Friday, January 04, 2008

The cure for optimism... to wake up feeling pessimistic. That's what I should have done today.

Instead, I was obscenely cheerful when I got out of bed. Three dead bulbs in the kitchen's florescent fixture? No problemmo. I decided to whip up to Home Dee-pot for new ones on my way to the barbershop

They had been relocated, of course. And one of the "associates" cheerfully pointed me toward the "lighting" section. Only they weren't there. They were, in fact in another aisle altogether. No biggie. I found what I was looking for. Finally.

But checking out...ahhh, that was a different kettle of mariscos, baby. There were several self-serve lanes all lit up, but I'm not about to put $10 worth of bulbs on my Visa card. I know people do that, but it seems just plain dumb to me.

Finally, I spot the two checkout lanes for contractors. Of the 30 or so customers in the store, if any were contractors they were hiding deep in the bowels of "lumber" or "plumbing," not looking to pay up and get out.

So I go over there. Monkey-in-Orange-Vest #1 is standing by the cash register, picking his teeth. I lay the bulbs on the counter. He says "you a contractor?" When I say no, he points to the sign and resumes his teeth-picking.

I proceed to the other "contractor" lane, where a couple, also definitely not contractors, is checking out a miscellaneous bunch of stuff. They get done, and then the woman says she needs something else and trots off toward one of the faraway aisles. Hubby stands there waiting, and in five minutes she's back. Has to do a second credit-card transaction for a couple rolls of shelf paper.

Finally, I get out of there, but now have eight minutes to get to the barber shop for my appointment. By driving like a raging loon*, I make it.

He is cutting someone else's hair. On my time. Okay, so he's never made me wait before, but did the first time have to be today...?

Ten minutes pass. Fifteen. Twenty. Since I left my glasses in the car -- have to take 'em off for the cutting, anyway -- I can't even read the magazines scattered around the shop.

Finally, 27 minutes late, I'm in the chair.

When he's through, and hands me a mirror so I can check the cut, he gives it to me with the mirror side facing away from me.

I understand this. I feel the same way about what I see in other mirrors. I am in fact mildly surprised that I show up in mirrors, considering the number of people who act as if I'm not there.

All that's left of today is some work and a social occasion this evening.

At least the social occasion doesn't get underway for six more hours.

I have time to calm down.

Must. Be. Calm.

* Come to think of it, I felt like a raging loon at that moment....


Anonymous said...

Awww... Scribbs... like you "aren't there?" I don't see how that's possible. Damn it you need to come out to the east coast and we'll get a drink.


John said...

Sometimes it all goes out of phase. I particularly appreciate getting the wrong side of the mirror from the barber. Usually when I hit out of phase I spill coffee grounds and fall down stairs, both of which I did the day after returning to Purgatory.

I hope you do a figurative stutter step to get a little bit back into phase. It works when marching.