There was a time when I was still working for my old company that I was asked to go train a new hire in the Philadelphia area. Normally when I'd train someone, it would last a week and that person would drive the entire time.
The woman I was sent to train this time had a streak of bad luck leading up to her first day that seriously rivaled my kind of luck. If I remember correctly, her car was stolen the previous week and hadn't yet turned up. She had been driving her significant others truck when, the night before, the brakes stopped working and she wrecked on one of the bridges around Philly. God love her though, she still wanted to get her training in, and so I ended up driving most of the week. Most of the week passed without incident; then she got her vehicle back. I took that as my cue to show her what a genius I can be.
The day she got her truck back, she picked me up and I asked her to stop at a convenience store so I could grab a drink. Those of you who know me know I drink a lot. (and not like that smartasses...ok, yes like that, but not this day.) She pulled into Wawa and I jumped out for a drink and she waited. After I made my purchases, I walked out of the store, paying little attention to anything but my feet (we all know how clumsy I am, and I try to restrain myself from falling over my own two feet when I am just getting to know a person—good first impressions and all).
I jumped in the truck, pulled my water out of the bag and started to take a big drink. It was that moment the guy that had been sitting in the drivers seat chose to say, “I think you're in the wrong car.”
I spit my drink all over the place and screamed bloody murder as if he pulled a knife and announced ‘this is a stickup’. I screamed as if I belonged in his truck and he didn't. While I was screaming I pushed myself out of the truck, falling to the ground, and leaving behind everything...the coveted drink, my purse...In a state of confusion, I jumped up from the ground in an all encompassing panic. While I was brushing dirt from my bum, I looked around to see the poor woman I was training sitting right behind him in the truck I was supposed to get into laughing so hard I thought her head would pop off. A relief really…she was a refuge from having to look in at that man any longer. Plus, I needed to laugh about being an idiot.
I ran/crawled to her truck, jumped in, and through sobs of uncontrollable laughter asked why she didn't yell at me. Her answer?, “because my window wouldn't open”.
I guess she was laughing too hard to open the door. Lord knows I would have been if I had been in her position.
When we finally pulled ourselves together, she pulled up so I could kindly ask the nice toothless man for my stuff and to apologize for screaming like a maniac at him. Once I got through that the guy said to me, “you can always get back in if you like.” My barely restrained, cracking voice nearly gave out to a new fit of laugher, but I thanked him kindly. You know...I only have it in me to deal with one trauma per hour.
The sad part of this…even though both vehicles were American made SUV’s, one was dark green, the other dark blue. I can’t even use an excuse like whoopsie, I’m color blind.
However, I remind myself every time I think of this that they both did have longer blonde hair. I’m grasping, yes…but it’s my reality. Care to join me?
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Friday, April 17, 2009
Crazy people in WalMart
Mentioning the criminally insane in Wal Mart in my last post made me think of this story and I thought, well hell, I may as well write about this too.
I was in a Wal Mart on Long Island. The original plan for me that day was that I was to train a new person, give him these stickers for a special project so he could complete it in the store that I am not writing about and every other WalMart on Long Island. As luck would have it, he didn't show up. Because of the nature of this project and that companies location, I was stuck running all over that God forsaken, hysteria-inducing, car-jamming island to complete the project.
That would be how I ended up in this store nearly in the middle of the island at the time of this incident.
It was late in the day, long before the days that the universe bestowed upon me a GPS. I'd already made half of the stops and I was tired and cranky. I pulled into the parking lot and headed into the store where I was greeted by a crowd of people milling about and acting like children because there was a puddle in the middle of the entrance way. Assuming it was water, or at worst, a spilled soda, I carefully walked through the puddle because I was that desperate to get done and get out.
As vendors, we were to sign in on a log at the front of the store. I was doing that and taking notes on prior visits that my boss had asked me get when suddenly time slowed. I heard someone yell, “oh my God, he has a knife!” As I was processing this, out of nowhere I am tackled by some guy and at the same time and seeing for the first time the guy with the knife, who was only an arms length away. Absolute panic settled in. “Is that guy gonna kill me?! Why is this guy tackling me?! Oh my God, I'm going to jail, they think I'm with the knife guy!! He's got box cutters!! TWO OF THEM!! Am I being held hostage?! Why is this guy still on me?!? Is he a bad guy too?! I'm going to die!!”
I'd have cried, but apparently when I am that scared, I can't cry.
It turned out that the guy who tackled me figured out that I wasn't aware of what was happening around me and thought it best to get me out of harms way. (I later thanked him)
So, how did we get to this point? As it was relayed to me, the crazy man with the knives was in the process of being kicked out of the store and decided he didn't want to go. In a stroke of genius he assume that whipping out his junk and peeing in the entrance way would void the decision to kick him out and he'd be welcomed back with open arms and a shopping spree. Enter Michele...(yes, my worst case scenario of a soda puddle, was far beyond my imagination allowed, I walked through crazy man piss. In shoes that were only days old to boot.) over the puddle and through the vendor log, to project land I go. At this same time, the crazy man realized he was not being welcomed back and pulled the knives.
Only a few minutes later, the police showed up and the crazy peeing man went away with two of the policemen relatively peacefully. The remaining officers stayed and took statements, including mine. It was then that I decided to get choked up and as I finished telling them what I could including, “I WALKED THROUGH HIS PEE!” I asked (or begged possibly), “I don't have to come back here, do I? I live 4 hours away and am only supposed to be training someone who didn't show up and I didn't see enough to testify and I don't ever want to come here again.” (ok, maybe I whined)
I don't know what worse...that I experienced that or that I went about doing that project like I was going to be stabbed if I didn't. I think a normal person would have packed it in for the day. Nope, not me. I did that and three more stores that night. I should be medicated.
Moral of this story? Don't walk through an indoor puddle.
I was in a Wal Mart on Long Island. The original plan for me that day was that I was to train a new person, give him these stickers for a special project so he could complete it in the store that I am not writing about and every other WalMart on Long Island. As luck would have it, he didn't show up. Because of the nature of this project and that companies location, I was stuck running all over that God forsaken, hysteria-inducing, car-jamming island to complete the project.
That would be how I ended up in this store nearly in the middle of the island at the time of this incident.
It was late in the day, long before the days that the universe bestowed upon me a GPS. I'd already made half of the stops and I was tired and cranky. I pulled into the parking lot and headed into the store where I was greeted by a crowd of people milling about and acting like children because there was a puddle in the middle of the entrance way. Assuming it was water, or at worst, a spilled soda, I carefully walked through the puddle because I was that desperate to get done and get out.
As vendors, we were to sign in on a log at the front of the store. I was doing that and taking notes on prior visits that my boss had asked me get when suddenly time slowed. I heard someone yell, “oh my God, he has a knife!” As I was processing this, out of nowhere I am tackled by some guy and at the same time and seeing for the first time the guy with the knife, who was only an arms length away. Absolute panic settled in. “Is that guy gonna kill me?! Why is this guy tackling me?! Oh my God, I'm going to jail, they think I'm with the knife guy!! He's got box cutters!! TWO OF THEM!! Am I being held hostage?! Why is this guy still on me?!? Is he a bad guy too?! I'm going to die!!”
I'd have cried, but apparently when I am that scared, I can't cry.
It turned out that the guy who tackled me figured out that I wasn't aware of what was happening around me and thought it best to get me out of harms way. (I later thanked him)
So, how did we get to this point? As it was relayed to me, the crazy man with the knives was in the process of being kicked out of the store and decided he didn't want to go. In a stroke of genius he assume that whipping out his junk and peeing in the entrance way would void the decision to kick him out and he'd be welcomed back with open arms and a shopping spree. Enter Michele...(yes, my worst case scenario of a soda puddle, was far beyond my imagination allowed, I walked through crazy man piss. In shoes that were only days old to boot.) over the puddle and through the vendor log, to project land I go. At this same time, the crazy man realized he was not being welcomed back and pulled the knives.
Only a few minutes later, the police showed up and the crazy peeing man went away with two of the policemen relatively peacefully. The remaining officers stayed and took statements, including mine. It was then that I decided to get choked up and as I finished telling them what I could including, “I WALKED THROUGH HIS PEE!” I asked (or begged possibly), “I don't have to come back here, do I? I live 4 hours away and am only supposed to be training someone who didn't show up and I didn't see enough to testify and I don't ever want to come here again.” (ok, maybe I whined)
I don't know what worse...that I experienced that or that I went about doing that project like I was going to be stabbed if I didn't. I think a normal person would have packed it in for the day. Nope, not me. I did that and three more stores that night. I should be medicated.
Moral of this story? Don't walk through an indoor puddle.
Hot sauce
A few years ago, I was walking through a WalMart. We all know what a joy that can be. You encounter rude people, dirty people, perverted people (ask me sometime about the exhibitionists who were arrested in a Wal Mart, on a garden swing, for performing an act similar to eating a popsicle that is best witnessed by only the people involved) and usually at least one person who you are pretty sure just escaped from the local hospital for the criminally insane. If you need verification, ask the guy who trained me for the job I had then. While we were working on software, a sweet little old lady came over to us and asked about a coffee pot or a blender or something of the sort. He started to explain to her, “I'm sorry, we don't work for Wal Mart...” but before he could finish, she piped up with “and I bet you wouldn't know your ass from a hole in the ground.” You have to wonder if she kisses her grandchildren with that mouth. (Ironically, someone else said the same thing to me in a store 90 miles away a year or so later.) Must be a PA thing.
In any case, it's not often that you run into Wal Mart shoppers who bring a smile to your face just being who they are. I came across a couple that must have been in their 70's for the third time that day while I was walking up an aisle looking for the fixture I needed. I don't know why, but they fascinated me. They just exuded happiness and comfort or something that gives a person warm fuzzies inside. They each shopped for the other and finished each others thoughts in the way that only years of being together allows.
While they shopped, I watched and was close enough to over hear the wife say to her husband as she pulled down a bottle of hot sauce, “do you want to try this? It says it's hot and spicy.”
Her husband responded, “It doesn't matter, it won't be as hot and spicy as you.” He then grabbed her and kissed her and they both giggled like love sick teenagers.
I refrained from giggling myself; let's face it, people are freaked out by people watchers (which I am), some people are downright irritated by eavesdroppers (but in my defense, they were close enough for me to hear anything they said above a whisper...but I would have gladly taken the heat to witness that exchange).
I don't know why, but I've been thinking about that couple for a few days. Maybe it's the whisper of spring making me feel all romantical inside, or maybe it's the simple fact that from day to day I see so many miserable people who seem to be with the person they seem to so loathe and apparently have no aspirations to be anything more than angry. Whatever it is, I guess it's nice to remember that there are happy people--happy couples--out there who've struggled through their ups and downs, have been spitting mad at each other and still are the spice in the others life.
May we all be so lucky to be another's hot sauce as we grow old.
In any case, it's not often that you run into Wal Mart shoppers who bring a smile to your face just being who they are. I came across a couple that must have been in their 70's for the third time that day while I was walking up an aisle looking for the fixture I needed. I don't know why, but they fascinated me. They just exuded happiness and comfort or something that gives a person warm fuzzies inside. They each shopped for the other and finished each others thoughts in the way that only years of being together allows.
While they shopped, I watched and was close enough to over hear the wife say to her husband as she pulled down a bottle of hot sauce, “do you want to try this? It says it's hot and spicy.”
Her husband responded, “It doesn't matter, it won't be as hot and spicy as you.” He then grabbed her and kissed her and they both giggled like love sick teenagers.
I refrained from giggling myself; let's face it, people are freaked out by people watchers (which I am), some people are downright irritated by eavesdroppers (but in my defense, they were close enough for me to hear anything they said above a whisper...but I would have gladly taken the heat to witness that exchange).
I don't know why, but I've been thinking about that couple for a few days. Maybe it's the whisper of spring making me feel all romantical inside, or maybe it's the simple fact that from day to day I see so many miserable people who seem to be with the person they seem to so loathe and apparently have no aspirations to be anything more than angry. Whatever it is, I guess it's nice to remember that there are happy people--happy couples--out there who've struggled through their ups and downs, have been spitting mad at each other and still are the spice in the others life.
May we all be so lucky to be another's hot sauce as we grow old.
Thursday, April 16, 2009
dating in the animal world
It seems I'm suffering another episode of the can't sleep crazies so I've decided to come on down and share more disturbing events from my life with some of my closest friends and strangers.
I don't have much luck in the dating world, partially because I can be sickeningly shy around new people and partially because I have a knack for ignoring that little itch at the bottom of my spine that is either trying to tell me -hey, you're about to do something you never want to share with another human being- or -hey, something is wrong here DANGER MICHELE ROBINSON DANGER, do not go out with this person-. I've always had that knack, so even though I'm focusing on my move to NEPA for this event, please don't think that means my dating life was normal prior to this night.
I moved to the Wilkes Barre area nearly 8 years ago now. Maybe 7. I guess it doesn't matter much when you discover you've moved to an area with a cancer rate something like 17,000 percent higher than the rest of the state. I say a party is a party, you bring the vodka, I'll bring the radiation.
Shortly after I moved here I met a man (this is a term I use simply because he was in human form and had a voice deeper than that of the average female but I do still have my doubts). I wasn't especially attracted to this man in the physical sense, his lips were too big (think Steven Tyler crossed with Grape Ape), he somehow seemed, umm, droopy and he had an odd bob when he walked (something like what I imagine to be the gait of the spawn of a penguin and a flamingo...don't tell you YOU have NEVER imagined what that baby would look like or more importantly walk like). Physical aspects aside, he seemed to be a nice man...he was able to have a conversation, he was funny, and he read books for fun, so I thought we could at least establish a friendship.
I thought we were well on our way to doing just that when he asked if I wanted to go see his friends band one night. I hadn't been out since I moved here, so I jumped all over it. He picked me up and off to the bar we went without incident. As the night progressed, I was so sure we were well on our way to friendship...he introduced me to his friend, the drummer of the band, and he (the 'man) was all over two other women. The drummer and I hit it off quite well and he gave me his number between one of the breaks and we made plans for dinner. I was having a great night!!
But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Those famous words "LAST CALL" rang out strong and true and the 'man' (whose name I can't remember because I nicknamed him so long ago his real name just kinda slipped away...sadly, I can't share the nickname with you yet, as that might be too telling of what is to come) came back over and told me he was going to start the car to warm it up (it was a cold March night). While he was doing that, the band wrapped up and I chatted with his friend a bit longer.
Finally it came time to kick everyone out and I headed out with the "man". We sat in the car and talked for a bit, about his friend, my move, and other trivial shit that he apparently thought was an invitation to try to attempt to put parts of his anatomy in mine. While I was in the middle of saying something he sort of dove across the car at me like a clumsy missile might dive at a target and suddenly his really, really big lips were on my face. People, what he did to me could never be considered a kiss...it was this weird thing that placed one of his lips between my upper lip and my nose (and his lips were big enough to block oxygen flow to my nostrils) and his lower lip landed in that dip between my lower lip and my chin; once that was arrangement was in place he proceeded to suck on my face while he plunged his tongue in and out of my face much in the way I imagine a plunger would work on a toilet if of course the plunger had a tongue and the toilet a pliable orifice. I was stuck somewhere between shock and disturbed and froze. I think it probably took me near a minute to figure out just what was happening and why I suddenly couldn't breathe. As I searched my mind for the reality I quickly figured out this wasn't chemistry or anticipation, it was something just shy of horror and was finally able to move again and I pushed him off of me. He backed off long enough for me to blink my eyes and gasp for breathe and then to determine that surely I was just playing hard to get and dove back across the seat, only this time he attached himself to the side of my face in much the same fashion he had attached himself to my chin and nostrils. I didn't have much time to freeze or to be shocked by that this time around because he almost immediately snorted like a wild hog in my ear. I reacted to that by jumping back and smacking my head off of the car window and he looked at me as sincere as could be and said "what?, there ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of snortin'" (yes, that is an exact quote, it is scarred into my memory no less than if I had been branded with those words). I was almost too stunned to say or do anything but I said, actually I think I screeched, MAYBE IF YOU WERE RAISED ON A BARN! and jumped out of the car.
I walked home that night terrified I might be accosted by a pig or a cow or maybe a crazed chicken. Seven miles I walked that night because I only knew the way he drove to take me there. I found out a few months later I could have turned and walked over a bridge and home was only one mile away.
Of course, I never took a call from The Snorter again, and never did call his friend for that date for fear I might see him again.That should be the end, right? Well of course it should be the end, but this is me we're talking about kids. We all know that wasn't the end.
Time had passed and The Snorters calls became more and more infrequent, so when two months or so later I got a call from a local number I didn't recognize, I answered it to discover that it was the girlfriend of The Snorter (oddly, I remember her name) and she informed me they were together when we 'went out' and they had an argument and he blah blah blah and they were talking about me and how much he liked me and she wanted to know if I'd like to have a threesome with them. I was sure I must have misunderstood and asked her to repeat herself and when she did I couldn't think of anything to say so I asked "do you really get turned on by barnyard noises?" and suggested they might consider couples therapy.She never asked again.
I was traumatized and didn't date for the next few months I lived here.
The really sad part of all of this is that this isn't the first encounter I've walked home from. Two previous dates put me in a situation that I've either snuck away and walked home or he flipped and left me 40 miles from home without a car but those are stories for another night. Third time really is a charm I guess. I don't go on anymore first anythings without my own transportation.
Here's my challenge to you: I want each of you to grab your arm or a small juice glass and wrap your lips around it and start sucking...oh yeah...just like that...now, while you are still sucking start plunging your tongue in and out of your chosen object. It seems to defy the laws of physics to me...once I stopped having nightmares I got curious about how he did that because it just didn't seem it should be possible. I never have mastered the technique.
I don't have much luck in the dating world, partially because I can be sickeningly shy around new people and partially because I have a knack for ignoring that little itch at the bottom of my spine that is either trying to tell me -hey, you're about to do something you never want to share with another human being- or -hey, something is wrong here DANGER MICHELE ROBINSON DANGER, do not go out with this person-. I've always had that knack, so even though I'm focusing on my move to NEPA for this event, please don't think that means my dating life was normal prior to this night.
I moved to the Wilkes Barre area nearly 8 years ago now. Maybe 7. I guess it doesn't matter much when you discover you've moved to an area with a cancer rate something like 17,000 percent higher than the rest of the state. I say a party is a party, you bring the vodka, I'll bring the radiation.
Shortly after I moved here I met a man (this is a term I use simply because he was in human form and had a voice deeper than that of the average female but I do still have my doubts). I wasn't especially attracted to this man in the physical sense, his lips were too big (think Steven Tyler crossed with Grape Ape), he somehow seemed, umm, droopy and he had an odd bob when he walked (something like what I imagine to be the gait of the spawn of a penguin and a flamingo...don't tell you YOU have NEVER imagined what that baby would look like or more importantly walk like). Physical aspects aside, he seemed to be a nice man...he was able to have a conversation, he was funny, and he read books for fun, so I thought we could at least establish a friendship.
I thought we were well on our way to doing just that when he asked if I wanted to go see his friends band one night. I hadn't been out since I moved here, so I jumped all over it. He picked me up and off to the bar we went without incident. As the night progressed, I was so sure we were well on our way to friendship...he introduced me to his friend, the drummer of the band, and he (the 'man) was all over two other women. The drummer and I hit it off quite well and he gave me his number between one of the breaks and we made plans for dinner. I was having a great night!!
But as the saying goes, all good things must come to an end. Those famous words "LAST CALL" rang out strong and true and the 'man' (whose name I can't remember because I nicknamed him so long ago his real name just kinda slipped away...sadly, I can't share the nickname with you yet, as that might be too telling of what is to come) came back over and told me he was going to start the car to warm it up (it was a cold March night). While he was doing that, the band wrapped up and I chatted with his friend a bit longer.
Finally it came time to kick everyone out and I headed out with the "man". We sat in the car and talked for a bit, about his friend, my move, and other trivial shit that he apparently thought was an invitation to try to attempt to put parts of his anatomy in mine. While I was in the middle of saying something he sort of dove across the car at me like a clumsy missile might dive at a target and suddenly his really, really big lips were on my face. People, what he did to me could never be considered a kiss...it was this weird thing that placed one of his lips between my upper lip and my nose (and his lips were big enough to block oxygen flow to my nostrils) and his lower lip landed in that dip between my lower lip and my chin; once that was arrangement was in place he proceeded to suck on my face while he plunged his tongue in and out of my face much in the way I imagine a plunger would work on a toilet if of course the plunger had a tongue and the toilet a pliable orifice. I was stuck somewhere between shock and disturbed and froze. I think it probably took me near a minute to figure out just what was happening and why I suddenly couldn't breathe. As I searched my mind for the reality I quickly figured out this wasn't chemistry or anticipation, it was something just shy of horror and was finally able to move again and I pushed him off of me. He backed off long enough for me to blink my eyes and gasp for breathe and then to determine that surely I was just playing hard to get and dove back across the seat, only this time he attached himself to the side of my face in much the same fashion he had attached himself to my chin and nostrils. I didn't have much time to freeze or to be shocked by that this time around because he almost immediately snorted like a wild hog in my ear. I reacted to that by jumping back and smacking my head off of the car window and he looked at me as sincere as could be and said "what?, there ain't nothin' wrong with a little bit of snortin'" (yes, that is an exact quote, it is scarred into my memory no less than if I had been branded with those words). I was almost too stunned to say or do anything but I said, actually I think I screeched, MAYBE IF YOU WERE RAISED ON A BARN! and jumped out of the car.
I walked home that night terrified I might be accosted by a pig or a cow or maybe a crazed chicken. Seven miles I walked that night because I only knew the way he drove to take me there. I found out a few months later I could have turned and walked over a bridge and home was only one mile away.
Of course, I never took a call from The Snorter again, and never did call his friend for that date for fear I might see him again.That should be the end, right? Well of course it should be the end, but this is me we're talking about kids. We all know that wasn't the end.
Time had passed and The Snorters calls became more and more infrequent, so when two months or so later I got a call from a local number I didn't recognize, I answered it to discover that it was the girlfriend of The Snorter (oddly, I remember her name) and she informed me they were together when we 'went out' and they had an argument and he blah blah blah and they were talking about me and how much he liked me and she wanted to know if I'd like to have a threesome with them. I was sure I must have misunderstood and asked her to repeat herself and when she did I couldn't think of anything to say so I asked "do you really get turned on by barnyard noises?" and suggested they might consider couples therapy.She never asked again.
I was traumatized and didn't date for the next few months I lived here.
The really sad part of all of this is that this isn't the first encounter I've walked home from. Two previous dates put me in a situation that I've either snuck away and walked home or he flipped and left me 40 miles from home without a car but those are stories for another night. Third time really is a charm I guess. I don't go on anymore first anythings without my own transportation.
Here's my challenge to you: I want each of you to grab your arm or a small juice glass and wrap your lips around it and start sucking...oh yeah...just like that...now, while you are still sucking start plunging your tongue in and out of your chosen object. It seems to defy the laws of physics to me...once I stopped having nightmares I got curious about how he did that because it just didn't seem it should be possible. I never have mastered the technique.
a liar I am
My job has turned me into a liar. A bold, unapologetic liar.
Look at that, as if to prove my point, I lie yet again. It's not so much the job that has made me a liar, it's some of the people I deal with that make me a liar. What do I lie about you ask? I have a boyfriend. I say it weekly, sometimes daily, sometimes repeatedly throughout a day. (I had one of those days this week)
There comes a time when you work around truck drivers that being hit on kind of loses its appeal. If by some weird chance there is some man out there who thinks he's going to find love in a truck stop, take this advice to heart.... a) be clean, showers are available and most women would prefer being hit on by a man who doesn't smell like he's been rolling around in pigshit all day. b) have clean breathe, if you plan on moving close to use a bad pick up line, allow the woman to have a chance to hear the pick up line rather than having to focus on the nightmare-ish medley composed of cigarettes, fast food, and some weird funky undertone that might be soured milk. c) don't mention sex or how driving ruins every relationship you've had. d) don't tell me all about your girlfriend as an excuse to talk to me then flick your hotel room key at me and suggest I come over for 'a shower' in a way you perceive to be sexy but makes me want to drive a dull butter knife through my ear. besides, if you're flicking a key rather than a key card in this day and age, I think we can all be pretty sure you're paying by the hour and there will be a few gals after dark willing to 'shower' with you e) keep in mind that if you are going to use a line, chances are we've heard it before and it won't even make a bleep on the radar, be original, if you've heard it before, so have I... honestly, I'm a woman in a truck stop that is predominantly male...I could look like John Kerrys horse faced crack whore cousin, but as long as I have a set of knockers, someone is hitting on me. "Hey baby, I'd really like to get to know you" I'm pretty sure translates into "Hey baby, I am really hoping you are easy because I am looking to hit that before I head across the country in a few hours to never return" Sorry, have a boyfriend. "Hey beautiful, can I get your number" (oh sure, I always hand my number out to perfect strangers in a truck stop) Sorry, have a boyfriend. "Girl, I've been dreaming about you all my life" Sorry, have a boyfriend. It flows so naturally now and usually this works. They do the kicked puppy dog thing and play sad all the while thinking son of a bitch I'm gonna have to pay one of those hookers that shows up after midnight or some variation like that. Somehow I just don't see myself telling the grand kids someday, oh yea, I met your grandfather while I was working in a truck stop and he came in to find some fuel, a shower, and a quick lay if he could work it out.
My lie wasn't working so well this week. In one day, three men would not stop even after I hit them with 'I have a boyfriend'. A couple of others took it like a man (?) and sulked off like that kicked puppy dog, but those three were relentless. How long you been together?, how long you know him?, is it serious?, he treat you right? HOLY SHIT...who knew a simple lie would lead to surprise quizzes. Seriously, I think I failed...I hadn't planned on that ever happening. An easy lie is one thing, inventing an imaginary boyfriend is another thing altogether. Actually, I know I failed. One of these guys looked at me and said, 'so, are you really serious about this guy?' to which I responded, 'of course'. He then informs me that just last week I told him I'd been with my guy for four months. (I told him two months this time) I gave him my oh fuck kinda laugh and said ohhh, he just makes it feel that way sometimes before I ran off to the back. But, I finally got them gone looking even more miserable than most of these guys and after the third one I stormed in and hit a couple of the male store employees with 'what the hell is wrong with men?' and ran through my experiences of the day. Some of the store people weren't at all surprised by this because I've had a person or people sneak me out of stores before so I could dodge the advances of some of these guys. (Yeah, I'm a sissy)
While they looked at me with 'we expected this' type looks, one of them finally said to me--'ok, between us, girl, you got it going on!' (there was a lot of stuff in the middle that I don't remember, but hey, who doesn't feel a little flattered when you're being hit on by a guy who doesn't want to do you in the back of his truck? So it started out well) That went into an explanation about men, and was ended with 'you're one of those women who when a guy decides he wants you, he REALLY wants you and for those of us who do want you, it's all or restraining order.' On one side it sounds like a compliment, on the other it kinda screams stay in a dark hole somewhere because you attract crazy men (most of us know I do indeed have a knack for that)So, I'm curious...I think I should just print up a few generic fill in the name type restraining orders and have them at the ready for these future encounters...or maybe I should just dig that hole and live off the earth...what do you think?
Look at that, as if to prove my point, I lie yet again. It's not so much the job that has made me a liar, it's some of the people I deal with that make me a liar. What do I lie about you ask? I have a boyfriend. I say it weekly, sometimes daily, sometimes repeatedly throughout a day. (I had one of those days this week)
There comes a time when you work around truck drivers that being hit on kind of loses its appeal. If by some weird chance there is some man out there who thinks he's going to find love in a truck stop, take this advice to heart.... a) be clean, showers are available and most women would prefer being hit on by a man who doesn't smell like he's been rolling around in pigshit all day. b) have clean breathe, if you plan on moving close to use a bad pick up line, allow the woman to have a chance to hear the pick up line rather than having to focus on the nightmare-ish medley composed of cigarettes, fast food, and some weird funky undertone that might be soured milk. c) don't mention sex or how driving ruins every relationship you've had. d) don't tell me all about your girlfriend as an excuse to talk to me then flick your hotel room key at me and suggest I come over for 'a shower' in a way you perceive to be sexy but makes me want to drive a dull butter knife through my ear. besides, if you're flicking a key rather than a key card in this day and age, I think we can all be pretty sure you're paying by the hour and there will be a few gals after dark willing to 'shower' with you e) keep in mind that if you are going to use a line, chances are we've heard it before and it won't even make a bleep on the radar, be original, if you've heard it before, so have I... honestly, I'm a woman in a truck stop that is predominantly male...I could look like John Kerrys horse faced crack whore cousin, but as long as I have a set of knockers, someone is hitting on me. "Hey baby, I'd really like to get to know you" I'm pretty sure translates into "Hey baby, I am really hoping you are easy because I am looking to hit that before I head across the country in a few hours to never return" Sorry, have a boyfriend. "Hey beautiful, can I get your number" (oh sure, I always hand my number out to perfect strangers in a truck stop) Sorry, have a boyfriend. "Girl, I've been dreaming about you all my life" Sorry, have a boyfriend. It flows so naturally now and usually this works. They do the kicked puppy dog thing and play sad all the while thinking son of a bitch I'm gonna have to pay one of those hookers that shows up after midnight or some variation like that. Somehow I just don't see myself telling the grand kids someday, oh yea, I met your grandfather while I was working in a truck stop and he came in to find some fuel, a shower, and a quick lay if he could work it out.
My lie wasn't working so well this week. In one day, three men would not stop even after I hit them with 'I have a boyfriend'. A couple of others took it like a man (?) and sulked off like that kicked puppy dog, but those three were relentless. How long you been together?, how long you know him?, is it serious?, he treat you right? HOLY SHIT...who knew a simple lie would lead to surprise quizzes. Seriously, I think I failed...I hadn't planned on that ever happening. An easy lie is one thing, inventing an imaginary boyfriend is another thing altogether. Actually, I know I failed. One of these guys looked at me and said, 'so, are you really serious about this guy?' to which I responded, 'of course'. He then informs me that just last week I told him I'd been with my guy for four months. (I told him two months this time) I gave him my oh fuck kinda laugh and said ohhh, he just makes it feel that way sometimes before I ran off to the back. But, I finally got them gone looking even more miserable than most of these guys and after the third one I stormed in and hit a couple of the male store employees with 'what the hell is wrong with men?' and ran through my experiences of the day. Some of the store people weren't at all surprised by this because I've had a person or people sneak me out of stores before so I could dodge the advances of some of these guys. (Yeah, I'm a sissy)
While they looked at me with 'we expected this' type looks, one of them finally said to me--'ok, between us, girl, you got it going on!' (there was a lot of stuff in the middle that I don't remember, but hey, who doesn't feel a little flattered when you're being hit on by a guy who doesn't want to do you in the back of his truck? So it started out well) That went into an explanation about men, and was ended with 'you're one of those women who when a guy decides he wants you, he REALLY wants you and for those of us who do want you, it's all or restraining order.' On one side it sounds like a compliment, on the other it kinda screams stay in a dark hole somewhere because you attract crazy men (most of us know I do indeed have a knack for that)So, I'm curious...I think I should just print up a few generic fill in the name type restraining orders and have them at the ready for these future encounters...or maybe I should just dig that hole and live off the earth...what do you think?
Reasons to not crank text
This should ring bells for a certain someone...
I got a new cell phone today. I texted my girlfriend so I could see what happened when she texted back; of course, we got to talking, or wording, or whatever it's called when you text people....and she gets this brilliant idea to have me text her text record breaking daughter to see her freak out when a stranger starts texting her.
Me, I agree....I send a simple text saying "hey little girl, whats up?" Nothing, nothing, nothing. Then I get a call...same area code different number saying they just got a call from my number, so of course, I thought it was the daughter trying to be sly. I laughed and told her to think about it, she'd figure it out.
I'm still texting my friend who keeps telling me...she didn't get anything. She says she didn't get anything....so I'm thinking she's trying to play cool. I texted again, saying, haven't figured this out yet girl?
well...for some reason, my girlfriend sent another text with the number again. Guess what? She gave me the wrong number the first time. I was crank texting some girl who was probably completely freaked out thinking some pervert is stalking her. She's most likely reported me to the proper authorities who now have my number and should be pounding on my door any second to haul my ass off to jail.
So, two lessons to learn here...first, always verify a number before you text a person with the intention to get a reaction. Second, never ever text a girl who can send over 21,000 messages a month when you are doing it on a brand new phone and on average send about 7 text messages a week.
I got a new cell phone today. I texted my girlfriend so I could see what happened when she texted back; of course, we got to talking, or wording, or whatever it's called when you text people....and she gets this brilliant idea to have me text her text record breaking daughter to see her freak out when a stranger starts texting her.
Me, I agree....I send a simple text saying "hey little girl, whats up?" Nothing, nothing, nothing. Then I get a call...same area code different number saying they just got a call from my number, so of course, I thought it was the daughter trying to be sly. I laughed and told her to think about it, she'd figure it out.
I'm still texting my friend who keeps telling me...she didn't get anything. She says she didn't get anything....so I'm thinking she's trying to play cool. I texted again, saying, haven't figured this out yet girl?
well...for some reason, my girlfriend sent another text with the number again. Guess what? She gave me the wrong number the first time. I was crank texting some girl who was probably completely freaked out thinking some pervert is stalking her. She's most likely reported me to the proper authorities who now have my number and should be pounding on my door any second to haul my ass off to jail.
So, two lessons to learn here...first, always verify a number before you text a person with the intention to get a reaction. Second, never ever text a girl who can send over 21,000 messages a month when you are doing it on a brand new phone and on average send about 7 text messages a week.
Priorities
I've decided my priorities are cookies. Yep, that's right, round, little, doughy, sugary, chocolaty, fresh out of the oven, morsels from heaven. Or any gesture that resembles cookies.
This week hasn't been the best of weeks. Some truck drivers don't make the best company in the world. Some are just mean, others are dirty, smelly jackoffs who don't deserve the right to be out in public. I feel okay saying that because I saw a driver on Monday who apparently repeatedly shit his pants and didn't feel weird about walking into a store to make a few purchases, smell the place up, and leave in the same condition in which he entered. The stores I call on offer showers for drivers. I feel that if you are going to shit your pants and are stopping in a place where you can shower, you should most definitely take advantage. That's just me though. That also has nothing to do with what I am writing about now but I just wanted someone else to feel my horror. Hopefully some of you will read this and be almost as repulsed as I was. I figure you can't be completely repulsed, because you weren't there to see first hand just how thoroughly one's poo can saturate one's pants.
Back to mean drivers, the whole point of my story. I do not work for the stores I call on. I service product lines in stores I call on for an outside company. When things aren't happening as a driver would like, it's not always the fault of the people who work for the store. I can promise you that it is most definitely not my fault unless you are really offended by the looks of a cell phone display or I lose it someday and physically attack someone.
As of Tuesday I hated my job. Three drivers in two days decided that they were not happy enough screaming and throwing temper tantrums that rival that of a three year old who lost his lollipop, so they brought me, the outsider, into the loop by taking advantage of my accessibility and throwing things at me. Granted, they all threw like sissies, and it only consisted of a bottle cap, a wadded up piece of paper, and a pack of socks, but it was rude.
Near the end of the second day, in NJ, I am near the checkout yet again as another punk who sounded like minnie mouse decided to go off, which of course, involved throwing something my way. I, at that point felt like a smart ass, and said to the girl behind the counter, let me know when he gets really mad...oh, wait he is...they all seem to think it's ok to throw things at me this week when they get mad. A few drivers in line behind him were appalled as I was telling her about it, one told me I should have thrown things back at them (I should have!) In any case, the punk apparently wasn't strong enough to handle the glares of other drivers so he yelled some more before running out of the store and I went about servicing my product.
Some time had passed, and I was focused on getting done when out of nowhere one of those drivers that had been in line found me and handed me a pack of cookies. Said something to the effect that he wanted to make sure I had some good point in my week and not everyone throws things. The gesture as much as the many, many chocolate chips made my day. And if things keep going like they have been, most likely my week. He was smiling, I was smiling. It was a very nice thing to do.
Don't be like the minnie punk people, hand out cookies. You might just remind a person that not everyone they come in contact with aren't worthy to be the funk you get all over your shoes in the park.
This week hasn't been the best of weeks. Some truck drivers don't make the best company in the world. Some are just mean, others are dirty, smelly jackoffs who don't deserve the right to be out in public. I feel okay saying that because I saw a driver on Monday who apparently repeatedly shit his pants and didn't feel weird about walking into a store to make a few purchases, smell the place up, and leave in the same condition in which he entered. The stores I call on offer showers for drivers. I feel that if you are going to shit your pants and are stopping in a place where you can shower, you should most definitely take advantage. That's just me though. That also has nothing to do with what I am writing about now but I just wanted someone else to feel my horror. Hopefully some of you will read this and be almost as repulsed as I was. I figure you can't be completely repulsed, because you weren't there to see first hand just how thoroughly one's poo can saturate one's pants.
Back to mean drivers, the whole point of my story. I do not work for the stores I call on. I service product lines in stores I call on for an outside company. When things aren't happening as a driver would like, it's not always the fault of the people who work for the store. I can promise you that it is most definitely not my fault unless you are really offended by the looks of a cell phone display or I lose it someday and physically attack someone.
As of Tuesday I hated my job. Three drivers in two days decided that they were not happy enough screaming and throwing temper tantrums that rival that of a three year old who lost his lollipop, so they brought me, the outsider, into the loop by taking advantage of my accessibility and throwing things at me. Granted, they all threw like sissies, and it only consisted of a bottle cap, a wadded up piece of paper, and a pack of socks, but it was rude.
Near the end of the second day, in NJ, I am near the checkout yet again as another punk who sounded like minnie mouse decided to go off, which of course, involved throwing something my way. I, at that point felt like a smart ass, and said to the girl behind the counter, let me know when he gets really mad...oh, wait he is...they all seem to think it's ok to throw things at me this week when they get mad. A few drivers in line behind him were appalled as I was telling her about it, one told me I should have thrown things back at them (I should have!) In any case, the punk apparently wasn't strong enough to handle the glares of other drivers so he yelled some more before running out of the store and I went about servicing my product.
Some time had passed, and I was focused on getting done when out of nowhere one of those drivers that had been in line found me and handed me a pack of cookies. Said something to the effect that he wanted to make sure I had some good point in my week and not everyone throws things. The gesture as much as the many, many chocolate chips made my day. And if things keep going like they have been, most likely my week. He was smiling, I was smiling. It was a very nice thing to do.
Don't be like the minnie punk people, hand out cookies. You might just remind a person that not everyone they come in contact with aren't worthy to be the funk you get all over your shoes in the park.
Today was one of those days most people would call 'unusual' or possibly 'strange', maybe even 'bad'. Not me though, today was just a day in the life...
So, after coming off of a miserable weekend and trying to find my motivation, self-esteem, and general over all contentedness, which have fallen to an all time low, I figure things can't get much worse.
Famous last words, I tell you. I honestly should know better. I get my miserable ass out of bed this morning and head out to my car to go to work. Before I'm even in the car, I can see someone has been in there. CDs are all over the passengers seat, my glove box is open, and it's in more disarray than my car normally is. Somebody ransacked my car. This isn't the first time since I've lived here, but it seriously pissed me off. Now because of the reassessment I'm going to paying a crazy amount to live in a house that was probably over-appraised in the first place where it isn't even safe to park my car next to my door under my carport. (Most of that belongs in another story, but you got it anyway.)
The insane thing about this ransacking is that wit all of the stuff in my car worth money...a bluetooth, perfume, etc etc...they didn't take any of it. Basically they raped my car for about $2 or $3 in change.
If there is a better way to start a day, I can't imagine what it is.
So, I get over all of that and head to my first store. That is its own special treat and I ran into a situation that I had to go somewhere else and come back later. Incredibly pissed, I decided to head off to my second store, which generally doesn't take very long at all. To waste time though, I sat and chatted with the manager for 40 minutes or so as he had time available. When I decided it was time to head back out, I got into the car and started the engine and as I was turning the key I realized I was sitting on something. Something that I hadn't been sitting on when I got out of the car.
I reach under my butt and pulled out a cell phone. Not my cell phone, but I had a few seconds of worry as I reached into my pocket for mine that I got a new phone and had completely forgotten about it. In my bafflement about where this mystery phone came from, it dawns on me that I am STILL sitting on something that wasn't there before. I reach under my butt again and this time pull out a Garmin GPS. It took me a minute to figure out what it was...and I was reaching under my butt yet again to see if I would find something else that might magically appear under there. (Nothing else appeared.)
I'm trying to figure this out. My doors were locked (lesson learned). My windows were up. My sunroof was tilted up, but that interior door that I guess blocks the sun was half way closed so that I could block some sun and still let some air in or out. That is the only way anyone could have put anything in my car and it seems highly strange to me that both a cell phone and a GPS would actually get to my seat and not get stuck on that interior thing.
I tried to turn the cell phone on. It was dead. I tried to turn the GPS on and it was near dead (I'm thinking that's what those bars were...but I've never used a GPS so I could be wrong...that could be just like a cell phone and be the signal strength)
I immediately started calling people to question my sanity. I know I've been less than happy lately and I thought maybe I'd gone completely off the deep end. I was assured repeatedly that although I've been moody I still seem pretty rational.
So, I'm left with questions. Maybe someone out there has the answers...
How do you suppose these things ended up in my car?
Do you suppose I am suffering fugues in which I go on thieving rampages and simply can't remember that I've been on a thieving rampage?
If someone did put this things through my sunroof, why would someone put these things through my sunroof? (one of the people I called looked the GPS up online and it's a $400 unit...who just throws something like that in someone elses locked car?)
Is it a little too odd that on the same day my car is raped the universe bestows upon me electronic presents?
And finally, do you suppose I will always be granted electronic presents from the air (or is my bum the giver of gifts?) every time my poor car is maliciously molested?
So, after coming off of a miserable weekend and trying to find my motivation, self-esteem, and general over all contentedness, which have fallen to an all time low, I figure things can't get much worse.
Famous last words, I tell you. I honestly should know better. I get my miserable ass out of bed this morning and head out to my car to go to work. Before I'm even in the car, I can see someone has been in there. CDs are all over the passengers seat, my glove box is open, and it's in more disarray than my car normally is. Somebody ransacked my car. This isn't the first time since I've lived here, but it seriously pissed me off. Now because of the reassessment I'm going to paying a crazy amount to live in a house that was probably over-appraised in the first place where it isn't even safe to park my car next to my door under my carport. (Most of that belongs in another story, but you got it anyway.)
The insane thing about this ransacking is that wit all of the stuff in my car worth money...a bluetooth, perfume, etc etc...they didn't take any of it. Basically they raped my car for about $2 or $3 in change.
If there is a better way to start a day, I can't imagine what it is.
So, I get over all of that and head to my first store. That is its own special treat and I ran into a situation that I had to go somewhere else and come back later. Incredibly pissed, I decided to head off to my second store, which generally doesn't take very long at all. To waste time though, I sat and chatted with the manager for 40 minutes or so as he had time available. When I decided it was time to head back out, I got into the car and started the engine and as I was turning the key I realized I was sitting on something. Something that I hadn't been sitting on when I got out of the car.
I reach under my butt and pulled out a cell phone. Not my cell phone, but I had a few seconds of worry as I reached into my pocket for mine that I got a new phone and had completely forgotten about it. In my bafflement about where this mystery phone came from, it dawns on me that I am STILL sitting on something that wasn't there before. I reach under my butt again and this time pull out a Garmin GPS. It took me a minute to figure out what it was...and I was reaching under my butt yet again to see if I would find something else that might magically appear under there. (Nothing else appeared.)
I'm trying to figure this out. My doors were locked (lesson learned). My windows were up. My sunroof was tilted up, but that interior door that I guess blocks the sun was half way closed so that I could block some sun and still let some air in or out. That is the only way anyone could have put anything in my car and it seems highly strange to me that both a cell phone and a GPS would actually get to my seat and not get stuck on that interior thing.
I tried to turn the cell phone on. It was dead. I tried to turn the GPS on and it was near dead (I'm thinking that's what those bars were...but I've never used a GPS so I could be wrong...that could be just like a cell phone and be the signal strength)
I immediately started calling people to question my sanity. I know I've been less than happy lately and I thought maybe I'd gone completely off the deep end. I was assured repeatedly that although I've been moody I still seem pretty rational.
So, I'm left with questions. Maybe someone out there has the answers...
How do you suppose these things ended up in my car?
Do you suppose I am suffering fugues in which I go on thieving rampages and simply can't remember that I've been on a thieving rampage?
If someone did put this things through my sunroof, why would someone put these things through my sunroof? (one of the people I called looked the GPS up online and it's a $400 unit...who just throws something like that in someone elses locked car?)
Is it a little too odd that on the same day my car is raped the universe bestows upon me electronic presents?
And finally, do you suppose I will always be granted electronic presents from the air (or is my bum the giver of gifts?) every time my poor car is maliciously molested?
Sunday, April 12, 2009
One day in Vegas
If I should have learned anything by now, it's that I can't go anywhere without one catastrophe or another, so I don't know why I find myself surprised when I'm in the middle of a new one.
That leads to my first day in Vegas, a day that made me want to turn around and come home.
Let me start with the background. I am cheap, although I prefer to think of it as thrifty. In preparation of my brothers wedding, I searched the four nearest airports for the lowest fare to get to Las Vegas. Turned out to be out of Allentown. I booked it, printed it and paid for it. Not once did I pay any mind to BUS on my ticket because I've seen this before and it usually means business class or what have you. (Turns out I must have seen something similar.)
The big day arrives and I head down to Allentown at 3 am. People told me I didn't have to be there until 5, but what I failed to understand was that that meant do not show up before five because nobody comes to work at the airport until 5 so you're just going to sit around playing with yourself and five days worth of luggage anyway. Luckily I wasn't the only one who didn't understand that. A couple of other people strolled in and waited along with me. One of those people looked at us and asked, "are you all here for the bus?" Of course, that made me smirk and think 'yeah, ya nutjob (albeit very hot nutjob) Greyhound is down the road.' Understand that at this point I'd long forgotten anything printed on my confirmation except the time of me flight. Imagine my surprise that after being shuffled through security we are all loaded onto a bus. A friggin bus. At an airport. Who'd've thunk! Then we're all DRIVEN to Newark and shuffled through security again. I get on the plane finally (on which I could not sleep to save a life) and think well ok, if that's my big problem for this trip, at least it's out of the way now and I no longer have to wonder when hell will rain down on me. Oh, the naive mind. Such a simple gal I am.
I am in Vegas. Oh, how wonderful, it's 35 degrees warmer and life is good. My brother picked me up at the airport, took me to the hotel, I got checked in and tell him to call me in 4 hours so I could nap and shower (3 am is early people, especially if midnight arrives 3 hours later at your destination) before having dinner with him, my parents, and the brother who was getting married. I meet some very nice people from Arizona on the way to my room, I got my nap and shower and think this is going to end up being ok after all. Poor, poor me.
I called my brother who had a job interview after he dropped me off and couldn't get ahold of him. (I found out hours later that the interview turned into a job on the spot.) I finally gave up and headed down to the lobby for a cab. I was in the Stratosphere headed to the Riviera. Cab ride $5.90. I handed the non english speaking shit a 20 and asked for 10 back. By my math that is nearly a 90% tip. That is a pretty decent tip by my standards for a 5 minute ride. While he's digging for my ten he asked me for a dime which completely confused me but I was in no mood to try to decipher what ever language he was speaking and started digging for a dime and could only find quarters. I assume because I was taking so long to find change that triggered his insanity to break loose and he started screaming at me. Honestly, I didn't understand most of it but what I did get was "THIS IS VEGAS, YOU HAVE TO PAY TO GO PLACES IN VEGAS" (which is completely untrue because there's a boat load of free shit in Vegas if you get out of the casino's long enough to look...you can even drink free in the casinos as long as you have a slot machine or table in front of you). I was stunned. I let him yell at me for a minute or so and finally did my usual mental health check that I use when odd situations like this pop up--"Am I awake?" Check. "Have I taken any mind altering drugs?" Nope. "Is there any indication I am hallucinating?" Nope. When the check list was complete, I let the wrath of the bus ride and lack of sleep loose on him and called him words that would make most truckers blush and followed up by grabbing my money out of his hands and pitched the quarter at the back of his bald head (which to my amusement smacked him dead-on and made a nice audible thup). Getting out of the cab, I showered him with more nasty words before slamming the door and telling him to go stick certain parts of his anatomy in certain farm animals where ever he came from. He wasn't the only one to to witness the last of my charming words because the door man came to me as I was crossing the drive to ask what happened and I think I regrettably yelled my story at him. He broke my anger by asking if I got his name (I didn't). I had to laugh, because I was far too shocked to even think about his name.
I found my parents. My brother called and we all went to dinner. Surely, with my adventures to this point, hell has come and gone. We had a nice dinner and then went to gamble. I stuck $60 in a slot machine and lost it all, my dad sits beside me, sticks $5 in and wins $300. I gave up. We left and everything was good again...then Sean takes me back to the hotel. I ran into those nice people from Arizona again and we exchanged the type of idle chitchat you have with complete strangers who you keep running into on the way to the escalator that leads to the elevators we need. Ya'll who know me, know that I can't usually do two things at once. That has not changed because as I'm talking to them I loose my footing getting onto the escalator forcing me to fall shoulder first onto the the really hard metal stairs. That would explain why I rode halfway up the damn thing on my face somewhere between hysterical laughter and excruciating tears as I decided that maybe this wasn't the night for me to go see the show I wanted to see. When I finally pulled myself up, I turned around half expecting those people to be there with me for some reason. Being smarter than I am, they weren't; but they were at the bottom looking up at me with looks that wouldn't have better expressed 'what the hell was that?!' if they had spoken it. I managed to give them a thumbs up and yell down 'and it's only day one people' before turning back in total humiliation praying I save my sobs at least until I get to my floor.
Most people come home from Vegas broke or rich. I come home banged up and bruised.
To hell with the show, I'm going to bed.
Maybe tomorrow I can convince my brother and his bride to let Elvis marry them.
That leads to my first day in Vegas, a day that made me want to turn around and come home.
Let me start with the background. I am cheap, although I prefer to think of it as thrifty. In preparation of my brothers wedding, I searched the four nearest airports for the lowest fare to get to Las Vegas. Turned out to be out of Allentown. I booked it, printed it and paid for it. Not once did I pay any mind to BUS on my ticket because I've seen this before and it usually means business class or what have you. (Turns out I must have seen something similar.)
The big day arrives and I head down to Allentown at 3 am. People told me I didn't have to be there until 5, but what I failed to understand was that that meant do not show up before five because nobody comes to work at the airport until 5 so you're just going to sit around playing with yourself and five days worth of luggage anyway. Luckily I wasn't the only one who didn't understand that. A couple of other people strolled in and waited along with me. One of those people looked at us and asked, "are you all here for the bus?" Of course, that made me smirk and think 'yeah, ya nutjob (albeit very hot nutjob) Greyhound is down the road.' Understand that at this point I'd long forgotten anything printed on my confirmation except the time of me flight. Imagine my surprise that after being shuffled through security we are all loaded onto a bus. A friggin bus. At an airport. Who'd've thunk! Then we're all DRIVEN to Newark and shuffled through security again. I get on the plane finally (on which I could not sleep to save a life) and think well ok, if that's my big problem for this trip, at least it's out of the way now and I no longer have to wonder when hell will rain down on me. Oh, the naive mind. Such a simple gal I am.
I am in Vegas. Oh, how wonderful, it's 35 degrees warmer and life is good. My brother picked me up at the airport, took me to the hotel, I got checked in and tell him to call me in 4 hours so I could nap and shower (3 am is early people, especially if midnight arrives 3 hours later at your destination) before having dinner with him, my parents, and the brother who was getting married. I meet some very nice people from Arizona on the way to my room, I got my nap and shower and think this is going to end up being ok after all. Poor, poor me.
I called my brother who had a job interview after he dropped me off and couldn't get ahold of him. (I found out hours later that the interview turned into a job on the spot.) I finally gave up and headed down to the lobby for a cab. I was in the Stratosphere headed to the Riviera. Cab ride $5.90. I handed the non english speaking shit a 20 and asked for 10 back. By my math that is nearly a 90% tip. That is a pretty decent tip by my standards for a 5 minute ride. While he's digging for my ten he asked me for a dime which completely confused me but I was in no mood to try to decipher what ever language he was speaking and started digging for a dime and could only find quarters. I assume because I was taking so long to find change that triggered his insanity to break loose and he started screaming at me. Honestly, I didn't understand most of it but what I did get was "THIS IS VEGAS, YOU HAVE TO PAY TO GO PLACES IN VEGAS" (which is completely untrue because there's a boat load of free shit in Vegas if you get out of the casino's long enough to look...you can even drink free in the casinos as long as you have a slot machine or table in front of you). I was stunned. I let him yell at me for a minute or so and finally did my usual mental health check that I use when odd situations like this pop up--"Am I awake?" Check. "Have I taken any mind altering drugs?" Nope. "Is there any indication I am hallucinating?" Nope. When the check list was complete, I let the wrath of the bus ride and lack of sleep loose on him and called him words that would make most truckers blush and followed up by grabbing my money out of his hands and pitched the quarter at the back of his bald head (which to my amusement smacked him dead-on and made a nice audible thup). Getting out of the cab, I showered him with more nasty words before slamming the door and telling him to go stick certain parts of his anatomy in certain farm animals where ever he came from. He wasn't the only one to to witness the last of my charming words because the door man came to me as I was crossing the drive to ask what happened and I think I regrettably yelled my story at him. He broke my anger by asking if I got his name (I didn't). I had to laugh, because I was far too shocked to even think about his name.
I found my parents. My brother called and we all went to dinner. Surely, with my adventures to this point, hell has come and gone. We had a nice dinner and then went to gamble. I stuck $60 in a slot machine and lost it all, my dad sits beside me, sticks $5 in and wins $300. I gave up. We left and everything was good again...then Sean takes me back to the hotel. I ran into those nice people from Arizona again and we exchanged the type of idle chitchat you have with complete strangers who you keep running into on the way to the escalator that leads to the elevators we need. Ya'll who know me, know that I can't usually do two things at once. That has not changed because as I'm talking to them I loose my footing getting onto the escalator forcing me to fall shoulder first onto the the really hard metal stairs. That would explain why I rode halfway up the damn thing on my face somewhere between hysterical laughter and excruciating tears as I decided that maybe this wasn't the night for me to go see the show I wanted to see. When I finally pulled myself up, I turned around half expecting those people to be there with me for some reason. Being smarter than I am, they weren't; but they were at the bottom looking up at me with looks that wouldn't have better expressed 'what the hell was that?!' if they had spoken it. I managed to give them a thumbs up and yell down 'and it's only day one people' before turning back in total humiliation praying I save my sobs at least until I get to my floor.
Most people come home from Vegas broke or rich. I come home banged up and bruised.
To hell with the show, I'm going to bed.
Maybe tomorrow I can convince my brother and his bride to let Elvis marry them.
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