I realize Hades is very sexy, what with that whole, powerful, Dark Lord of the Underworld thing going on. And I know you're going to miss him in the coming months and I sympathize. But a deal's a deal and it's SPRING already!
So kindly get your ass home to Mama!
Aaargh!
All day yesterday there were pale, shaky people coming into Walmart telling us how bad the roads were getting. It was snowing just INSANELY! I have a twenty mile drive over *extremely* bad roads. I'm talking three bridges, two of them under construction, and more hilly curves than I can count. The heater fan has gone out on my car so I have no heat and can barely keep a clear spot on the windshield. The Walmart truck driver came in with a horror story about a multiple fatality accident he passed in the direction I had to travel and my boss wouldn't let me leave while it was still daylight. He just said, "oh, it's not bad. The roads are fine! Just go slow, you won't have any trouble!" He finally let me go an hour early but by that time the roads were completely covered, the temperature had dropped below freezing, it was still snowing heavily and a rising fog had visibility down to zero.
After an hour and a half I finally managed to cover the fifteen miles to where I turn off the highway only to completely miss my turn and go nose-down in a deep ditch. Luckily for me, a guy I went to grade school with happened along right after and was kind enough to go home for a chain and then come back and pull me out. Another twenty minutes or so later I got to my own little dirt road and started to relax. Then I drove over a small tree that had fallen in the road and been buried by the heavy, thick, wet snow. (The trees drooping down across the road from both sides nearly made it impassable as it was.) I don't think I did any damage to my car but I really can't say for sure because I no more than got off the tree and turned into my driveway than I got stuck again. This time I was really stuck and alone, but the car is on my property so I left it and walked the rest of the way. I know it doesn't sound like much, but I have a long, steep driveway, with deep ruts I couldn't see in the dark, buried under a heavy snowfall. Plus, I was already freezing, what with the car heater not working.
I'm sure my manager meant well, but I know the roads I drive, I know my own driving skills and what my car will and will not do. And if the bosses at work won't trust my judgement when I say I need to leave, then next time I wake up to a heavy snowstorm (and may it please not be until next year!) I'm damn well calling in! I'm not going to do this again!
Seriously, Persephone! GO HOME!
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Sunday, March 21, 2010
Sunday, November 8, 2009
A Few Words About Christmas
Ah, Christmas. That wonderful, humanitarian holiday that arrives every year on the last day of the third week of December. 'Tis the season to be jolly. A time to eat, drink, and be merrry. As the muppets sang in "A Muppet Christmas Carol" (which I swear is one of the most faithful to the spirit of the book of all the various movie adaptations) "it is the season of the heart" and "the summer of the soul in December". Even as a not-particularly-religious individual, it is one of my favorite times of the year for its emphasis on joy, fellowship, peace of Earth, pecan pie, peanut butter fudge . . . .
Did I mention that this was on the LAST day of the THIRD week of DECEMBER? And NOT the FIRST day of the LAST week of OCTOBER? Or even the first day of the second week of November, which is today, and that therefore right now is NOT the season to be jolly? It is, in fact, the season to hunt down anyone singing, "fa-la-la-la-la" and beat them about the head with last year's fruitcake until they damn well STOP!
I swear! It's turning into a sort of zombie B horror movie: "THE HOLIDAY THAT ATE THE CALENDAR!"
When I was a kid my dad and I would go out sometime during the week before Christmas, sometimes even on Christmas Eve, and cut a Christmas tree. (My mom would always say, "well, if you have to bring a tree in the house, at least get a little one!". We'd come home with a monster that we had to cut three feet off of to get it in the living room and then tie to the wall with hay-baling twine and Dad would say, "you know, that looked a lot smaller in the field.") We'd decorate the tree and bake cookies and read "A Christmas Carol" and Mom would bake pies and relatives would start showing up so that, by bedtime, the living room would be wall-to-wall with spare mattresses and people in sleeping bags and people would be sleeping at both ends of all the beds. The next morning there'd be presents and stockings (our stockings always had apples, oranges, walnuts, candy canes and chocolate candy). Then us kids and the younger men would sit around and watch parades and football on TV while Mom and Dad and the women fixed a big dinner. By evening everyone would be gone except for maybe three or four of my oldest nieces and nephews, who were in my age range. We'd leave the tree up until New Year's Day and then the holiday season would be over for another 350-odd days.
When I got to college, there was a tradition called "Hanging of the Greens" on the first Friday of December, when we made wreaths for all the buildings on campus and hung them while caroling, before going to the dining hall for a big feast. It seemed a bit early to me, but then we weren't going to be there for the actual Christmas season, and everyone wanted a chance to celebrate the holiday with our school friends, so it was okay.
I don't know how long retailers have been doing the whole "Black Friday blitz" thing, but I became aware of it sometime after I got out of college. I thought, "good grief! It's only the day after Thanksgiving and they're already talking about Christmas! Can't they let us get done with one holiday before they start the next?" Then the sales and decorations started showing up before Thanksgiving. Slowly but relentlessly they supplanted the weaker holiday. I can't even remember the last time I saw an historically inaccurate and politically incorrect "Indians and Pilgrims" display or a crepe paper turkey!
Then last year Walmart started playing Christmas music the day after Halloween. The DAY after HALLOWEEN! And now this year there was Christmas merchandise in the same aisle as the Halloween merchandise the week BEFORE Halloween.
Labor Day's next! And after that it's only a matter of time before the Fourth of July gets it. As far as I can see, it's not going to end until Christmas has worked its way clear around the calendar and devoured itself.
Did I mention that this was on the LAST day of the THIRD week of DECEMBER? And NOT the FIRST day of the LAST week of OCTOBER? Or even the first day of the second week of November, which is today, and that therefore right now is NOT the season to be jolly? It is, in fact, the season to hunt down anyone singing, "fa-la-la-la-la" and beat them about the head with last year's fruitcake until they damn well STOP!
I swear! It's turning into a sort of zombie B horror movie: "THE HOLIDAY THAT ATE THE CALENDAR!"
When I was a kid my dad and I would go out sometime during the week before Christmas, sometimes even on Christmas Eve, and cut a Christmas tree. (My mom would always say, "well, if you have to bring a tree in the house, at least get a little one!". We'd come home with a monster that we had to cut three feet off of to get it in the living room and then tie to the wall with hay-baling twine and Dad would say, "you know, that looked a lot smaller in the field.") We'd decorate the tree and bake cookies and read "A Christmas Carol" and Mom would bake pies and relatives would start showing up so that, by bedtime, the living room would be wall-to-wall with spare mattresses and people in sleeping bags and people would be sleeping at both ends of all the beds. The next morning there'd be presents and stockings (our stockings always had apples, oranges, walnuts, candy canes and chocolate candy). Then us kids and the younger men would sit around and watch parades and football on TV while Mom and Dad and the women fixed a big dinner. By evening everyone would be gone except for maybe three or four of my oldest nieces and nephews, who were in my age range. We'd leave the tree up until New Year's Day and then the holiday season would be over for another 350-odd days.
When I got to college, there was a tradition called "Hanging of the Greens" on the first Friday of December, when we made wreaths for all the buildings on campus and hung them while caroling, before going to the dining hall for a big feast. It seemed a bit early to me, but then we weren't going to be there for the actual Christmas season, and everyone wanted a chance to celebrate the holiday with our school friends, so it was okay.
I don't know how long retailers have been doing the whole "Black Friday blitz" thing, but I became aware of it sometime after I got out of college. I thought, "good grief! It's only the day after Thanksgiving and they're already talking about Christmas! Can't they let us get done with one holiday before they start the next?" Then the sales and decorations started showing up before Thanksgiving. Slowly but relentlessly they supplanted the weaker holiday. I can't even remember the last time I saw an historically inaccurate and politically incorrect "Indians and Pilgrims" display or a crepe paper turkey!
Then last year Walmart started playing Christmas music the day after Halloween. The DAY after HALLOWEEN! And now this year there was Christmas merchandise in the same aisle as the Halloween merchandise the week BEFORE Halloween.
Labor Day's next! And after that it's only a matter of time before the Fourth of July gets it. As far as I can see, it's not going to end until Christmas has worked its way clear around the calendar and devoured itself.
Friday, March 7, 2008
Miscommunicado
In today's world it's very important to be careful not only of what you say but of how you say it. One misplaced syllable or unguarded inflection and the most innocent comment can be completely misconstrued. Take yesterday at work, for example.
I was just wandering around the produce department with my little cart, stocking the fruit displays when a man whom I know only very slightly came in and just such a misunderstanding occurred. What I said was, "hi, how are you?"
What he apparently heard was, "tell me all about your wife's explosive diarreah."
People, trust me. This is not something I am ever, ever, ever going to ask.
Ever.
I am not unsympathetic. If you or one of your loved ones is sick, then naturally I wish you well. I just don't need the details! Now, I could understand what was going on. Here was a man who is used to being cared for and cossetted by his wife and suddenly he found himself in the position of caretaker. Not only that, but the role had led him out of the safe confines of his living room into the scary wilds of a great big, huge, gigantic, incredibly-small-town Wal-Mart almost-but-not-quite Supercenter. He wanted recognition of this fact. He wanted to be patted on the head and told that he's a Good Boy. I can do that! The conversation goes like this:
Me: Hi, how are you?
Him: I'm good, but my wife's sick.
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
Him: Well, I'm taking care of her. I came to get her some medicine and things.
Me: Aren't you a nice husband!
Him: Yeah. What aisle's the chicken soup in?
And then I tell him and he finishes his shopping and I stock my fruit and that's IT! If he absolutely can't help himself he can ask me for directions to Pepto Bismal instead of chicken soup or even, if he MUST, Immodium AD.
I'd really rather he not ask about the Immodium AD, but doing so won't make me be mean to him in my blog. But that is the very LIMIT to what I am willing to be told about any infirmities suffered by himself or his family or anyone whose existence he is aware of.
I do not need to hear that she is "spewing out both ends like a volcano"! I do not need to know about the plastic trash bag she has to carry with her or that she "can't get off the pot without leaving a trail to help her find her way back"!
The banana girl does not want to know!
I do not discuss such things with my nearest and dearest*. If you are a relative stranger to me** then not only do we not need to talk about this, but the term "spewing like a volcano" should not ever, under any circumstances, enter any conversation we might ever have with the sole exception of if we are in fact talking about an honest-to-God actual volcano.
Is all that perfectly clear?
*The small handful of people I can stand.
**Even stranger than my relatives.
I was just wandering around the produce department with my little cart, stocking the fruit displays when a man whom I know only very slightly came in and just such a misunderstanding occurred. What I said was, "hi, how are you?"
What he apparently heard was, "tell me all about your wife's explosive diarreah."
People, trust me. This is not something I am ever, ever, ever going to ask.
Ever.
I am not unsympathetic. If you or one of your loved ones is sick, then naturally I wish you well. I just don't need the details! Now, I could understand what was going on. Here was a man who is used to being cared for and cossetted by his wife and suddenly he found himself in the position of caretaker. Not only that, but the role had led him out of the safe confines of his living room into the scary wilds of a great big, huge, gigantic, incredibly-small-town Wal-Mart almost-but-not-quite Supercenter. He wanted recognition of this fact. He wanted to be patted on the head and told that he's a Good Boy. I can do that! The conversation goes like this:
Me: Hi, how are you?
Him: I'm good, but my wife's sick.
Me: Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that.
Him: Well, I'm taking care of her. I came to get her some medicine and things.
Me: Aren't you a nice husband!
Him: Yeah. What aisle's the chicken soup in?
And then I tell him and he finishes his shopping and I stock my fruit and that's IT! If he absolutely can't help himself he can ask me for directions to Pepto Bismal instead of chicken soup or even, if he MUST, Immodium AD.
I'd really rather he not ask about the Immodium AD, but doing so won't make me be mean to him in my blog. But that is the very LIMIT to what I am willing to be told about any infirmities suffered by himself or his family or anyone whose existence he is aware of.
I do not need to hear that she is "spewing out both ends like a volcano"! I do not need to know about the plastic trash bag she has to carry with her or that she "can't get off the pot without leaving a trail to help her find her way back"!
The banana girl does not want to know!
I do not discuss such things with my nearest and dearest*. If you are a relative stranger to me** then not only do we not need to talk about this, but the term "spewing like a volcano" should not ever, under any circumstances, enter any conversation we might ever have with the sole exception of if we are in fact talking about an honest-to-God actual volcano.
Is all that perfectly clear?
*The small handful of people I can stand.
**Even stranger than my relatives.
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