Wow! That last one was cranky, wasn't it? I got a few emails from people regarding my state of mind and my need to allow my anger to go. I suppose it could come across that way, but the point I was trying to make it that perhaps we all ought to revisit the Golden Rule and remind ourselves that what we put out into the universe should reflect what we would like bestowed upon us. I could use the reminder myself. Especially when I'm in an annoyed mode and barf all of my cantankerous thoughts onto the internet. Next thing you know I'll be poking at people with my walking stick if they're mouth breathing in my presence.
So do not worry. I'm not descending into a negative vortex. On most days, I'm positively ebullient! Just not yesterday. I just don't cotton to those rude types. That is all.
Tuesday, April 13, 2010
On manners
I've been frustrated. It's not you, I promise. Well, it MIGHT be you. It depends. I don't know what it is but I've noticed an increased amount of horribly bad manners from the general public and it's getting to the point where when I say, "I hate people!" I'm really only sorta kidding. If even a little.
And I'm not talking about table manners, though I'm the first person to say, "SWEET MOSES CHEW WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED!" if you're chomping in my vicinity. Or elbows on the table. That I CANNOT abide by. Were you raised by wolves? My Mother actually made my brother and I endure what she called "Manner Meals" when we were little which included what fork to use when you were seated at a table that had a confusing array and what kinds of conversations were proper to have at dinner parties. This was all so that she could relax if we were ever invited to the White House. She didn't want to be associated with offspring who didn't know their soup from their dessert spoon and ate with their fingers. That would be worse than voting Democrat.
But as much as I despise the above, what I've noticed is a general disregard by individuals for the people around them. I would hope that we would all realize that we are not the only people on this planet. That there are those that perhaps need a door held open for them or for you to just move your grocery cart out of the way rather than leaving it in the middle of the aisle while you ponder the olive oil selection. Today I was at CVS and as I paid my bill, my wallet fell out of my hands and my change scattered everywhere. There were two people behind me, neither of whom were infirm or incapable of bending at the waist, and rather than reaching down to help, they just stood there while I scraped around their feet for my escaping quarters. Really? You're not even going to step aside? You're going to actually look down at me while I reach between your legs for my change and give me a hostile glare? After I chased down the last dime I stood up and turned to the person behind me and said "Thanks!" sarcastically. I'm not proud of this, but by the surprised look I received in return, I think I got my point across.
I'm by no means perfect and could often be accused of being off in my own world, but I'd like to think that when I'm out, that I'm aware of those around me and am willing to help should the need arise. My Mom and Dad raised us under the premise that other people's needs were greater than our own - they were not advocating that we allow ourselves to be taken advantage of but rather to be aware of others and to be the kind of people who politely step aside when we're in the way and have enough spatial awareness to anticipate that kind of thing. I can't tell you how often I'm in a store or a restaurant where people are standing in the middle of a traffic area and I have to actually physically touch them and say, "You're in the way" to get them to move to the side despite the obvious fact that I cannot climb over them in a dress and four inch heels. A simple "excuse me" doesn't even seem to work anymore . Perhaps a swift kick in the shins would deliver the message more clearly.
It's made me crotchety, and I don't like that. I've started being more rude to get my point across, having less patience. I used to assume that people weren't trying to be asses, but now I just feel as though I live in an area where people are so largely concentrated on themselves that simple manners and consideration are no longer considered necessary...that everyone should be aware of THEM. Therefore they should be able to leave their cart where it's a pain to get around, not let the pregnant mom with two small children in line first, not offer their seat to an elderly person and not hold open the door for the person behind them because they are too busy texting some other Very Important Person who is probably talking loudly on their cell phone while at a restaurant.
I mean MY GOD. I feel like at 34 I've turned into my parents who are always muttering something about "kids these days." Instead it's PEOPLE these days. They are bringing me down. I realize I'm entering the Freakout Territory From Which It Is Difficult to Exit Gracefully, but seriously, I'd like to know what I could do besides wear a sandwich board that says, GOT MANNERS? all while standing on the busiest corner in Silicon Valley. Because if one more person cuts in front of me in line all while talking into their Bluetooth headset and then brushes me off when I tell them that THE LINE ACTUALLY STARTS HERE, BEHIND ME, I might just lose it and move us all to Iowa. I hear they know how to chew with their mouths closed there. It's a start.
And I'm not talking about table manners, though I'm the first person to say, "SWEET MOSES CHEW WITH YOUR MOUTH CLOSED!" if you're chomping in my vicinity. Or elbows on the table. That I CANNOT abide by. Were you raised by wolves? My Mother actually made my brother and I endure what she called "Manner Meals" when we were little which included what fork to use when you were seated at a table that had a confusing array and what kinds of conversations were proper to have at dinner parties. This was all so that she could relax if we were ever invited to the White House. She didn't want to be associated with offspring who didn't know their soup from their dessert spoon and ate with their fingers. That would be worse than voting Democrat.
But as much as I despise the above, what I've noticed is a general disregard by individuals for the people around them. I would hope that we would all realize that we are not the only people on this planet. That there are those that perhaps need a door held open for them or for you to just move your grocery cart out of the way rather than leaving it in the middle of the aisle while you ponder the olive oil selection. Today I was at CVS and as I paid my bill, my wallet fell out of my hands and my change scattered everywhere. There were two people behind me, neither of whom were infirm or incapable of bending at the waist, and rather than reaching down to help, they just stood there while I scraped around their feet for my escaping quarters. Really? You're not even going to step aside? You're going to actually look down at me while I reach between your legs for my change and give me a hostile glare? After I chased down the last dime I stood up and turned to the person behind me and said "Thanks!" sarcastically. I'm not proud of this, but by the surprised look I received in return, I think I got my point across.
I'm by no means perfect and could often be accused of being off in my own world, but I'd like to think that when I'm out, that I'm aware of those around me and am willing to help should the need arise. My Mom and Dad raised us under the premise that other people's needs were greater than our own - they were not advocating that we allow ourselves to be taken advantage of but rather to be aware of others and to be the kind of people who politely step aside when we're in the way and have enough spatial awareness to anticipate that kind of thing. I can't tell you how often I'm in a store or a restaurant where people are standing in the middle of a traffic area and I have to actually physically touch them and say, "You're in the way" to get them to move to the side despite the obvious fact that I cannot climb over them in a dress and four inch heels. A simple "excuse me" doesn't even seem to work anymore . Perhaps a swift kick in the shins would deliver the message more clearly.
It's made me crotchety, and I don't like that. I've started being more rude to get my point across, having less patience. I used to assume that people weren't trying to be asses, but now I just feel as though I live in an area where people are so largely concentrated on themselves that simple manners and consideration are no longer considered necessary...that everyone should be aware of THEM. Therefore they should be able to leave their cart where it's a pain to get around, not let the pregnant mom with two small children in line first, not offer their seat to an elderly person and not hold open the door for the person behind them because they are too busy texting some other Very Important Person who is probably talking loudly on their cell phone while at a restaurant.
I mean MY GOD. I feel like at 34 I've turned into my parents who are always muttering something about "kids these days." Instead it's PEOPLE these days. They are bringing me down. I realize I'm entering the Freakout Territory From Which It Is Difficult to Exit Gracefully, but seriously, I'd like to know what I could do besides wear a sandwich board that says, GOT MANNERS? all while standing on the busiest corner in Silicon Valley. Because if one more person cuts in front of me in line all while talking into their Bluetooth headset and then brushes me off when I tell them that THE LINE ACTUALLY STARTS HERE, BEHIND ME, I might just lose it and move us all to Iowa. I hear they know how to chew with their mouths closed there. It's a start.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
Sleepless in Mountain View
Hi all! I just thought that since I was awake at 4:30am on a Saturday morning that I would write to you! And Share Why I Am Up! Because when one is AWAKE at these unholy hours, it seems only logical that one should Tell Everyone! Or I'm just delirious! It's hard to say!
About an hour ago, I was jolted awake by this short burst of sound that I think was loud enough to liquefy at least part of my brain. I recognized it immediately as the fire alarm that is hard wired into the house. Not the nice civilized smoke detectors that say, "You know, don't hurry up from your tea or anything, but I think your toast might be burning. No, no...no need to panic...we're just letting you know with this lovely, lilting beep that you might want to consider that something is amiss." It was not that noise. It was a noise more akin to, "THIS IS YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE NOW BEFORE THE ENTIRE WORLD COMES TO AN END RIGHT ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD GAAAAAHHHHHHH!" and then your ENTIRE brain liquefies and you die. And the caps are bigger. It was that sound. This alarm has only gone off once. It was this winter and we had made a very enthusiastic fire. It was the kind of enthusiasm that caused smoke to pour forth and no amount of newspaper flapping was going to divert it from every corner of the house. When this foghorn from hell started going off, Marc and I of looked at each other and wondered what kind of demon was possessing our home. We located the noise (an alarm we had never looked high up enough to see - we have delicate necks that don't respond well to craning) and did some MORE vigorous flapping along with a pathetic jump or two up towards the blooming thing and the noise eventually stopped. Kylie didn't come back into the house for hours or stop panting for days, so we thought, "Well, let's not do THAT again!" It was the opposite of fun.
So when that alarm interrupted a VERY IMPORTANT DREAM - I was in the midst of a tête-à-tête with Timothy Olyphant - I was annoyed. It was only a 3 second burst but enough to get my heart racing in a way that would indicate defibrillator pads needed to be employed. I lay there waiting for my heart to stop pounding - or just STOP (which took a while), rolled over, started to drift off, and the stupid thing went off AGAIN. I got out of bed, went out into the hallway, shook my fist at it a few times and said, "JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!" Kylie in the meantime was weaving around my ankles so I went to let her out as any noise like that usually ends up with her vomiting on my feet. As I was downstairs, the alarm went off two more times, and I knew sleep was futile. I went to our circuit breaker box and looked to see if anything would indicate I could cut power to the thing. Nothing. I went and stared really, REALLY hard at it. It went, "BLLLLARRRRRGGGHHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!" at me again. If this thing had a middle finger, it would have been rubbing it with glee into the middle of my forehead.
I called the non-emergency 911 number for Mountain View. The woman on the other end of the line sounded less than impressed about someone calling with a malfunctioning alarm. "Can't you just check to see if the battery is old?" she asked, I'm sure filing her nails and snapping her gum in boredom. I had this whole visual of how she looked that dated back to a wartime operator in the 1940's - sort of like this only less cheerful:
I'm fairly certain that is not what was on the other line, but it's what came to mind. I considered adding, "Oh, and my carotid artery is spewing blood!" just to get her attention, but what I really wanted was to go back to sleep.
I explained that we have VERY VAULTED ceilings and that there was just no way, despite my climbing prowess, that I was going to be able to reach up that high. She sighed and said, "Allllll riiiiiiight. I'll send out the firemen." I imagine that she rolled her eyes to her fellow operators as she connected my call.
The advantage of living so close to the firehouse is that they showed up in less than five minutes. I had a Claire Dunphy in Modern Family moment and wondered if I had enough time to change and put on my eyebrows, but I was distracted as the alarm went off two more times and then Kylie deposited her dinner into the ivy out back. Better there than my feet.
They sent out three firemen (all of whom were VERY good looking...and here I was in old sweats! Without so much as a swipe of lip gloss!) who all seemed rather bemused that this blond person with no discernible facial features couldn't deal with something so trivial as a fire alarm.
Long story short, the alarm didn't go off ONCE while they were here. NOT EVEN ONE TIME. The brought in a Very Large Ladder and went up to the alarm to have speaks with it - it remained silent. All the while I willed it to GO OFF, but it just smugly sat there, thinking, "I'll just bide my time and wait until they leave and she is just on the border of sleep..." It would appear that our system is just very, VERY old and they couldn't disable it, so after about 25 minutes of mucking about, the three of them said, "Well, good luck with that. Call an electrician in the morning." I did a very good job of not clinging to their ankles and saying, "TAKE ME BACK WITH YOU SO THAT I CAN GET SOME REST! I DON'T NORMALLY LOOK THIS WASHED OUT!" Instead I just forlornly watched as the Very Good Looking Men left. I let Kylie back into the house and now am shuttered away in my office, writing this to you.
Marc is, of course, out of town and not privy to all of this excitement. I think I'll give him a smidge of the experience when he gets home by pouring some ice water over his head around 3:30am. It's only fair. Or, does anyone have an air horn I could borrow?
About an hour ago, I was jolted awake by this short burst of sound that I think was loud enough to liquefy at least part of my brain. I recognized it immediately as the fire alarm that is hard wired into the house. Not the nice civilized smoke detectors that say, "You know, don't hurry up from your tea or anything, but I think your toast might be burning. No, no...no need to panic...we're just letting you know with this lovely, lilting beep that you might want to consider that something is amiss." It was not that noise. It was a noise more akin to, "THIS IS YOUR LAST DAY ON EARTH GET OUT OF YOUR HOUSE NOW BEFORE THE ENTIRE WORLD COMES TO AN END RIGHT ON TOP OF YOUR HEAD GAAAAAHHHHHHH!" and then your ENTIRE brain liquefies and you die. And the caps are bigger. It was that sound. This alarm has only gone off once. It was this winter and we had made a very enthusiastic fire. It was the kind of enthusiasm that caused smoke to pour forth and no amount of newspaper flapping was going to divert it from every corner of the house. When this foghorn from hell started going off, Marc and I of looked at each other and wondered what kind of demon was possessing our home. We located the noise (an alarm we had never looked high up enough to see - we have delicate necks that don't respond well to craning) and did some MORE vigorous flapping along with a pathetic jump or two up towards the blooming thing and the noise eventually stopped. Kylie didn't come back into the house for hours or stop panting for days, so we thought, "Well, let's not do THAT again!" It was the opposite of fun.
So when that alarm interrupted a VERY IMPORTANT DREAM - I was in the midst of a tête-à-tête with Timothy Olyphant - I was annoyed. It was only a 3 second burst but enough to get my heart racing in a way that would indicate defibrillator pads needed to be employed. I lay there waiting for my heart to stop pounding - or just STOP (which took a while), rolled over, started to drift off, and the stupid thing went off AGAIN. I got out of bed, went out into the hallway, shook my fist at it a few times and said, "JUST SHUT UP ALREADY!" Kylie in the meantime was weaving around my ankles so I went to let her out as any noise like that usually ends up with her vomiting on my feet. As I was downstairs, the alarm went off two more times, and I knew sleep was futile. I went to our circuit breaker box and looked to see if anything would indicate I could cut power to the thing. Nothing. I went and stared really, REALLY hard at it. It went, "BLLLLARRRRRGGGHHHHAAAAAAA!!!!!" at me again. If this thing had a middle finger, it would have been rubbing it with glee into the middle of my forehead.
I called the non-emergency 911 number for Mountain View. The woman on the other end of the line sounded less than impressed about someone calling with a malfunctioning alarm. "Can't you just check to see if the battery is old?" she asked, I'm sure filing her nails and snapping her gum in boredom. I had this whole visual of how she looked that dated back to a wartime operator in the 1940's - sort of like this only less cheerful:
I'm fairly certain that is not what was on the other line, but it's what came to mind. I considered adding, "Oh, and my carotid artery is spewing blood!" just to get her attention, but what I really wanted was to go back to sleep.
I explained that we have VERY VAULTED ceilings and that there was just no way, despite my climbing prowess, that I was going to be able to reach up that high. She sighed and said, "Allllll riiiiiiight. I'll send out the firemen." I imagine that she rolled her eyes to her fellow operators as she connected my call.
The advantage of living so close to the firehouse is that they showed up in less than five minutes. I had a Claire Dunphy in Modern Family moment and wondered if I had enough time to change and put on my eyebrows, but I was distracted as the alarm went off two more times and then Kylie deposited her dinner into the ivy out back. Better there than my feet.
They sent out three firemen (all of whom were VERY good looking...and here I was in old sweats! Without so much as a swipe of lip gloss!) who all seemed rather bemused that this blond person with no discernible facial features couldn't deal with something so trivial as a fire alarm.
Long story short, the alarm didn't go off ONCE while they were here. NOT EVEN ONE TIME. The brought in a Very Large Ladder and went up to the alarm to have speaks with it - it remained silent. All the while I willed it to GO OFF, but it just smugly sat there, thinking, "I'll just bide my time and wait until they leave and she is just on the border of sleep..." It would appear that our system is just very, VERY old and they couldn't disable it, so after about 25 minutes of mucking about, the three of them said, "Well, good luck with that. Call an electrician in the morning." I did a very good job of not clinging to their ankles and saying, "TAKE ME BACK WITH YOU SO THAT I CAN GET SOME REST! I DON'T NORMALLY LOOK THIS WASHED OUT!" Instead I just forlornly watched as the Very Good Looking Men left. I let Kylie back into the house and now am shuttered away in my office, writing this to you.
Marc is, of course, out of town and not privy to all of this excitement. I think I'll give him a smidge of the experience when he gets home by pouring some ice water over his head around 3:30am. It's only fair. Or, does anyone have an air horn I could borrow?
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