• What the hell?

    I am at work and I am sitting quietly in a training session slated to go all day. It is a painfully slow class, and I’m only twenty minutes in. A straggler strolls in carrying herself like she owns the State. She is in a really good mood, but she can’t seem to get a song out of her head. I know this because she is singing it out loud. I’m using every ounce of will I’ve got to listen to the instructor, who is droning on with all the enthusiasm of a “dead man walking.” All the while, I can’t seem to ingore the tune stuck in my classmate’s head. She really hits a groove and starts to move. Hand gestures, full body swaying lead by a head seemingly attached by a spring, tapping feet … nothing is left out of the performance. This goes on until she gets hungry. She takes a break from her Tina Turner fantasy to haul out a snack. I challenge you to go through your shopping list and find a more distracting finger food … than sunflower seeds in the shell. O.k., so maybe you could find one more distracting, but I’ll bet you won’t guess what she did with them. She took a handful at a time and tossed them into her mouth with all the subtlety of lions feeding on Christians. She then proceeded to break the shells with her teeth, fish the shattered remnants of the shells from her mouth with her fingers, and flick the chesoggy mass into a coffee filter sitting next to her on the table. So, when I’m not listening to the snap-krackle-pop of the seeds breaking open in her mouth I’m mesmerized by the partially digested lump soaking through a coffee filter next to me on the table.

    Now repeat.

    During the next cycle, she decides to accompany herself on some kind of brass insrument, probably a trumpet. NO JOKE. Picture in your mind the last scene, only now she’s got her hand to her mouth with her fingers apparently pressing and releasing the imaginary mechanisms of a trumpet. When she fininshes her imaginary jam session of one, she goes back to the seeds. She follows the seeds with an apple, crunched bite by distracting bite to the core.

    Now repeat.

    By the end of the day I have learned nothing but my tolerance level for annoyance. Now I’m getting ready to go back for another day. I’m hoping for another seat.

  • Speaking of that new bed…

    We were supposed to take delivery on Friday. I was home well before I was supposed to, just to make sure I was there in plenty of time. I walked in the door and thought to myself, “I wonder if there is a message on the machine from the delivery service?” This would not be a story needing telling if there weren’t. Just before the timid voice of a person from the delivery service came on, my answering machine announced, “TODAY AT 10:31 A.M.” The representative then advised, “the truck didn’t come in yesterday with your bed, so we’ll need to reschedule for next week.” I immediately thought to myself, “the truck didn’t come in yesterday, and you’re calling me today, two hours before the bed is supposed to be here?” Now I’m home, I’m hungry (because I’ve put off lunch until I got home to meet the delivery folks), and I’m just a little bit angry. So I get on the phone. Lord help those people if it had been Cheryl instead of me. I’m soft spoken and reserved, Cheryl is not. But I’m pretty hot, and I calmly let the person on the other end know I am. We confirm a delivery for the next week and hang up. Suddenly it’s me and the house, no one to keep me company but my anger. So, I call Cheryl at work. I share the news with her. Now she’s angry. She calls the store where we bought the bed, but before she can editorialize, the woman on the other end interjects: “that’s unacceptable!” Somewhat disarmed, Cheryl is too stunned to immediately launch into possible remedy, and the store representative quickly interjects, “we’re going to refund your delivery charge.” Meekly, Cheryl says o.k., and hangs up. Cheryl lives for the moment when she can angrily suggest a right to someone’s wrong. How could they do it to her? How could they take this moment from her? Truth be told, she didn’t mind so much. Now it’s Monday and we’re keeping our fingers crossed once again.

  • When something bad happens, paint.

    We are right smack in the middle of another painting project. Now we’re painting our bedroom. We’ve colored three-fourths of the room, and I must say it is looking good. I had my doubts when Cheryl proposed the project and the color, but she has done good. Now the only question is wether I will finish up tonight before our new bed comes tomorrow. Only time and energy reserves will tell.