You Know, You're Real Funny When You're Sober

Two of them have girlfriends. One of them I have never met and may actually be mentally ill because he asked me how small my neck was so he could buy me a sweater. One was too old. Another too young and immature. Then there are those whom I haven't spoken to. They just check me out. You might label them in the following way: White-Trash Construction Worker, Homeless Man, Star Wars Nerd, Santa Claus, Father With Child, and Grandfather With Beer Belly. Really, I should be flattered. At my age, I should be latching onto any male with child-bearing capabilities so I don't rob the cradle. Yet I refuse. I can't seem to shake this tendency to be picky. Some may find it rude, but really, considering what I've been offered, I haven't turned down much. It's not that I'm looking for something in particular, in fact, that changes on a daily basis. Mostly, I prefer someone I'm attracted to, someone who isn't stupid or ignorant, and someone who will challenge me. Yet I seem to face this constant barrage of men who are, to put it bluntly, ugly. If you didn't know me, you would understandably think me a very mean individual. I'm not. I'm just bitter. I suppose all the good men are taken or uninterested. That's fine. I am very optimistic that someday I will meet him at some picturesque cafe in Paris, France, smoking a cigarette and reading Hemingway. Until then, I'm sick of the perverts, the idiots, and the insensitive. All the good men are too good.

I Was Feeling Really Merry, And Then Christmas Happened

I was drinking the kool-aid. I was listening to Christmas music around the clock, spent time gazing at the dazzling lights on the Christmas tree, and wrapping every gift to perfection. I could feel the hype taking over. Heck, it even snowed. How could you not feel warm and fuzzy as the 25th grew closer? But all of the so-called, "holiday spirit" is sort of unattainable. Duh. How did I not realize that before? People are imperfect and no amount of presents or hot chocolate can overwhelm that unfortunate reality. I suppose my expectations were too high, or perhaps not high enough, or maybe I didn't know what to expect. There is one thing that completely destroys any sort of happiness: chaos. I cannot stand arguments, tension, or unnecessary raised voices. Imagine ten people in the same house, all competing for center stage. Peace is the most sought after feeling at this time of year and it is elusive. And peace for most is dependent on only one thing: a boyfriend, quiet, nice presents, etc. I don't know what I'm trying to say except that, Christmas can sometimes be sort of depressing and annoying. Perhaps this is a conclusion that many others have already come to and my secretly optimistic attitude was taking its time to arrive. Let's face it though, no one really cares about the "true meaning of Christmas." I am not saying they shouldn't, I'm just saying they don't, myself included. Maybe it's jut me. I will smile and nod my way through a lovely Christmas Eve service, but the other half of my mind is just thinking about talking to people post-service. Then it's over, and you go to sleep, and you open presents, and eat food, and then what? Holidays are around in order to keep people looking forward to something, to keep them sane and non-suicidal. Then when it's all over, we are even crazier than before. With this in mind, I don't mind keeping them around merely for self-preservation, but I'll keep the consequences in mind.

Holiday Retail

Fact: people are meaner during the Holiday Season. They aren't just busier or more stressed, they simply wake up on December 1st with their hearts shrunk three sizes too small. Mean people don't know they are mean, because for truly cruel people, insensitivity comes naturally. The need for excessive shopping simply aggravates the existing condition, and these people tramp from store to store leaving a trail of emotional destruction behind them. Some of these shoppers find themselves adhering to a strange code of stupidity for no apparent reason. They will give themselves a two minutes time limit in the store, expecting you to ring them out in less than 5 seconds, and if you are unable to do this, they morph into ill-bred toddlers. Of course, this abrasive sort of behavior is nothing compared to the people who simply ignore you. Yes, I had the pleasure of discovering twice tonight how embarassing it is to have a customer muttering in what seems like your direction only to find out they are talking into their Bluetooth. Of course, as a clerk you are required to ask the customer a few questions, such as if someone assisted them, if they need gift receits, or how they plan on paying, etc. You would imagine people to be rather open to speaking to a person who is handling their credit card. It just seems logical. Then, at the end of the exchange, they finally look at you with this strange, grimace-like expression on their face, and whisper "Thank you". It takes everything within me not to mock their ridiculous attempt at politeness. Finally, and this is my personal favorite, you get the people who act like complete assholes and refuse to admit that they are joking with you. For instance, this evening I had two men ring out with me about 15 minutes before my shift ended. As you can imagine, I was a bit tired and my allotted amount of enthusiasm for the day was swiftly running out. Yet I mustered up a cheerful attitude and a friendly smile and set about to deactivating the sensors and ringing up their items. We had a fabulous discount for 30% off already marked-down merchandise, so don't you think most customers would be pleased with this? Well, the older gentleman started saying all this ridiculous crap like, why can't you discount the jeans? I'm like, because they are full price, sir. He's like, yeah, just run the discount anyway. I'm like, haha? He's like, do it, talk to the manager. He'll let me. I'm thinking, this guy is messing with me. I've seen it before. So, I ask him, are you kidding around with me? And he just stares at me. And the younger guy with him just stares at me with this obnoxious grin on his face. And I look to the younger guy for help, like, your grandfather is joking, right? Yet neither one of them offers a hint that they are, except once again, for the goofy smile on the younger dude's face. So, I just give up. Whatever. I put up with this old man's wise cracks and endless idiotic comments and try very hard to get them to take their bags and leave. Then as they try to walk out of the store, the alarm goes off, because apparently I forgot to remove one of the sensors. So, I'm pissed. I'm like, if these guys hadn't been distracting me, this wouldn't have happened. Problem is, no one can find the sensor. So, we keep telling them to go ahead and exit and not to worry about it. But it happens again, and they come back and I'm about ready to blow my brains out. Each time they come back they make another snide remark and part of me thinks, "I deserve this." Another part of me thinks, "You guys can go get hit by a bus for all I care." Then I realize, I'm becoming a jerk just like them, and that makes me even angier. Finally, they leave peacefully, and I gossip for about five minutes with another clerk about how awful they were. This makes me feel better, justified somehow, and I gratefully went to clock out and return the next day with a renewed dose of holiday cheer.

Subtle Descriptions

She stood watching at the window. For what, for who, for when. A disruption of some kind. She is a strange sight, someone so young peering nervously, cautiously through the streaked glass. The afternoon light fades to an empty blackness, and still she remains thinking, staring. Perhaps she fancies herself to be Socrates, judging her world harshly, clarifying her revelations to be written down someday. Imaginary interviews with her critics, displaying her talents and coaxing an audience into adoring her. Every expression is flawlessly synchronized to convince everyone she is beautiful. Attraction is simply perception, and a moment's deceit can leave a permanent impression. Each monologue is delivered with stunning clarity to her mirror, and she longs for the day when fantasy merges with reality. If only they could see how good she can be. She has a painful grudge against anyone who is effortlessly charming. They were born talented, gorgeous, and witty. And when she stands before them, every perfect composition, every confident smile becomes awkward, disingenuine, and feeble. Her wish list is shallow, but she has spent her life pursuing matters of the soul. Every attempt in this regard was futile. Her performance is for every one of those haters. All of the suspicious glares and shameless gossip, take this and this, she says. Vulnerability is like a gun shot wound, it is painful and useless, unless given the proper care. So, she will pretend and they will believe it. She will stand at the window waiting for them to catch a glimpse of her. She will reel them in, stir them into her brew, and chug down every drop of their admiration.