Day 29: Life's little bloopers

Between You, Me and the Lamp Post

Day 29: Life's little bloopers

People often wonder if there’s intelligent life ‘out there’. The question is, is there intelligent life here on earth?

For instance …

I was at the mall yesterday. I had a nail appointment at 3:00 p.m. and since I was a bit early, I was killing time by looking into store windows.

I came across one store with a selection of golf shirts. I stopped and had a closer look.

A woman passed me, went into the store and started speaking to a man. The man in question was dressed in shorts and a golf shirt, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses. He sat slightly hunched over on a box, had earphones in, and seemed engrossed in something on his cellphone in his hands.

The woman approached him and said, “Excuse me.”

When there was no reaction from the man, she repeated, “Excuse me.”

When the man didn’t respond she became a little agitated and persisted with, “Excuse me, do you work here? I need some help.”

Still no reaction.

With another “Excuse me,” she touched him lightly on the shoulder. That's when she realized what I had known all along … the seated man was a dummy, a mannequin!

After a quick look over her left and right shoulder, she made a swift exit. Nobody had seen that, right.

While I admit that some women’s elevator doesn’t quite go to the top, there are dumb men too. I should know, I met one the other day.

I went to the mailroom, to pick up some documents from one of four multi-purpose copiers and found a man staring at one of the machines. It was quite obvious that he had a problem.

While waiting for my documents to finish printing, I kept an eye on him.

He placed some papers in the top tray, tapped them lightly so they were nicely lined up, pushed one button and then another button and then waited. When nothing happened, he let out a long sigh and removed the papers.

He went through the process again, placing the paper in the top tray, making sure they were lined up properly, followed by a push of two buttons. When the machine remained dead still, the man’s frayed nerves got the better of him. He did what so many people do in a stressful situation … he started talking to the machine.

“What’s the matter with you, you stupid thing,” he mumbled. “The papers are there, I pushed the buttons, now start faxing!”

“Problem?” I enquired politely.

“I don’t know what this stupid thing wants,” he turned to me, while helplessly raising his arms the way a bird would flap his wings. “I’ve tried three times now and this machine just doesn’t want to fax.”

“Can you show me?” I asked. “Maybe you’re forgetting a step.”

“I feed the papers in the tray like so,” he demonstrated, placing the documents for the fourth time in the top tray, “I make sure they’re all lined up, then I hit the Fax button and then the Start button.

“Are you sure you have the right fax number?” I wondered.

“Fax number?” he said with a frown.

“The number of the recipient,” I said. “The person you’re sending the fax to.”

We both looked at the printer/scanner/fax’s computerized screen and we both knew right away what the problem was … no number had been keyed in.

If this had been a blond woman, and a man had witnessed such a mistake, she’d never heard the end of it. Fortunately for the man, I have a more discreet nature, although I must say, feeling a giggle tugging on my jaw muscles, I’ve never left the mailroom in quite such a hurry.

Day 67: Christmas Shopping

My Project: 365 Creative Writing Prompts

Day 67: Christmas Shopping

I met one of my neighbors yesterday who bitterly complained ...

How I wish that there was indeed such a man as Father Christmas. Someone who would bring the perfect presents to our house in exchange for some milk and cookies. Gosh, I would gladly make him coffee and a sandwich or even cook him dinner for saving me a trip to the mall.

Every year I suggest that instead of giving presents at Christmas, we move exchanging presents to New Years. I mean, what is the big deal? So, we wait a week, so what?  Is one week going to kill us? And think of all the benefits: no crowds; reduced prices; plenty of items to chose from; and no Christmas music.

Don’t get me wrong, I love Christmas carols as much as the next person, but after hearing ‘Jingle Bells’ and ‘Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer’ ten or fifteen times, those jingle bells start to give me a headache!  Then I wonder why nobody gets Rudolph inside so he can warm his nose. 

One year, in the third week of December I went in search of presents. And, just like other years, it was a battle and a struggle. The otherwise relatively quiet mall was packed with people. Some were milling around, not quite knowing where to go, while others were purposefully striding, knowing exactly what to get, where to go, and loosing no time getting there. I got a bump here, a shove there and must have heard “I’m sorry”, “Excuse me”, and “Pardon me” at least fifteen times. I had to ask myself, was this shopping or polite wrestling?

In good time, I found what I was looking for and was quickly weighed down by boxes and rolls of wrapping paper. I became a bit more sympathetic towards the pushers and the shovers as I was now one of them, occasionally uttering the words “I’m sorry”, “Excuse me” and “Pardon me.”

I dragged more than I carried my purchases in large plastic bags and heavy cardboard boxes across the mall, all the while perspiring in my heavy winter coat. My feet were killing me; my back was in urgent need of a soft comfy chair, my legs agreed with my back and to make matters worse I was getting hungry.  What might people think if they thought they heard a loud rumbling noise?

By the time I got home, my bank account and I felt the same way --- exhausted.

Still, mall shopping is a vast improvement over street shopping. Back then it was so cold Santa could have tagged me to replace Rudolph the Red Nosed reindeer within the first five minutes. The wind tugged at my coat and scarf as I trudged through inches of snow. Fun it was not, and it got even worse when I was laden with a few packages. I slipped and I skidded, and quite a few times I ultimately ended up on my not well padded behind!

At least now, when I shop in a mall, I keep my balance and my dignity. It’s even worth listening to Alvin and the Chipmunks singing ‘Jingle Bells’.

www.connymanero.weebly.com

Black Friday

Intrepid souls all over north America, and perhaps elsewhere too, are whipping out their credit cards and heading to the stores for Black Friday bargains.

Others, who prefer to do their shopping online, fire up their computers and prepare for a day of Internet surfing, looking for deals.

I won’t be doing either.

It started out so innocently. I had noticed a red swelling on my leg (where the leg meets the tummy) on Monday. I assumed it was some sort of an insect bite and that it would go away in due time.

This was not the case. If anything the swelling got bigger and became rather painful. So painful in fact that I had to cut my underwear as the elasticized material was too tight around the leg where the swelling was.

Yesterday, I decided I couldn’t wait any longer. Not only had the swelling grown from the size of a blueberry to a cherry, I couldn’t keep cutting my underwear.

The doctor diagnosed the red swelling as a boil, a giant boil. He suggested antibiotics or opening the boil to drain the blood and pus. He was going to give the affected area a local anesthetic, but he said and I quote “I’m not gonna sugarcoat it, it’s gonna hurt.”

He was right. When the needle entered the skin it was just a tiny pinprick, but as soon as he started injecting the freezing liquid it felt like the boil caught fire.

The surgery itself was painless, although more complicated than the doctor had anticipated. He had to cut three times. Eventually, he had to give up because he said he couldn’t cut any deeper because he might hit an artery. 

He said that by Sunday the boil should be better, if not I will have to take antibiotics (which I rather not). He advised me to apply warm compresses every two to three hours and stay off my feet.

“So no Black Friday shopping,” I asked him.

“Better not,” he said, “put up your feet and rest.”

This ruined my plans for early Christmas shopping. I was gonna go to the mall, and even though dealing with a crowd of shoppers would be hell, I was prepared to put up with it for the sake of finding some bargains.

If I couldn’t walk the stores, I figured I might as well join the Internet shoppers and go online. Not that that worked out well. Not only did I get for all selected items the message “May arrive after Christmas”, the shipping and handling charges were outrages.

I was about to give up when I found an email in my inbox that a particular website offered 75% off on over 10,000 items. I clicked to check it out, only to be disappointed again. 

Items that were $120 were now $115, items that $45 were now $43, items that were $14 were now $12. Where was the 75% off?

So I gave up and my Christmas shopping will have to wait until December. With any luck, the stores in the mall will have Christmas specials. And yes, dragging my purchases home won’t be easy, but it will be cheaper than the shipping charges.

www.connymanero.weebly.com

Do men and women shop differently?

I noticed an image on Facebook the other day that compares how men vs. women shop.

According to the image, when a man needs something from the Gap, he heads straight over there, makes his purchase and returns home. It takes him all of 6 minutes and $33.

When a woman needs something from the Gap, she traipses all over the mall, it takes her 3 hours and 26 minutes and she spends $876.

In case you’re wondering who made this comparison … a man, there’s no doubt about it. A man who doesn’t know anything about shopping I might add.

Have you ever been to the Gap? If you have, you’ll know that the Gap isn’t exactly cheap and finding men’s pants at $33 is highly unlikely.

As for the whole trip taking 6 minutes … I can only laugh at that. Again, have you been to a mall lately? There are hundreds of people who walk at a snail pace, they stop on a dime, and those with prams seem to make it their business to be in your way as much as possible. If a man can get to the Gap in 6 minutes … he must be able to fly.

If it takes a woman 3,5 hours to get to the Gap, you can bet on it that she shops for more than her husband’s pants. Chances are he’ll need shirts and ties, sweaters if it’s winter, golf shirts if it’s summer, shower gel, razor blades, aftershave, and who know what else.

If there’s a social gathering on her agenda, she’ll shop for a suitable outfit for herself, along with accessories and makeup. Being a smart woman, she won’t buy at the first store she enters. She’ll have a look around, try on different outfits, then go to two or three other stores and compare prices.

As a caring mother, she’ll pick something up for the kids too. After all, if dad gets new pants and other things, and she gets a new outfit and accessories, it’s only fair that the kids get something too.

While shopping, she’ll probably remember a few household items. Milk, bread, juice, bathroom items, laundry detergent, cat/dog food, etc.

After 3,5 hours of shopping, her feet are burning, her legs feel like lead, her back is breaking, and her throat is parched. She no longer walks, but staggers, laden with bags and bags of shopping.

Back home her husband shows her the imagine of a male and a female’s ways of shopping … 6 minutes vs. 3,5 hours. Absentminded she glances at the image and asks …

“Did you get the wine for the party, the steaks for the barbeque, and the screws to fix the bench?”

No, he didn’t get any of that. He went shopping for his pants and forgot about all the rest.

Please visit me at

www.connymanero.weebly.com

Never send a man to do a woman’s job.

Since we seem to be in for the long run without A/C, I thought it might be a good idea to get me some shorts. So I asked my son, Dieter, to swing by the mall on his way home from work and pick some up.

When he came home I inspected his purchases and ... well, there was a problem.

The first pair of shorts I pulled out of the bag were white and looked rather suspiciously like the boxer shorts my dad wears. But okay, I wasn’t going to wear them outside, so I guessed they would be okay. As long as they were cool, that was the main point.

The second pair of shorts though was unacceptable. They looked nice enough in color and cut, but .... they were a size 14.
I’m a size 7.

“They were in the size 7 section,” Dieter said when I pointed out the size difference.
“Didn’t you look at the label inside the actual shorts?” I asked him.
Apparently not.

Never one to just give up, I took the size 14 shorts to my bedroom and tried them on. I pulled them up, closed the button, did up the zip and ... they fell right to the floor.

For any further purchases I think I’ll brave the heat and do my own shopping.