Soul Thumping

On Being Approachable

I stopped by the grocery store tonight, the store I frequent at least twice each week.  John (yup, that it his real name), the cashier in the self-checkout section was there.  Without meaning to armchair diagnose, I'm going to assume John is somewhere on that beautifully colored autism spectrum.  He has been working at my grocery store for at least 5 years.  Only during the last 2 or 3 years has he "recognized" me as a frequent customer.  Tonight he said something to me that made me cry when I was safely tucked away in my car in the parking lot.  He asked me how I was doing and I told him I was doing great, ready to start the new year.  I inquired about his biking (he bought a bike earlier this year and has done a great deal of riding), and he told me he has taken advantage of the warm weather.  He always has some amazing facts to talk about, from the economy in Japan to migrating birds.  Before I left, he said, "I enjoy talking to you.  You are very approachable."  I wished him a great 2016 and headed out with my purchase, and when I got outside, I started to run to the car, not because of the rain, but because I started to cry.

 

This is important to me because approximately 3 years ago, I decided to start smiling.  I started smiling because I noticed no one else was smiling.  I was simply disgusted with passing mean, unsmiling people.  Everyone became ugly and unapproachable and my stomach was upset with so much ugliness.  Seriously.  I found the foul look on the face of the general public repugnant and disturbing, regardless of gender, race, single/married, with someone, alone, with kids, without, with friends/family, without.  I vowed to no longer contribute to that shit.  I began smiling at every stranger I passed.  I felt better.  It's no secret I battle chronic depression.  It's also no secret that these battles have been reduced to minor "struggles" and they are few and far between now.  I feel great, and 9 times out of 10, those I smile at, smile back, even if they have a frown at the time we make eye contact.  My The world is a better place.

How do I know it's working?  I feel better and I think I've made a difference just by learning to smile.  Don't get me wrong, I trust my gut and I have boundaries, but I'm learning to be approachable by flashing a bit of acceptance before I even know a person.

A coworker, a woman I admire and respect, told me that in the past she has received negative performance reviews because coworkers found her "unapproachable and intimidating."  I myself felt that way around her in the beginning, before I knew her.  I know after 4 years that if I need anything she is there and she is an amazing mom, woman, coworker, human, etc.  It took me nearly 4 years to realize this.  I don't want to be that person.  I want people to know right away that I can be approached.

At the beginning of this year, I was in the same grocery store.  I saw a little girl (4 or 5, I'm guessing) walking around the produce section by herself.  We made eye contact and she came running up to me.  She asked me if I could help her find her mom.  I parked my cart to the side and she took my hand.  This little girl, she didn't know me and I didn't know her.  I told her I would of course help her find her mom.  I asked her where she last saw her, what her mom looked like, etc.  We found Mom, who was just as frantic as the little girl.  The mom thanked me, and I told her I was happy to help.  I couldn't help but think, this little girl must have seen something in me that made her want to approach me.  I was so glad she could see whatever it was that she saw.  I would be sad if I thought someone in distress needed help but couldn't find an approachable human.  Travesty.

"You make my heart a little happier when I see you coming in the store."  This kind compliment was given to me two years ago by the owner of the dry cleaner near my home.  I see her only a handful of times each year, but she knows my name and she always jumps to wait on me.  I also cried in the safety of my car the day she first told me that.

I usually don't make resolutions, but if you do, I urge you to consider being more approachable in 2016, because it has improved my life greatly, and I'm willing to bet it will improve the lives of strangers who come into contact with you.  Serendipity is powerful.

Happy 2016 everyone.

 

Related articles

By the Way, How is my Heart?

That Feeling, When You Check Things Off Your List?

It's Just Yarn, After All

I Was Sad in 1972 About Spring Arriving Late - Wearing the Same Face RIGHT Now

You know, when you want to wear that awesome little dress for the first time in the spring, but Mother Nature isn't cooperating...but for some reason, your parents let you wear it anyway?  I was only 3 in this picture, but I have a vivid recollection of this day.  It was cold, and I was cranky. 

Nada has changed.  Ask Poseidon, I've been cranky for the past 2 weeks because of the weather and I think he is ready to make me sleep in the crawlspace under the house.

 

I'm whining, yet again.  Next Monday, high of 72ish.  Tuesday?  High of 48ish.  Mother Nature, to quote one of my good friends, Mar, "Go home.  You're drunk."

 

--Amphitrite

Related articles

Five for Friday - The ABC Weekend Special - Remember These, Generation X?

Giving up the Ultimate Fashion Accessory...The Neck Brace

Hi Mother Nature. You do Realize it's Spring, Right?

Spitting in Public - Why Does This Still Shock Me?

On a trip to New Orleans, 1993ish, I encountered something so disturbing it will never be erased from memory.  Not ever.

My then boyfriend and I were in the elevator of our hotel, heading in to drop off some crap we bought, before our walk around the French Garden district.  We stood next to each other in the elevator, and a man and his son got on at the same time, standing against the wall opposite us.

Neither of these people said a word as they stared down at their shoes, but as soon as the elevator doors closed and started its climb, this cretin boy, drew back, and hocked a ball of spit across the elevator...where we were standing...missing my head by only inches.

I was in shock!  The little bastard (who was maybe 10 or so), and his father, the big bastard, just stood there, watching his spit slide down the mirrored wall like an incoming train.  My boyfriend was horrified.  Speechless.

The simpletons got off on the next floor, without saying one word, and boyfriend and I were left in horror.  Outrage.  We couldn't even exchange, "Oh.My.God's" with each other.  I didn't want to believe that a kid could be that barbarous.  He was (probably still is...in prison).

I bring this up because some coworkers and I witnessed a landscaper spit into a large container garden during lunch today and we were all in agreement that this was just gross.  I know people (and by "people," I mean disrespectful deviants) spit in public, and it dumbfounds me more than it should, but sometimes when I see it, I'm blown away at the spectacular rudeness of it all.  Still.

Maybe I'm just jealous because I can't/won't spit in public?  I'm envious of those degernerates who just.don't.care.  They can let a ball of spit fly in the wind without a second thought about its final resting place.  That is it...I must be jealous because I know I wouldn't be good at spitting in public, and any lame attempt I make to do so will end with spittle running down my chin, not the tacky mirrored elevator wall or a tourists head.  The uncouth have better aim.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Related articles

Do People Still Steal Stupid Stuff?

An Open Letter to Men Who Spit All the Time: WTF Is Going on in Your Mouth?!

Do People Still Steal Stupid Stuff?

Yes, yes they do.  Despite my pretty alliterative title, this is an ugly topic because there are some ugly cretins out there.

Poseidon and I went to the Carolina Panthers football game yesterday.  Rain was in the forecast, so we purchased a couple of hooded rain ponchos the day before, just in case.

The game was more than a little boring, and the Panthers lost, though both teams played like kids on an elementary school playground.  Still, we like watching football, and the beer was cold, and the junk food was hot, so we weren't complaining.

There was even a near brawl during the 2nd quarter between three young Seahawks fans and a much larger mob of Panthers fans, which ended before it began with the Seattle boys being removed from the stadium.  There were several Carolina football fans in the stands ready to make punching bags of the spindly hipsters, so fortunately for them, security intervened or it would have been an unpleasant scene for all.

During the 3rd quarter of the game, Poseidon and I decided to get some food.  We didn't want to carry all of our stuff with us, so we left Poseidon's rain poncho, still in its zippered pouch, under his seat, along with the game program, a bag of peanuts, etc.

I think you know where I'm going with this, and you would be correct.  When we returned to our seats, we noticed that Poseidon's rain poncho was gone.  I was astonished, truly stupefied.  I cannot believe that people still steal random shit.  I mean, it would be a different story if it was actually raining!  For the love of Pete, you simpletons who took the poncho, if you can afford to buy tickets to the game, you can afford to buy a flipping rain poncho from Target (although, I'm going to admit, those little vinyl beasts are expensive)!

We were in the 2nd to the last row, and not a huge crowd in that section, and I have my suspicions about which ass hat stole the poncho, but who really cares, right?  It doesn't matter which aborted-attempt-at-being-a-decent-member-of-society took it, it just matters that someone did take it, thus, ensuring my cynicism will live on, so thanks for that you vile filching dimwit.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Do You Have Imaginary Conversations While Driving?

I do, and the conversations are rarely pleasant.

Terrible drivers are the catalyst (usually) for my heated imaginary conversations.  It is true.  For example, below is the imaginary conversation from my commute this very morning.  Before I start the dialog, I will set the scene for you.

I was driving to work, listening to a song I have not heard in a while, one I sortofkindof like, Texico Bitches by Broken Social Scene.  Anyway, I'm in a shiny happy mood, driving along in the middle lane on I-540.

I want to pass the person in front of me who is traveling, oh, I don't know, maybe 7 freaking miles per hour (the speed limit is 65).  There is a car in the left lane who just passed me, and there is not another car behind him for a great distance, so I signal, and move into the left lane.  Done...errrr, not done.  The woman who was waaaayyyyy back there, sped up and started tailgating me just so she could blow her stupid horn at me.  She seriously did this...just to be a bitch warty dragon.  So, then I imagined her actually hitting my car, and we would pull over to the side of the highway and verbally have it out, and this is the conversation I imagined:

ME:  "What in Pluto do you think you were doing Broom Hilda, nice lady, speeding up on purpose JUST so you could blow your horn at me and instigate a road rage incident?"

SHREW:  "How dare you get in front of me.  My time is so much more valuable than yours?"

ME:  "If I were you, I would consider making an appointment with your colorist, because that shade of b.s. isn't going to fly."

SHREW:  "Huh?"

ME:  "What is wrong with you you half-witted petticoat lady?  There was no need to do what you did!"

SHREW:  "I'm calling my husband right now, you...you...wahhh, wahhh, wahhh (that is her crying by the way), how...dare...you...<sniffle>...talk...<sniffle>...to...me...<sniffle>...that...way."

ME:  "Oh, wow, should I call my husband too?  I don't know the protocol for helpless woman!"
(Poseidon would so be on her side anyway, but she didn't need to know that)

This is where the imaginary conversation ended.  I usually get bored with these imaginary conversations before an actual maiming or scratching out of eyes occurs.

I mentioned to Poseidon a few weeks ago that I sometimes have imaginary conversations while driving (not sure what I was expecting him to say or do, but I took a chance because one cannot have someone committed against their will, at least in this state), and he told me he does the same thing!  Two peas hanging in the same dang pod.  The coolest thing about this?  Poseidon's revelation that he has imagined conversations while driving makes me feel less alien.  Still neurotic, but less alien.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

The Problem with Hair Bands: Poseidon Weighs in on the Fashion Accessory Blight that is the Hair Band

Humble hair band, how do I not miss thee?

I am not a fan of hair bands.  While I believe they can have their place, say outside when yard work bids attendance, some manner of exercise, or similar activity, they are not strictly necessary even then.  Acceptable, but not essential.  Now I will hear such things as, “Really, does it matter that much, unbound, flowing locks, hair bands or even hair pins, Poseidon?”  Ultimately it does not, but neither do shorts w/white socks and black shoes, something your humble guest has been gently upbraided for in the past.

So, what’s up w/hair bands, and why the criticism?  I will answer that question w/a question: What do you have against Happy Hair?

Happy Hair:  What is it and how can I get some?  Happy Hair is hair that is unbound by such confounding items as hair bands.  It is able to flow in the breeze, borne by the wind, and able to be a true crown of glory.  Thus, leave the hair bands out of the equation, and you too can have Happy Hair (okay, one’s hair probably needs a meet up w/some shampoo, lest one have sad, stick-to-your-scalp and face, oily hair look that flatters no one).  Admittedly, braids, various hairstyles, even dreads, while not per se “Happy,” are acceptable.  But hair, bound by hair bands, can never reach its full potential.

I get various excuses from my wife, Amphitrite (a.k.a. Fortuitous Observer), for employing these hateful hair bands, among the main ones being that her hair gets in her face.  Like I said earlier, I’ll look the other way if you are about to work up a sweat, but otherwise this claim is baseless and displays a degree of naïveté, if not outright self-abasement, that demands correction.  That correction obviously means discarding this unnecessary hair accoutrement, and excluding them from becoming part of your purchases at the drug store, groceries, beauty supplies stores, etc.

I hear another question coming down the pike: “What do you know about wearing hair bands, Seaweed!?”  Funny you should ask, but the god of the sea has experience w/hair bands.  In an earlier age, when Ahab had long flowing blond tresses, he too wore hair bands.  It was, however, a necessity for my job.  Ordinarily, I would now regale thee with my (very enthralling) life and work on the seas, but we have more important matters at hand.  And that, my friends, is abolishing the scourge of Hair Bands (similar to the likes of what Nirvana did to Cinderella, Poison, etc. if you need some pop culture refs).

So, I think a simple alternative, if you must put up your lovely tresses, is an endless variety of hair pins.  Wood, plastic, elaborately jeweled or not, can be an acceptable option.  Hats, too, will work, and there are equally a number of options to choose from here as well. 

I witnessed not long ago Amphitrite's twin sister wearing simple plastic hair pins while doing the same outdoor work as Amph, though the latter of course wore the cursed hair band.  I need not even tell you who was severely handicapped in the hair department.

So finally, I say to you, long-locked masses of the world, give up the hair bands that bind you!  Unlock the locks!  Be free of the execrable, noxious hair band and banish it to fires of Hades!

Ciao,

Poseidon

Related articles

Changing My Name - The Loud-moaning Mother of Fish, Seals and Dolphins

Why Whole Foods in Durham Brings Out the Worst in Me

Whole Foods is great.  I've been to some great Whole Food stores and I like the selection.  The Whole Foods in Durham?  Not so much.  In fact, I'm going to go so far as to say I hate going to the W.F in Durham.  Notice I said I hate going to the store.  The store itself is fine, although way too small compared to other Whole Foods store locations.  The employees at the Durham store are top notch.  Extremely helpful and polite.  I've never met an employee at Whole Foods in Durham who wasn't.

So why does a trip to the Whole Foods of Durham have me wanting to pop back a handful of Valium?  The self-absorbed, entitled, rude, surly, curt, barbarous, devoid of any social skills whatsoever clodpates who shop there.  Oh my God, I feel better already!

Yesterday Poseidon and I made what should have been a quick, uneventful stop at the Durham Whole Foods store to pick up items for his famous burritos.  We weren't in the market 2 minutes (I'm not exaggerating, it wasn't 2 minutes), when the Baroness of Horse Face Bitchville came right down the aisle with her cart and nearly ran me down.  I was stunned because she just kept going.  Admittedly, I'd had a long day and I was cranky so I said, in a voice full of snark, but without too much venom, "Excuse you," with no reply, so I continued on my way to catch up with Poseidon.

Maybe 15 minutes later, she came up to me and said, "Excuse me."  I said, "Thank you" and I meant it, but then she had to start being a bitch mutt.  Most of it to me was, "Blah, blah, blah" until she said, "I've never had such anger sent my way in all my life."  Seriously?  Wow, she should consider herself more fortunate that any soul on the planet if my "excuse you" was the most anger anyone has ever, ZOMG ever directed toward her.  Anyway, my reply, "Well, all you needed to do was be polite and say 'excuse me' when you nearly knocked me down."  She said something else back that only told me she wanted to keep this pointless banter going, but I ignored it and was already turning my attention back to Poseidon (poor Poseidon, the most laid back dude on the planet...and he married me).

So, will I go to the Whole Foods in Durham again?  Of course I will.  Will I run into ogress-mannered shrews?  Undoubtedly, but after this incident I will wash down my Valium with a full glass of water before entering those sliding glass doors on Broad Street.

--Fortuitous Observer

 

Previously published posts on a similar topic you might find interesting:

It's Senior Day at Kroger - Wear Your Chain Maille

The Bread Lady?

Supermarket Grazers and Serendepity

Evil Old Man at Food Lion - Karma

This evening I went to Food Lion to pick up a few things.  In the check-out lane, the man ahead of me was being such an obvious ass to the woman who was checking him out.  He was a miserable ass hat.  She never lost her composure.  I was staring daggers through him at one point and he said to me, "What are you looking at?"  My response:  "A miserable pathetic asshole."  I said it with a huge smile.  He had no response and promptly left with his groceries.  I hope he had a car accident on the way home.  Oops, was that bad of me to say?  Oh well, let Buddha sort it out.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Drop the Cell Phone and Put Your Hands on the Wheel or My Cats Might Eat Your Children

Spring settling in nicely is probably the largest contributing factor in my waning need to rant about everything anything, but for the second time this week, I've narrowly escaped the death that could have been handed to me by yet another oblivious, suburban female (I said it, female...I'm allowed, being a female) driver running a red light while TALKING ON HER CELL PHONE, so, I will go on a wee rant.

I would rather not feed these negative thoughts too much energy by succumbing to my need to spout off in a nasty diatribe that will make my head explode (and possibly yours for reading my word vomit) but my life is at stake when you half-baked, feckless, morons take to any area outside the confines of your own homes.  I don't mean to say that all women are bad drivers, and that only women chat on the phone while driving.  I see men talking on cell phones while driving everyday.  But in my neck-of-the-woods, when I have a grasp-my-hands-on-wheel-tightly-because-I'm-about-to-die-on-the-road moment, there is a petticoat behind the wheel.  My blood boils over this because in my opinion, you swim mom Einsteins driving big honking obnoxious SUVs that you can barely see out of, seem to be under the misguided impression that the world revolves around you solely (and your child's morning swim time...I'm not picking on all mothers who take their children to the pool...you know who you are), and because of this, you cretins are going to be the cause of injury and/or death to me or someone I love.  That is going to piss my cats off to no end.

I am a woman, who happens to have an excellent driving record (I'm knocking on wood right now, seriously) and do not drive with my head up my arse (I felt a four-letter word would work better here, so I'm using arse instead of ass), nor do I use my cell phone when driving, because I know I WILL have an accident.  Some people can talk and drive at the same time, and I applaud you.  Some phone calls have to be taken.  I understand.  I'm not jumping on the ban-cell-phone-use-in-cars wagon, yet.  I ask that you re-evaluate your ability to drive while celling.  If you've had a horn blown at you more than once because you were on a phone when the light changed, or you swerved into someone else's lane, please put the phone down or pull over; otherwise, one day you will find yourself facing a jury of your peers with your fate in their hands when you are charged with vehicular manslaughter, and you will cry yourselves to sleep at night on your prison cell bunk while Big Bertha lovingly strokes your hair, while your family members are paying restitution by providing daily care for my cats who no longer have a mommy and daddy, and they are not going to be nice to your children.

That is all.  This rant had the potential to be much worse, so I'm pleasantly surprised at the brevity.  OK, now I'm back to thinking funny little warm springtime thoughts...ahhhh.

 

--Fortuitous Observer

Related articles

Yoga Class - Why is it Always About the Cats?

Gym Locker Room - Ladies...There is no Maid Service!

I know I've ranted about this before, and one would think I could just accept it, get over it, and quietly move on, but for the love of cats, chocolate, and all things shiny, ladies, can you not clean up after your pitiful selves in the locker room at the gym?

Grown women (most of them...there are a few little girls in their late teens and early twenties who are all kinds of self-important and haven't found their big girl britches yet, but there might still be hope) who cannot put a used towel in the dirty towel basket that is not more than 10 feet from the locker room door scare the bejesus out of me.

I don't understand, I truly don't, so if there are any entitled, lazy as sin gym folk reading this, can you fill me in?  Why is it ok for you to leave your towel, wet with your smelly, gross sweat, on the floor or worse, on the BENCH where other ladies sit?  Why is this OK?

 

--Fortuitous Observer 

Related articles

How REALLY Not to be Invisible in Your Forties - Part I

How REALLY Not to be Invisible in Your Forties - Part II - Women in Their 40s