkward place. Not that I spend an extensive amount of time in men's locker rooms, but I have a feeling the women's locker room atmosphere is like another world entirely. Firstly, it's always clean. There's no water splashed around. And it is every woman's responsibility to keep it that way. You just stare straight ahead at the lockers. You don't even talk. You gather your stuff as quickly as possible. You leave. Personal stuff can be taken care of at home. No need to do it in front of everyone else.

I mean, those are just the basics. You can REALLY get yourself in hot water if you run the wrong direction on the track. Or if you stand too close in line at the water fountain. Or if your stare starts to linger, then turns into full on creeping. Or if you start singing out loud to your music. Or if you yell at the TV. (Exception: During World Cup games, it's okay to yell. Everyone does it.) Or if you try to talk on your cell phone and workout, because, really, who are you kidding? Someone needs to write a book on this. Or offer a class. Let's save some people some embarrassment and help them out.

observations from suburbia...part one

This afternoon I headed out to my neighborhood pool to catch some rays before my cousin's wedding this weekend (What is it about having to look better than normal just to see a whole lot of family? More on that later...) and I was just amused watching everyone there. Seriously, it was a circus.

Our lifeguard is more like Squints, not the male version of Wendy Peffercorn

First, we've got the pre-pubescent lifeguard. He's a nice enough guy, but really, who are you protecting? He attempts to impress all the ladies above the age of ten by scoring goals on the basketball goal situated on the edge of the pool. Lifeguard-boy, you are a hoot.

Like I said, a nice nazi.

Next we have the pool nazi. She's actually a very nice lady... once she is absolutely positive that you are not breaking any of the pool rules, i.e., you do, in fact, live in our neighborhood and that you are old enough to be at the pool by yourself. Her house is right next door to the club house and pool, so she's not actually in an authority position on the homeowner's board, but she's taken upon the responsibility as her own. You rock on, pool protector.

They weren't quite this picturesque

Moving on, there is the mom towing three young children. In typical mom fashion, she's rocking her polo tankini. Over the course of about an hour, one of the girls has a meltdown because mom used her towel (tears and all), both little girls get in trouble for sassing their mother, the little boy attempts to squirt everyone in sight with his water blaster, all three get yelled at for running (by the mom, not the lifeguard), there are at least 5 threats to "pack up and go home right now if your behavior doesn't improve immediately," 6 juice boxes, one broken straw, 2 timeouts, a lizard that gets picked up by one sister and shoved in the other sister's face, and then a mad dash by all three to get out of the pool when thunder is heard overhead. It's just another day for that cul-de-sac mom.

Her floaties weren't this cool, but, seriously, where was this thing when I was a kid?

Then we've got grandpa and itty-bitty granddaughter. Homegirl is sporting the water wings like a champ, and grandpa keeps his shirt and hat on in the pool, typical. They splash around and she attempts to play with the other kids, who are a little bit older than she is. But then her mom pulls up to watch this Kodak moment. Of course, she ends up talking to the other tankini mom, at which point they begin discussing one of the kid's rashes. And I'm not talking about a hushed-tones kind of conversation with vague descriptions, either. Excuse me, what? We're in a semi-public place. That's disgusting. Take that business home. Why is rash-kid bopping around the pool, anyway? Isn't that stuff contagious? Good thing lifeguard boy peaced out because he had a doctor's appointment, otherwise he'd be needing some mouth-to-mouth (provided by someone else since my CPR and first aid certification has expired...whew). Tankini lady two, take a lesson from the pool and filter.

...And then there was me. Creepily watching all of this transpire while listening to my beach music playlist, reading "Tender Is The Night," and sunscreening it up with my SPF 55. (Over-stimulated much?) As much as I would love to say I was a complete outsider and just observed everything as a third party, not the case. I'm sure my presence contributed to the comedic display just as much as the next tankini lady.