Dear Woman in the SUV Behind Me.....

Dear Woman in the SUV Behind Me:

Over the course of my mother-in-law's radiation treatment, we have had good days and bad days. There are days when I roll with the punches, focus on the positive, and remain upbeat and positive, for my mother-in-law's sake if nothing else. She's got enough on her plate without worrying about my sarcastic remarks and temper tantrums. On those days things go smoothly, she and I still manage to laugh and joke and make fun of perfect strangers, and it is easy to forget that she has cancer and only half of the roof of her mouth remaining.

Today was not one of those days.

We arrived for her radiation treatment early, as is our habit, because that generally means we get out early. Today we NEEDED to get out early, because she had an appointment to have i.v. fluids upstairs in the chemotherapy clinic, and the girl at the scheduling desk is ADAMANT that we not interfere with her lunch. (Aside: The REST of the staff members are very kind, sympathetic, professional, and polite. This one is none of those, plus she is ignorant enough to think that radiation is administered intravenously. Hell, I'm not even in the medical profession, and I know better than that.)

Alas, that is NOT how our morning went. We got there half an hour before her appointment time, and they finally called her back half an hour AFTER her appointment. That meant we got upstairs right smack dab in the middle of their sacred lunch hour (I know, I know, they have to eat too), and we had to wait. We had to wait a long time.

Mother-in-law is in a weakened condition not only due to the radiation, but she hasn't been able to keep anything on her stomach. Not eating upsets her stomach, so naturally she doesn't want to eat even more, and the cycle continues. She doesn't feel much like joking these days.

To exit the clinic (which I do via a driveway in the back just so I can come out at a traffic light), I have to turn right onto a VERY VERY VERY busy highway. Then I have to make it across two lanes of traffic and into the left turn lane before I get to the next traffic light. It is not an option for me to turn right, get in the right hand turn lane that is about to end anyway, and hope I can make my way over to the left with all lanes full of traffic. I prefer to wait until there is a gap in all lanes. Not a gap as in "I might be able to sidle through there if I suck my gut in," but a real car-sized gap.

It is equally unacceptable for you to get behind me at the traffic light and continue to BLOW YOUR HORN because I'm not easing out into the bajillion cars already occupying the lane(s) I need to be in. The first time you blew your horn, I turned around in my seat, made eye contact with you, and hopefully communicated to you that blowing your horn was not acceptable. I did NOT gesture (though sorely tempted) because I think that particular gesture, while sometimes justified, shows a lack of class.

The second time you blew your horn and threw your hands up in despair (disgust?), this is what ALMOST occurred:

I put the car in park, exited my mother-in-law's car (clearly displaying a "disabled person" license plate, have you NO respect?), and approached your SUV. At that point, I would have explained that I had been sitting in some combination of a radiology waiting room and a chemotherapy treatment room for five hours and offered you two choices: A) stop blowing your $!#*$*! horn; or B) step out of that vehicle and let me teach you some respect for the ill and elderly by proceeding to kick. your. ass.

I kept myself in check because I didn't want to upset my mother-in-law. She's frail enough already, and I was afraid a side trip to jail wouldn't do her health any good. See how easy it is to show some respect?

Get you some.

Respectfully (**snort, snort**),

Bragger

P.S. I've never been in a fight in my life, so I don't know how skillful I would be, but some days lend themselves to satisfying my curiosity.

Pet Peeve......

I'm not sure that title is correct for this post, because pet peeves are, by definition, petty, and I don't think this (particular) irritant is petty at all.

I sort of lost my mind for a couple of minutes the other day. Unfortunately, a couple of minutes is long enough to send a text message that has the potential to render you an indentured slave for the rest of your life.

Fortunately, that is not what happened to me the other day when I temporarily lost my mind.

A couple of my students are taking online courses with the school I used to teach with part-time. I logged on to check on their statuses, and I found myself sort of missing that other world. What is WRONG with me?

So I fired off a text message to my former department chair (because she usually doesn't pick up her cell phone and is spotty about returning emails - great leader, huh?), the one who told me she refused to acknowledge that I had resigned and instead was going to list me as "inactive."

I said in the text, "Hey, it's _____." (Another aside: I identified myself because it wasn't uncommon for her to respond to a text message with "Who's this?" Hurts my feelings when I'm not important enough to be in someone's address book.) "How are you? I have officially applied for retirement, so life is good. I don't know what your numbers are like, but if you get desperate..."

I didn't want it to sound like I was desperate to go back to that part-time job. I wasn't sure I even wanted it to sound like I would go back if they WERE desperate. But as I approach retirement (and I DID officially apply last week, and I haven't stopped smiling yet), it would be nice to have something to fall back on, a source of income in addition to my retirement.

And I distinctly remember writing a blog post about how relieved I was to give up that full-time-stress-for-part-time-pay job and asking my readers to help me remember that feeling.

WHERE WERE Y'ALL WHEN I SENT THAT TEXT MESSAGE?

Not to worry ... I am not in danger of becoming an indentured slave. Again.

Because I'm finally (much to your relief, I'm sure) getting around to the point of this post.

I got no response.

Even Hubby, who isn't the world's most prolific texter, will respond to a text with "K." It's one letter. Very few key strokes. Two, in fact. The letter "k" and the word "send." Two strokes.

And that's my pet (which isn't so petty, in my opinion) peeve: People who don't even respond to a text message or an email.

Let's just say, for argument's sake, that my former department chair wasn't as crazy about me as she pretended to be. Let's just say she was glad to be rid of me. Let's say she wouldn't hire me back if there were a semi-apocalypse and I was the last English teacher remaining on what's left of Earth.

She could at least acknowledge receipt of the text message.

"Thanks. I'll keep you in mind."

"Gosh, our numbers are way down. Sorry."

"You must be a glutton for punishment."

"Yay! I'm on it, girlfriend!"

Any of these would have been appropriate responses.

Instead I got deafening silence. Which, again, kind of hurts my feelings.

She had these tendencies when I worked for the online school, so it's not like I'm surprised or anything. When I was working for them, I would occasionally run into a situation for which I needed help. I know, I know, hard to believe, right? I would ONLY call my department chair if there happened to be something with the online platform that I couldn't figure out myself, or if it were something for which I thought I needed higher authority. Now keep in mind she worked full-time for the online world, which meant she was at home. All. the. time. On duty. All. the. time. And she never once picked up her cell phone when I called. I would leave a detailed message and ask her to call me back. Instead, I would get an almost instant email from her, in which she would try to solve my problem as she understood it to be.

And I would think to myself, "No, dumbass, that's NOT what the issue is. If you would pick up the DAMN PHONE, I could explain it to you."

My feelings aren't REALLY hurt. I know deep in my heart that I don't want to go back to that stressful environment. And I don't want to work for a bunch of cliquish folks who won't even bother to pick up the phone or return an email or respond to a text message.

I guess I just want them to want me.

Maybe it's pettier than I thought.

On the Horns of a Dilemma....

One thing about living in a small town is that everyone knows everyone else.

Even if you don't KNOW someone, you know him or her. You might see the same people in the grocery store, at the "Y," at the nail salon, at the library, even if you don't know their names.

There's a woman who works at our local grocery store who is very friendly, but she gets on my nerves. She apparently thinks we're better friends than we are, because she has always been free with her complaints. She's one of those negative people, always complaining, usually about where she works. (Uh.....get a different job?) I refuse to allow her to wheel my groceries to my car, because I don't want to hear her gripe and grumble all the way across the parking lot.

Saturday I think she reached a new low. She was bagging my groceries while a young girl rang them up. They started talking about someone who works at the same grocery store, criticizing her about buying her groceries with food stamps. Negative Nancy said, "She had $1000 on her food stamp card. And she left here with four buggies full of groceries. And we're paying for that. And she has a husband, or a boyfriend, or whatever she calls him."

I was so uncomfortable I couldn't say anything. I just looked in the other direction and pretended to search for my car keys. I don't know the girl she was talking about, and it's certainly none of MY business how she buys her groceries or how much she buys. I'm pretty sure it was none of this woman's business either.

One of our neighbors is also a cashier there, and she was behind me, apparently on her break, paying for something. The loudmouth complainer spoke to her, and it appeared to me that our neighbor was a little curt toward her. As if she doesn't have much use for her either. I would be interested to know if she has the same take on the woman that I do.

I was so annoyed I was tempted to call the manager and tell him or her what happened. If I report her, am I sticking MY nose where it doesn't belong? She's bound to know who told on her, and while I don't think I should be embarrassed about it, well.... it is still a very small town. I wouldn't want her to get fired or anything, but I don't like talking to her. She makes me feel so awkward. It's not like it's a teenager we're talking about here. She's an older lady, and surely somewhere along the way someone has told her it's not nice to talk about people, it's unprofessional to talk about co-workers (in such a public way - there, I just cleared myself), and it's a cardinal sin of business to make the customer feel uncomfortable.

Maybe I will just shop somewhere else.

It's the Little Things That Drive Me Crazy.......

Because sometimes I post about the little things that make me happy, tonight I'm blogging about the little things that drive me crazy. Things that don't even concern me. Don't affect my life in any way. Shouldn't bother me. But do.

There's this guy at school, and he's just not one of my favorite people. He's the one I mentioned last year that just may have been having someone else do his work for him. Work toward a MASTERS degree in education. Oh, the irony.

I believe I've mentioned about a gazillion times here that we've moved into a new building this year. The building formerly housed a pre-kindergarten program, and before that it was an elementary school. They've done a good job renovating a building where HUBBY WENT TO SCHOOL. Yeah, it's old.

Some of the signs are still there from the previous school, most notably the handicapped parking signs, the sign designating the principal's parking spot, and the spot reserved for the Teacher of the Year.

This jerk guy gets to school earlier than some, and he insists in parking in that spot. The Teacher of the Year spot. And he's not. Teacher of the Year, that is. Isn't that nervy? Tacky? Rude?

Some might argue that he thinks since the sign is left over from a former school, it doesn't apply to us. But we do HAVE a Teacher of the Year, and she deserves her own parking space. I've noticed he doesn't park in the space labeled for the principal, so why the TOTY?

Never mind. I think I know.

He also has a potty mouth, and while I'm definitely not a prude and have been known to let a mild profanity escape my lips from time to time, I try to be professional at school and not use those words unnecessarily. I can't swear I didn't say something profanity-laced the time the pull-down screen fell on my head (on Friday the 13th, no less), but I generally think there's a time and place for those words. His regular conversation is laced with the F-word, as are his emails. I've heard tell he uses that language in front of his students, but I can't verify that. I called him on his language one time last year at the end of the year, and he said, "What? There are no kids here."

I said, "I'M HERE." It didn't appear to faze him.

I'm tempted to let the air out of his tires the next time he parks in the TOTY spot. I think only someone who has earned the distinction has the right to park there. And until he is TOTY, he should park his car somewhere else. And when he's TOTY, I hope I am RIP.

Customer Service Part Deux (or whatever).......

First of all, I apologize for my absence yesterday. Actually, BLOGGER should be apologizing for my absence. The site was in "read-only" mode last night, and I didn't know how long that would last, so I went to bed. Apparently it lasted until this morning, so it's a good thing I didn't sit up all night waiting for it to come back online. Does this mean I should look for a different blog host? Hmmmm.... And then my post from Wednesday disappeared for most of today, but now it's back. Strange behavior for a blog, I must say.

And this is really what I was going to write about last night anyway.

Hubby and I went out to dinner, almost unheard of during the week, but we had to go buy a part for the swimming pool pump, so Hubby suggested we just eat out. He had no difficulty talking me into it, and I realize you don't need ANY of that information.

As soon as the hostess seated us, I had a feeling we weren't going to like where we were sitting. There was a family seated next to us, and while nothing they said was particularly offensive or annoying, it was just that they were so.... vocal. We aren't the kind of people, though, to ask to be seated somewhere else, so we ignored them to the best of our ability.

When I went to the salad bar (one of my favorite things about this particular chain of restaurant with the second day of the work week in its name), the woman from the next table was returning for her second trip. I heard her muttering to one of her children (I assume) that the salad bar hadn't been replenished. Sure there were a couple of empty condiment bowls, but I managed to make a pretty significant salad from what was there. It was fresh, there was a good variety, and I didn't need crackers anyway.

When the waitress returned to the table next to us, the woman began her diatribe about the poor quality of the salad bar. She didn't just complain; she went on and on and on and on. The waitress was pleasant and eventually said she would send her manager over, which she did.

The manager explained to the family that some changes had been made that very day that affected the salad bar, and she proceeded to explain the changes. The woman wasn't satisfied and continued to rant and rave about her unhappiness with the salad bar. The manager offered to get her something else, but the woman said she was "too upset to eat." By the way..... she was a VERY large woman.

I won't bore you with ALL the details, just in case you're still reading at this moment, but it became apparent that the woman intended to complain until the manager agreed to give them their meal for free. I'm not sure that ever happened, but the manager and waitress couldn't have been nicer or more professional in the way they handled this family.

I realize some people make a career out of getting free food at restaurants by complaining. Don't get me wrong - if service is abysmal or if the quality of the food is sincerely lacking, I believe the restaurant should compensate the consumer in some way. I don't think that woman's entire meal should have been comped, though, when she had already eaten ONE plate of salad. She was very specific in her complaints, too: "No cranberries," and she had to request someone go get her some balsamic vinegar dressing. Apparently that was just so much of a hassle, to have to ASK someone for salad dressing as opposed to being able to get it herself.

Puhlease.

How do those people live with themselves? I didn't get a glimpse of how her children were handling the situation (they were teenagers), but I got the impression that this was fairly normal for a family outing. Maybe that's how the family manages to eat out so often. She implied to the waitress and manager that her family of six spent enough money in this particular restaurant, eating there at least once a week, that they should be grateful for her business or something. She also complained that she hadn't been NOTIFIED of the changes to the salad bar. Funny, I didn't get that email either. But I found enough to eat.

After they were gone and we were waiting for our check, Hubby couldn't resist messing with the waitress. He said he needed to talk to her about the salad bar. After a split second's hesitation, she realized he was kidding and she started laughing.

There are a gazillion reasons I couldn't work in the food service industry, but people like this woman are probably right up there at the top of the list. I would be fired (or arrested) the first time someone tried to pull a stunt like that on me.

I Think I Know Where they Get Their (Lack of) Manners.....

Sometimes I struggle to come up with a topic for a blog post. There are days when I actually start fretting about it early in the day. I don't want to skip a night, and I don't want to resort to "what I did today" topics (like I've been depending upon for the last three days, but only because I was so excited to have a new bike). I want to be witty and clever every night, but sometimes when I've played a gazillion games on the Nintendo had a busy day at school I just can't come up with anything new.

Sometimes, however, a blog topic comes up behind me at Subway and screams a topic into my ear.

After yesterday's flurry of domesticity, you didn't really expect me to sustain it all the way through the process of cooking a meal tonight too, did you?

After line dancing I went to Subway to fetch two footlong subs for our dinner for tonight. It really solves two meal problems: it gives us a quick and easy meal (after which I don't have to clean up) and it provides both of us with lunch for tomorrow.

A sweet looking little family came in and got in line behind me. I realize children have no concept of invading the personal space of adults, and the little bastard boy child seriously violated my personal space. Most of the time I can ignore it, but I'm talking he stepped on the back of my freakin' flip-flop! Twice! I resisted the urge to turn around and slap his little jaws growl at him glare at his father move away every so slightly. I just knew any moment the father would grab the little darling by the shoulder and instruct him on waiting BEHIND the person in front of him.

But then the father's cell phone rang.

I think the ringtone was the theme from Twilight Zone. I can't remember clearly because in the next instant all practical thoughts were B-L-A-S-T-E-D from my brain, along with both eardrums, by the father's laughter.

It was so loud, and so right next to my head, that I instinctively put my hands over my ears before I even thought about what I was doing. I was afraid I might embarrass the man.

Silly me!

The laughter continued.

I sidled away as far as I could without abandoning the sandwiches that were in the process of being dressed. The lettuce began to wilt under the power of this man's boisterous laughter. A bottle of mayonnaise committed suicide by jumping off the counter. I had to raise my voice to the person dressing my sandwiches so she could hear me. I got my hopes up when she picked up a sharp knife, thinking she was going to hand it to me. But no, she was merely slicing my sandwiches.

I am certain that nothing, NOTHING, has ever been that funny in the history of the world. The laughter went on and on, louder and louder. I have no idea what the person on the other end of that conversation could have said in that short a period of time that was that funny.

But I have a pretty good idea what kind of people those children are going to turn into.

My Handicapped Parking Beef......

Some people who use parking spaces that are reserved for the handicapped really get on my nerves. I'm not talking about the ones who just park there with no permit and no obvious handicap - those ought to be taken out and shot.

The ones who get on my nerves are the ones who HAVE a permit (or have someone who has the permit) but don't need the parking space.

My mother-in-law is legitimately handicapped. She walks (veeeeerrrrrryyyyy slllllooooowwwwwllyyy) with a walker, and she is very unsteady even then. When we take her out to eat with us, we use her permit and park in a space reserved for the handicapped. There have been times when we have been searching for a parking space when she WASN'T with us, and we joked about how nice it would be to have her placard with us. But we were JOKING, and I would never actually do that. Even at a Braves' game. When the parking for handicapped is right next to the stadium. (I wonder if Granny likes baseball?)

Some people take advantage, though. I knew a woman and her husband, for example, who had a temporary permit after he had knee surgery. Even after he was fully recuperated, they continued to use the parking permit until it BY GOD EXPIRED. I was embarrassed to go anywhere with them if one of them drove, because the four (or five or six) of us would all hop out of the car, and it was obvious that none of us was handicapped. I guess it was technically legal, but it wasn't right.

I saw a car parked in the handicapped zone the other day at the store, and the driver had left the handicapped person in the car. Now if the person who has difficulty walking wasn't actually DOING ANY WALKING, was it reasonable for them to take up one of those reserved parking spaces? Maybe I'm being picky, but I'm thinking those are reserved for the folks who need a little extra help getting to the building.

I don't know what got me thinking about this issue today. On a similar note, I saw a car the other day with one of the "Disabled Person" license plates. It was a souped-up Mustang with one of those high-rise spoilers on the back. I didn't get a good look at the driver. You don't reckon someone just stole Grandpa's license plate after he passed, do you?

Interlopers.....

I had heard horror stories about people who have swimming pools having people invite themselves over all the time.

It has begun to happen to us with a certain family member who shall remain nameless, but it ain't from MY side of the family.

At first we invited her and her man friend over for special gatherings and our usual July Fourth party.

Then she started inviting herself. And she broke up with the man friend, so that was okay too.

Then she started bringing her daughter-in-law. And all three grandchildren.

If they invite themselves over when I'm here, I feel as though I'm not supposed to go out there and enjoy my own pool. I sit inside and watch television while they swim. In my pool.

Their favorite thing to do, however, is to come when we're not here. Not only do they use the pool freely, they also traipse in and out of the house. I can't begrudge them the need to go to the bathroom, especially since that's much better than peeing in the pool, but COME ON.

Today I came home from my weekend of bicycling feeling wonderfully tired, but glad to be home. I unpacked and washed the clothes before I even sat down to rest.

Then I went into the bathroom, where SOMEONE generously left a gift for us in the hall bathroom toilet. And forgot to flush.

There was no toilet paper, so I assume it was a child. God, I hope it was a child.

But COME ON!!! You're in someone else's house. Shouldn't you at least check behind the children? Perhaps school them on the steps to take AFTER using the toilet?

Hubby and I went swimming when he got home, and I found myself looking around the pool warily, lest the "guests" left a little present for us in the POOL also. These people clearly don't use the same rulebook we do.

Hubby feels the same way I do, so I don't have to worry about causing any marital strife. We're going to have to put locks on the gates to the backyard and use the excuse that the new neighbors have small children.

We also have a bad habit of not locking our doors. We're going to have to change that.

Maybe we'll just go ahead and cover it up. My family, whom I would LOVE to have over, never gets a chance to come swim. They would never take advantage, and they would NEVER make me feel unwelcome in my own pool.

When people said having a pool was a whole lot of trouble, I THOUGHT I knew what they were talking about.

They meant family trouble.

TMI*..............

This is what I learned about the woman eating in the booth behind us at Applebee's today:

• She's voting for George McCain (whoever THAT is)
• She thinks Obama is Muslim
• She lives with a boring person
• She has some relative/acquaintance/victim named Phillip, whom she also calls Phil
• She uses the "F" word a lot
• She thinks it's her right to know whom everyone she comes into contact with is voting for, including the host or hostess and every waiter or waitress
• Phillip should spend more time with his son
• She talks with her mouth full
• She's tired of the same old f***ing s**t all the time
• She doesn't need a cell phone for a long-distance conversation

I could have used an extra dose of blood pressure medicine today.


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*Too Much Information