What I’ve Learned This Post-Christmas Vacation—So Far

1. “Dayton has suffered its first double-homicide of the year” is the most depressing sentence in the world.

2. There is an entire television show in which second-rate celebrities pretend to be retail or food-service slaves, and say “I get that a lot” every time someone cries, “holy crap, you totally look like a second-rate celebrity.”

3. Lean Pockets are repulsive.

4. A shocking number of people do not secure their wireless networks.

5. Some people think I need to lose weight. Some people think I’m too skinny. Apparently, I have two options: be a trophy, or be a typical southern Ohio resident. Both of those options suck, and actually aren’t really options, since I’m pretty sure I’m stuck with my own damn metabolism. Alas.

6. I have no upper-body strength. My arm is still sore from playing Wii—although, in my defense, I did spend hours stubbornly trying to beat my power throw bowling score.

7. If I lived here, I wouldn’t do anything—just sink into my rapidly-expanding body and cuddle my Wii console as I gave way to a sugar coma, with the strains of country-pop bouncing in the background and lending amusing contrast to my pathetic situation.

8. I’m really just not that interesting. Hopefully that changes and I can write something semi-not-completely-dull soon.

So, This Unbelievably Stupid Woman Came In Today.

She held up a book on hand reflexology and asked, "do you have any books on foot reflexology?"

"Um, I'm not sure. I'll take a look." I walked out from around the desk and started toward the health section; she blocked my path, saying:

"And I'm also looking for a book called Heal Yourself From Within. And one called...I think it's Move Your Stuff. And I think it's by someone called Carter - like, Karen Carter. I think."

"Okay." I walked back to the computer and ran a search for the titles. "Hm, I don't see either one."

"I'm not sure of the title for the second one. Something like Move Your Stuff, Move Your Life...I don't know."

Well maybe you should have figured that out before asking me.

"Well, I don't see anything with a title like that, and I checked for books by people named Carter as well. What kind of book is it?"
"Feng shui."
"Okay, well, I can show you the section where -"
"What about Healing Yourself From Within?"

Yeah, it's not like I just told you we didn't have it or anything.

"We didn't have that one, no."
"And books on foot reflexology?"

Are you freaking serious?

"Well, I'll have to take a look - over in health -"
"Where is health?"
"Right this way."

I walked her over to the health section and started scanning for reflexology books.

"Where would stuff on feng shui be?"
"Probably in self -"
"Self help? Really?"

Yes, really, although I don't know how you could be so sure about what I was telling you since you didn't let me finish.

"Yeah. I'll check in -"
"Why wouldn't it be in decorating?"
"Well, it could be - I'm going to che -"
"And foot reflexology?"

Forget checking. Maybe I'll just shoot you.

"...Would be here, in health."
"And where is self-help?"
"Right there, where you're standing."

I continued looking for foot books; then she turned to me...

"Where is self-help again?"

DIE.

"That shelf in front of you. And it doesn't look like we have any books on foot reflexology, sorry."
"I don't see any feng shui. Why isn't it in decorating?"
"I'm looking there now."
"Do you know what it is?"
"Do I know what what is? Feng shui?"
"Yeah."
"Yes, I'm familiar with it. But we don't get very many books on it in, so..."
"Well that's surprising."
"I guess."
"I don't see any books on feng shui."

I am going to cry.

"Well, I'm looking over here, too - but again, it's not something that we tend to have a lot of."
"Ooh! Dr. Phil!"
"Um..."

She held up a copy of Love Matters. "I like him."

Yes, I'm sure you do.

"Ooh, you have a whole Dr. Phil section!" She pointed to a label on the shelf reading Dr. Phil.
"Mm-hmm."
"Are the books here in order?"
"Yes, somewhat - the labels tell you the sub-categories..."
"Like what?"
"Like...Dr. Phil. Or relationship issues, here. Or parenting - it's all categorized."
"I can't remember the name of the feng shui book. Do you have internet access? You can find it on this website, called Amazon."

Oh my God. No way. There's a website called AMAZON? And I can look shit up on it? My whole. World. Has opened up.

"Yes, I've used Amazon. I'll check for you."

I abandoned my perusal of the decorating section, did a search for the book, found the correct title, and checked our database again. We didn't have it, which I told her, and then I enjoyed a few moments peace while she browsed.

Eventually, though, she walked up to the counter with a stack of books. And amazingly, she had a question.

"So, like, how does it work?"
"Um, how does what work?"
"Bringing books in."

Oh, Christ. Now I have to explain the credit policy to this woman?

I explained the policy in painstaking detail, and she listened with her head cocked so far to the side it was almost lying on her shoulder. When I finished she stared at me for a moment; then:

"Well, can you give me an example?"

So I did. I gave multiple examples, and after about five minutes or so she seemed to digest it. She asked me to set some books back for her so she could buy them later, which I did, and then she asked:

"So did you find any books on foot reflexology?"

And I killed her.

No.

Seriously, people?

If you want to buy some books, you buy them all at once. That is, you set them on the counter, I ring them up, you pay me, I bag them, and you leave. You don't bring up some books, have me ring them up, tell me to bag them, and then let your four year old granddaughter prance around the store with them for THIRTY MINUTES while I wait for you to decide what else you want. That is not how it works.

Also, if you have store credit, you either give me your credit slip or, if we have it on file, you tell me so and give me your name so I can like, I don't know, look it up? I mean, that sounds pretty logical to me. But you know what isn't logical? Staring at me blankly for about thirty seconds, then sputtering, "what do you mean it's thirty dollars? We're part of your book club thing!"

"'Book club thing'? You mean you have credit?"
"Yeah, that."
"Do you have your paper, or -"
"You never gave us one!"
"Okay, then you left it here?"
"Yeah!"
"Fine. What was your last name, please?"
"I don't know."
"You don't know."
"I think it's under [name]."
After a few moments of searching:
"Okay, found it."
"Why didn't you have it before?"

Yeah, um, that's annoying.

"Because I'm not actually telepathic. If you have credit I need you to tell me."
"...Oh. Well, we didn't know that."
"No problem."

I applied their credit, adjusting their total accordingly, and naturally, Grandma Genius (who, by the way, was neither senile nor particularly old, just dumb as a freaking post) decided to pay me almost exclusively in change. I swept the change into my hand one veritable pound at a time, and she shoved four pennies across the table with a condescending:

"You forgot these."

I raised my eyebrow. "Actually, I didn't. But thank you for assuming otherwise."

Luckily, she didn't get it.

And yes, I know that one day my attitude is going to bite me in the ass, but I don't care.

All I Want Is a Lunch Break

Creepily perky but incoherent blond wearing a heart-patterned hoodie: [mumble] DMV?
Me: Sorry?
Creepy Blond: [mumble mumble mumble] the DMV?
Me: I'm sorry, still didn't catch tha -
Creepy Blond: [mumble] DMV. [mumble] IV pictures here?
Me: IV?
Creepy Blond: ...IV pictures.
Me: I, um - no. No, we don't. We just...we don't, yeah.
Creepy Blond: Oh! Well! Thanks...anyway...
Me: Okay. Yeah. You're welcome. Bye now.

Five Minutes Later:

This Guy: Didja get my Star Wars book?
Me: I did, yeah. Here it is.
Guy: Wowee! Ya really got it! Well how about that!
Me: Yep.
Guy: I just have the best luck with you!
Me (trying to be perky!): Well. Thank you!
Guy: Ya always get everything on time.
Me: Thanks - I try!
Guy (pointing to book): Isn't that Darth Vader cute?
Me: ...Yes?
Guy: Wouldn't ya just like to kiss him more than any guy you've ever met?
Me: Absolutely?
Guy: I thought so. Now whaddo I owe ya?
Me: It's -
Guy: That's too much!
Me: Um...
Guy: I'm just kiddin'. Whaddo I owe ya?
Me: $11.65?
Guy: Well, that Vader's pretty cute. I guess I'll get it.
Me: ...Alright then.

I Like Lists

Five Things That Are Making Me Want to Punch the World In the Face:

1. The doors to the library squeal when opened. They do - they squeal. The squeal is long and protracted, the sound of a colicky baby preparing for an epic scream. If it was only a little more high-pitched it would be audible only to dogs, but as luck would have it, it's just low enough that every time the door opens my brain feels like it's being stabbed. Which kinda hurts.

2. I don't understand how to factor quadrinomials and I don't give a shit. I really don't. Those goddamned quadrinomials can factor themselves, for all I care. They can find their own parentheses and distribute their own exponents and scrounge up their own negative signs, because I'm done. I am. Screw you, quadrinomials.

3. I have to write about integrity, and all I can think of is that Seinfeld episode where George won't let NBC make Jerry a show about something because he doesn't want to compromise his artistic integrity, prompting Jerry to point out that "you're not an artist, and you have no integrity!" But something tells me that won't work for this particular writing.

4. I forgot to eat before coming to the library, and now I am hungry. The library should serve strawberry whipped cream waffles and cranberry juice, but does it? Oh no. And why? Because it sucks. God, I love waffles. You know what else sounds good? Vanilla ice cream with maple syrup and nuts. That would be freaking delicious right about now.

5. I started reorganizing my apartment this morning and haven't finished yet, meaning that when I do get home - poor, downtrodden, with equations I don't quite understand swimming in my beleaguered brain - the first thing I see will be my dresser. In the middle of the floor. And then I will probably step on my jewelry box. At which point I will likely cry, or do something equally immature - like stomp my foot, pull on my hair, and scream, "it's not fair!"

The sad thing about the ridiculously cranky mood I'm in is that I can't blame it on a hangover. It's just me being a pain in the ass and reinforcing negative female stereotypes. Bad at math, hyper-sensitive to noise, addicted to sugar, obsessed with interior decorating to a disturbing degree: I am everything that is wrong with women. Also, I will grow up to be a cat lady.

And there's no turning back now.