Grocery check-out etiquette

Once again, a trip to the store reminds me that it would be a relatively pleasant errand if only there were no people involved!

So today I would like to introduce some new rules for grocery store check-out etiquette. (This is just one more reason the farmer's market is superior to the conventional store, but alas, I cannot buy all of my groceries there, and they are only open for a few months out of the year.)

Rule #1: Do not ask a question if you do not want to listen to the answer.
Today's question from the chirpy checker, in the 90-degree heat, was, "Enjoying the weather?"

Me: "No."

Silence ensued. It's like how clerks always ask how your day is going, and you're always supposed to say, "Great!" or some other b.s. because they won't listen to your answer anyway. Once I replied, "I'm having a really shitty day, actually," just to see what the checker would say.

Him: "That's nice." I am not making this up! So Rule #1: if you feel compelled to say something, just leave it at "hello."

Rule #2: Do not ask me if I want certain items bagged.

Of course I want them bagged, because I am not a juggler, and I have been born with only two arms. When I figure out how to grow extra ones spontaneously after checking out, I will let you know.

OK, I can understand not having the already-bagged bag of cat litter in a bag. But a sack of potatoes? Do I want them leaking dirt everywhere? A sack of oranges: do I want them bruised? A container of laundry soap: do I want to hit someone with it? OK, best move on to Rule #3.

Rule #3: Please don't ask me if I found everything I was looking for. Because inevitably, if I say, "no, you're out of cat food," the reply will be, "Um, sorry about that," or, "Oh, I see." There is no solution, no prize to collect, so why ask me? Also, what if I was also looking for world peace or sex toys in aisle 5? What would you say then, hmm?

Rule #4: Don't overstuff a sack that looks like it's about to break the second I will pick it up. Case in point: today the cashier piled so much stuff in there that you couldn't even see (let alone use) the handes, and said, "Does that work for you?" I must have given her a funny look, because wordlessly, she unpacked some of the items and grabbed another bag.

Rule #5: Don't tell me I look familiar. I am reasonably certain that in this life, at least, I have not slept with you.

Worth watching every second!

Thank you, Grandpa Eddie, for sharing this.

What, you? Stupid?

Do you ever work with smart people who say stupid things? Or talk to you like you're a complete idiot? OK, that was an idiotic question, wasn't it?

I've had so many of them in the past week that I just want to dump a milkshake on the head of the next person who makes an asinine comment. Sorry, sarcasm is my second language.

Like our national organization, which supplies our event with t-shirts, ordered many fewer shirts for our event this year. And we had 500 more people there than last year, so - surprise! - we ran out of shirts. I sent the request for extras. One of the people on the list runs an entire chapter of our organization, so she's down for 25 shirts.

I get a call from our national director. A CALL FROM OUR NATIONAL DIRECTOR ABOUT FUCKING T-SHIRTS THAT COST $1.85 APIECE! BECAUSE SURELY THIS IS THE BIGGEST CRISIS FACING MENTAL HEALTH CARE RIGHT NOW! This man runs a multi-million dollar, 80-event-a-year program. Mind you, I have already gotten a lecture about remembering that only people who raise $100 can have the hideous nipple shirts that I have previously written about. I have reminded him that I edited the event manual for our national organization - and I can read - so I know these things.

Him: "So, I see Madam X is getting 25 shirts?"
Me: "Yes, she is the executive director of chapter X and she took all of the requests from that county." (Mind you, he LIVES in that county!)
Him: "Oh. So I guess I should just trust you on these things."
Me: "Yes, you should, at $1.85 per shirt. Madam X is not having a t-shirt party."

Then later on one of our volunteers, who barely came to any event meetings, says her suggestion for next year is that we get both major metro papers to sponsor our event AND give it great press coverage.

No problem! There are NO OTHER EVENTS in our metro area of 1.5 million, and they aren't practically going out of business, and they actually cover every single walk and run, but I just forgot to ask! They have nothing else to write about! Nothing!

Oh yes - and had you bothered to come to any meetings, you would have known that we sent our event information far and wide anyhow, just in case! And one of our other volunteers knows the publisher personally and STILL couldn't get a sponsorship because things are so tight for that family of billionaires!

In fact, let's take this one step further - here's an idea - why don't we just simply ACHIEVE our big unrealistic fundraising goal?! No one thought of that!

Sorry, I couldn't figure out anything else to write about, so there's my rant.

This is just so wrong

I can't express my disappointment that my home state let segregation stand today. In other words, Proposition 8 - a ballot measure that outlawed marriage equality after the California Supreme Court's decision allowed it - is still law.

Hello! How is this possible? Not only the fact that a fucking ballot measure can override a state supreme court, but how is the "left coast" so far behind the likes of Maine and Iowa - Maine and Iowa!! - when it comes to civil rights?

Sadly not all of the people I know support marriage equality. Peeps, I hate to tell you, but it comes down to segregation because of dick: one dick too many or one dick short, and the government decides who you can and can't be with.

Yes, that sounds ridiculous, but it's true! That is the reason we're fighting these battles for civil rights: the government and right-wing nuts think they have the right to tell you how much dick should be in your life.

Tell me how this is any different than any other kind of segregation and discrimination? I am a product of interracial marriage, and not too long ago the same kinds of arguments were being made against that (it was also illegal until a few decades ago.)

Why not just set up separate restaurants, straights or in-the-closets only?

That is the sick, sad state of affairs that the court has handed us, folks.

And fuck you to California's embarrassment of a governor, who said, essentially, "Well, some day civil rights will be granted, but in the meantime, I won't protest or risk any of the skin on my political ass. I'll just sit here and be complacent."

Fuck you, Arnold.

The rest of us - as humans - have no excuse not to champion the cause of equal rights.

Get out there and do something!

Memorial for whom?

I have never been in the military, but my family is essentially a peace-loving family of veterans.

In my work, we do a lot of work on behalf of vets who come back with mental health issues - who the hell wouldn't, after being sleep-deprived in a combat zone? - so I have learned more about my own family.

My grandfather, who lied about his age so he could fight the Nazis in World War II, still sleeps with the light on. He probably doesn't know what PTSD is, but he would wake up screaming with nightmares about the war when my dad was a kid.

For a bunch of liberals, we have quite the military history: my great-grandfather also lied about his age to join the Navy at age 15 (this is the same great-grandfather who captured Baby Face Nelson when he was a volunteer sheriff, and organized the Milwaukee Railroad - I come from a long line of people much braver than me), and his grandfather fought on the Union side in the Civil War.

I have interviewed vets and been in awe of their courage.

I have talked to my father very seldom about Vietnam The most he would say was, "Some of my friends did not come back."

This half of the family was very pro-troops and anti-Iraq war, while the other half, who are a bunch of alligator-hunting Republicans (I'm serious - check out this post) with nary a service member, were all for it and probably wet their pants when Obama won the election.

I think it is disgraceful how little we, as a government as a country, do for those who risk life and limb for us.

Even those who come back in one piece do not necessarily come back whole. We need to provide adequate mental and physical health care for our vets.

Equally disgraceful, in my opinion, is how this has turned into a "holiday" weekend, full of white sales and drunk drivers and parties.

Mr. RK and I spent the day with a friend whose family fled Russia because of religious persecution; I think they have a lot better appreciation of what "freedom" means than the rest of us.

First jobs

Grannie Annie's post about her first job brought this to mind...

When we were unloading stuff at my office after the walk Sunday, my boss remarked that he worked in a warehouse in college, in part to help pay for tuition.

"But my first job," he said, "was as a janitor. I had to help clean the entire Dairy Gold building. I lasted a week." (Dairy Gold is a big dairy in the Pacific Northwest, for you non-native readers.)

I said, "My first job was better."

My boss: "Oh yeah? What was it?"
Me: "I had to call men who had penile implant surgery and ask them how it was going."

Needless to say, that conversation didn't last much longer!

But it's true...while I had earned a little cash doing babysitting from age 13 on, my first "real" office job was in the urology department at Stanford Hospital.

I was taking a "work experience" class in high school, which meant if you had a job and attended one meeting a month, you could have a free period during the day, and this meant I could leave early. I hated every minute of high school, so this was an attractive proposition.

Well...the guys in the urology department didn't explain the details of the position to the department chair at the high school. (She was horrified later, when she found out.)She was told the job involved calling patients and taking surveys...which was true.

So I used my middle name and began my task, at minimum wage, which at that time (1993) was $4.25 an hour. One of the residents thought I was cute and bumped me up to $6 an hour within the week.

Let me tell you - I realized from the first call that the best ones were the ones where no one was home! You could not pay me $425 an hour to do this today.

One guy totally denied having the surgery. "Nope, it wasn't me."
Me: "I'm so sorry - your name is XXXXXXX and you live at XXXXXXX, right?"
Him (clearing throat):"Yes, but it wasn't me."

Another one gave me waaaaaaaaaaaaay too much information.
Him: "Well, after I first had the surgery, I was able to get to the full size I had been before. Then a couple of months went by, and it was only about half the size, and now I'm only getting to be about a third of the size-"
Me: "Well, thanks very much, please feel free to call Dr. K at xxx-xxx-xxxx, BYEEEEEEEEE!"

My favorite was an 82-year-old guy (the ages were on their info. sheets), who said, "Well, the only problem is I've got too many girlfriends now, heh heh!"

I only lasted two weeks - I just told the doctors that I was too embarrassed, and they said they understood.

I used my $60 check to buy a Polo shirt for my dad, and he wore it until it wore out.

What was your first job?

Oh PS...I also worked as a (clothed) cocktail waitress in a topless bar for a month...but that's another story.

Happy birthday, baby!

*Ninja update! The Word Garden is public again, so you can wish Shay a happy b.day right now!*

By the time you read this, it will most likely be Friday - and I am wishing the happiest of birthdays to my friend S., who unfortunately had to take her blog private due to a stalker.

No matter - she reads my blog and you can leave your well wishes for her here in the comments section!

She is a fabulous person - brains, looks, great writer, compassionate human being - OK, S., I have gushed enough, go have a great b.day, girl!