Sometimes you meet people & think, “Wow. They are so nice. I could never be that good hearted.” This also brings to mind the saying, “Wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
That sums up my step dad. He is humble, soft spoken, & good natured. He is gentle, kind, & loving.
Not at all like me or the woman he married!!! I still can’t believe our good fortune! Haha.
Now, he’s not perfect. He’s slow as molasses in January…slow as Christmas…slow as a herd of turtles stampeding through peanut butter…but good things come to those who wait! Love ya Scott. Happy Fathers Day.
Happy Fathers Day to all the DADS out there. Happy Fathers day to the MOMS who have to be both. Happy Fathers Day to all the men who helped me grow: Uncle Dale, who patiently explained to me about fish guts & species of trees, Carroll Adams who claims me as his, Richard Montgomery for not killing me & Megan when we used his golf balls for creative purposes…and stole his convertible Mercedes to drive to a class in Morristown…and the old gentlemen I’ve met at work who counsel me day to day. There are many. And Johnny, who’s a disciplinarian to our naughty naughty dogs. Lol. I’m also thinking and praying for the fathers overseas who would like more than anything a hug from their kid today. Maybe they’ve met them, & maybe they haven’t, but the love is the same.
Today, this woman walks up to the counter & asks for someone to help her with fencing. She gestures vaguely. Whitney & I are standing there, & I let her take point most of the time because it’s good for her to learn & I’m right there if she does need help. Whitney says, “Okay. Whatcha need?” Standard reply for any of us.
The woman gets a sharper tone. “I need help with fencing.”
Whitney hesitates. I look up. She is a replica of Peach in Lonesome Dove, bonnet, red-faced demeanor, plumpness, & all. My mouth drops, but I recover. “Yes, ma’am, we’ll be glad to help you. But are you building a fence? Do you need pricing on barbed wire or vinyl or wooden…???”
She sighs like we are her cross to bear. “I need help BACK HERE with your fencing, I want to get some sticks out of the ground,” she enunciated each word clearly as if I were a stupid hillbilly. Not appreciated. But I had time on my hands, as it were, & could humor this…old wet hen. Normally I would call for one of the guys but decided I could handle this swiftly. (Plus they were all at lunch).
I followed her back to the wall where we have a few pieces displayed. Most of the stuff is in the warehouse, & in order to price it, I must be at a computer. Like the one we started at. I hoped against hope she would badger me for prices of various materials.
In a round about way, I learned that she lives in some gated community in Gatlinburg & was taking down a fence a previous occupant had installed. She couldn’t get the t-posts out of the ground. I suggest she saturate the ground with water around them & waller them out. She couldn’t, she’d already tried that. I suggest she borrow a tractor & buy this handy-dandy little tool you attach a chain to & pull them out with the front end loader, easy as pie. She can’t do that. I suggest she buy this fence post jack & ratchet them out three inches at a time. She doesn’t think she can do that. I tell her I will find her a goat & she can put her fence to use & not worry about it.
That suggestion was met with a severe look.
We go back to the ratcheter. This tool is $57 dollars. She asks if we rent them. No. Do I know a place that rents them? No, but you could rent a bobcat, buy this little tool & ta-da! Problem solved.
She switched tacks abruptly. “Are those like the old-timey galvanized buckets?” She points to an 8-foot section of galvanized tubs & tanks.
“Ummm…well, they’re just a galvanized tub. People use them for all sorts of stuff…weddings, mostly, anymore.” I’m not sure what she’s getting at, because they’re RIGHT THERE. She’s looking directly AT THEM.
“Yes, but are they the old-timey kind? The old ones have more metal in them.”
“Oh. No. These are lightweight. They’re serviceable, but they will eventually rust if they hold water for long periods of time or are against the ground.”
She’s still looking at me strangely. “They were manufactured this year…probably in China.”
At last she concedes they weren’t from days of yore.
Next.
No, we’re not done yet. She asks if we have any old-timey water spigots. At this point I want to ask her if when she came through the door if she passed a sign reading, “You are entering a time warp. The year is 1935.”
“Ummm…these are all we have. Simmons brand.”
“Oh? You don’t have any of the old-timey kind?”
I am officially exasperated. “No ma’am, we have carried these state-of-the-art models since at least 2001. They feature a hand pump design & are blue.”
She goes on to explain she’s making a sink & wants vintage stuff. I suggest she see the nice people at Wayne Blalock’s across the street, perhaps they could special order something to suit her. “Or, you know, antique stores or flea markets for the real treasures.” Thankfully I am spared from further conversation when a co-worker comes up to tell me there’s an old lady laying on the floor in the bathroom. I dash away, only to Irene’s laughter. She was talking about a pattern in the tile. Ha. She’s also found Satan & a gnome.
Later, when I’m relating all this to Shug over supper, he says, “You should have told her in the olden days like she’s trying to reproduce, they hired slave labor. Now we have Mexicans.”
Tomorrow is Wednesday. The next is my day off. Thank you Jesus.
So, yesterday I got to go back in time AND be a snake.
I don’t mean I was a snake in a past life. And I know you know I’m scared of snakes. But it was really a good time.
The good thing about having the same job for so long is I travel in the same circles & get to know a lot of people. So when I go to meetings, I see at least one familiar face. This is both a blessing and a curse, because I’m comfortable enough to chat with people, but also, I get called on a lot & made an example of, because the speakers know me by name.
As was the case yesterday. Minor, Whit, & I went to a meeting in Morristown to learn about sales skills from Purina. You may not know it, but Minor & I go way back. To Walters State. Like, twenty years we’ve known each other. There’s another girl in the Co-op system we went to college with, Mandy Hicks. And Mandy was at this particular meeting, too.
You know how it is when you get around people you’ve known that long. You regress to the good ole days, & reminisce about that time in your life. It’s a great deal of fun catching up. And the three of us haven’t been to a meeting together in a long, long, time. So it was kinda like we were back in Tech 130, listening to Roger talk about what we needed to learn to apply to life.
But there was a flaw in the slaw. We had assigned seating. And I was separated from all my people! Minor & Mandy somehow ended up at the same table, though, next to mine, so that was something.
Well, as is typical in these meetings that people in sterile offices dream up (meaning they are so far out of touch with the day to day operation of a farm store they couldn’t tell you what fertilizer is for), they are supposedly “teaching” us how to greet customers on the phone & in person. A guy named Rick is our speaker for this particular segment, whom I don’t know, but now knows me. “Amy! How do you greet customers when they come in?”
“‘Well, what are you doin’ comin’ in the front door?’ or I might say, ‘What have you broke now?'”
Silence.
Rick blinked. Twice.
“You say what, now?”
“‘What have you broke now?’ or maybe, ‘What’d you bring us?’ Because they’ll be toting a mangled PTO shaft or draggin’ an ole hydraulic hose.” Laughter is beginning to erupt all over the room.
“So that’s really how you greet them?”
“Yes.”
“You mean if you know them?”
“Ahhh, it don’t matter. But yeah, usually I know them.”
He’s getting kinda sweaty looking & a little red. Flustered, if you will. Like when you’re crappie fishin’, & you think you’ve hooked one, & you pull a snake into the boat. You’ve got it, but you don’t know what to do with it. And it ain’t your fault, you didn’t mean to catch the snake, & it ain’t the snake’s fault, either, he was just trying to eat dinner. But there you are.
Now what?
Hence me, being the snake.
“But if you didn’t know them, what would you say?”
“‘Hey, how are y’all,'” I call, just like I’m in the store.
“What about if you said, ‘Hello, welcome to Co-op, I’m Amy?'”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate it when they do that at my bank. It sounds rehearsed. And they don’t hear any of it, anyway, because they’re standing there like this.” I demonstrate the look of awe our first time customers present.
Again, he’s giving me this gears-turning look while everybody else is hee-hawing.
We moved on to the handshake.
Now, I don’t know about y’all, but I have absolutely zero interest in shaking every Tom, Dick, & Harry’s hand that darkens our door. It’s weird, & people are nasty. I don’t know-or care to know-where their hands have been. Our customers aren’t always the most hygienic. Not ALL, just….several.
Anyway, then we are addressing how to speak on the phone. Poor ol’ Rick ain’t learned a thing from our previous interaction.
“Amy!”
Here we go, I think.
“How do YOU answer the phone?”
“‘Sales, could I hep ye?'” I drawl.
I hear Minor snort behind me.
“What?” Rick asks me.
“Well, our phone system is automated. So, when they call, they get my chirpy voice giving you a directory of what button to mash for whichever department. Nobody listens to it, anyway. They hit zero, they get me. They hit two, they get me. They hit any other number & they’re on hold for too long, it rings to me. So I say, ‘Sales, could I hep ye?'”
“Don’t you think you should give them your name?”
“Nope. They don’t care. And I’ve been there so long, anybody that wants me, knows my voice.”
Clearly, Rick is at a loss.
I am a snake.
At the end of his lecture, he asks me, “Amy, do you think you will go back tomorrow & implement these techniques?”
“Nope. I’m an old dog. I don’t do new tricks.”
We broke for lunch.
Mandy, Minor, Whit, & Rusty are beside themselves. They stagger over to me. “When he called on you, I held my breath,” Mandy said.
“We all KNEW what was gonna happen,” Rusty said. “But he didn’t have a CLUE.”
“Well, I was gonna sit there, & be all behaved & nice & quiet…but he asked for it,” I countered.
“He sure did,” Minor said.
“I told the truth!” I became slightly shrill. “He didn’t want me to lie!”
“I know you did,” he soothed. Easy, Killer.
When you’re growing up, you meet people that you just know you’re going to be around the rest of your life. These are not two people I would have thought I would be connected to this long, but I’m so glad I am. We have a great time in each other’s company & I love them both dearly. (But don’t tell ’em that, they think I’m a hard@$$) Even if the learning part of college was kind of a joke, I did form some lifelong friendships in the unlikeliest of classmates.
Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl with long golden hair. She met & fell in love with a handsome young man. They were wed in the middle of Crawford’s Notch by Jimmy Temple.
The little family grew, & soon they had three wild mules running around the house & over the hills. They had a swimming pool, but preferred the pond. Theirs was a picturesque farm on the river, in the middle of town, with beautiful horses grazing in manicured pastures.
As the mules grew up & formed relationships with others, these friends were welcomed as family. Their home was always full to brimming with an ever growing group of people. There was much laughter & fun & plenty of tasty food. We sought counsel many times over the years & found understanding in their eyes and a big hug at every turn.
The family remained strong & close knit as the years went by. They gathered every Sunday morning at the main home for biscuits and gravy at 9:30 sharp. It was the one time a week everyone was expected to convene together as a whole. They believed in agriculture, & they all worked hard to keep the Sevier County fair going so it would always serve as a special memory for all the kids of the county. They brought it out of a black hole & made it the best one in the state. And we were proud.
This family was loved by all that met them.
Then one day, the dad got sick.
And just like that, he was gone.
So the county mourns.
And the mules cry.
The family asks for privacy during this time. Please be in prayer for this wonderful family that has been everything to so many.
This morning, I was running behind (I know this surprises no one) and didn’t have time to fix my lunch. I did tote along a mountain dew and a baggie of chips, thinking I’ll just run up to Subway. You know, that’s a racket. It’s like, six bucks for a sandwich, but if you need chips and a drink, all of a sudden it’s $24.
Anyway, traffic is monstrous, but I eventually get there. There is a man trying to pay for his $7 sandwich with a hundred dollar bill at 11 o’clock in the morning. I’m thinking, “What an arrogant ass, who in their right mind pays for a sandwich at eleven o’clock in the morning with a Franklin?” The cashier is flustered & asking the other sandwich artist if there was money in the back. She’s saying no, no way, the guy is halfheartedly digging for smaller bills. (Who in this day and age doesn’t carry a debit card, anyway???) “I’m gonna run right over here & see if I can break it,” she tells the man, inching towards the door, showing his $100. “Where you goin’ with it?” he demands, all indignant.
Ok, chick is head to toe Subway attire. Her coworker is there, as well as a policeman, trying to quietly consume his sandwich in the corner. Like she’s gonna run off with his money and buy pills in the parking lot & then say she “lost it”. Gimme a break. “I’m just going right here to Popcorn Video. Right here in the parking lot. You can watch me.”
And danged if he didn’t. But anyway, the other one is making my sandwich right along, and I’m directing her what to put on it.
I’m pretty mild when it comes to my sandwiches. Lettuce, tomato, pickles, mayo, mustard on my wheat bread cold cut. And maybe vinegar if I’m feeling froggy. She finishes my sandwich, wraps it up, clears the other sale out, & takes my money. I pick it up and hit the road, while the other girl is counting the twenties back to the guy by the side door.
I’m sitting in gridlock traffic in front of the bank & thinking about my sandwich that is sitting right there beside me.
I’m an instant gratification type person.
I think I can eat a bite or two while waiting.
I get it out of the bag. It feels a little warm, but I figure that’s where it’s been sitting against me, maybe in a sunbeam.
I slowly unroll it.
That does NOT look like mustard & mayo.
I unroll it the rest of the way to expose a flatbread turkey sandwich with lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers and -WAIT FOR IT—THOUSAND ISLAND dressing and JALAPENOS.
Gag.
Gag gag gag gag, gag.
What the hell kind of person gets JALAPENOS and THOUSAND ISLAND DRESSING on their sandwich?
The kind that tries to pay for a $7 sandwich at 11 in the morning with a hundred dollar bill, evidently.
I wiped off the French as best as I could, piled up the jalapenos to the side, & tried to choke it down.
It was slow going, to say the least.
And it still feels like it may come up at any moment, even after two hours fermenting in my gut.
Update: things have went progressively downhill since lunch. Like Minor said, I shoulda “Thrown that sumbitch out in the road & ran over it.”
Getting quite a bit of this view today as I pray for my great uncle Roy Dykes, Tammy’s daddy. He’s a tough ole bird and my mind won’t quite wrap around that he’s in ICU and the doctors are not confident. They say it could go either way.
Tammy’s momma always said Roy was supposed to go out of this world the same way he came in–by accident.
He has survived the following: having been trapped under a tractor for an hour and ten minutes and was among Lifestar’s very first airlift patients. He had his middle finger ripped off at the knuckle while leading a mule (it’s buried in the flower bed…the finger, not the mule), he was attacked by a gigantic emu while trying to load them in the trailer (someone told him he could have them for free- “I ain’t gonna have no little bird hurt me!”). And while we’re on poultry…he was burning leaves out in the barn lot one time & it got a “little” out of control. Well, a rooster somehow got his tail feathers in the flames, & made for the barn. Roy followed in hot pursuit, before he could burn the whole barn down. He succeeded in running him out, mildly scorched but no worse for wear. There was also the time he totaled his truck while pulling a rented fertilizer buggy home one day. He’s also got me in a wreck or two. While fostering a love of horses in me, he still walked a fine line of quality horsemanship & “try this & see what happens”. Like the time he told me, “go ahead & mount in the hallway, she’ll be alright.” She was NOT alright. The mare lost her mind & very nearly killed us all.
This is why he can’t die from appendix surgery. The idea is ludicrous. Please help me pray for him, his soul, & comfort for my most huggable sweet cousin.
Mountain Dew
There’s a big hollow tree down the road here from me
Where you lay down a dollar or two
You stroll ’round the bend and you come back again
There’s a jug full of good old mountain dew
They call it that mountain dew
And them that refuse it are few
I’ll hush up my mug if you fill up my jug
With that good old mountain dew
My uncle Mort, he’s sawed off and short
He measures about four foot two
But he thinks he’s a giant when you give him a pint
Of that good old mountain dew
Well, my old aunt June bought some brand new perfume
If had such a sweet smelling pew
But to her surprise when she had it analyzed
It was nothing but good old mountain dew
Well, my brother Bill’s got a still on the hill
Where he runs off a gallon or two
The buzzards in the sky get so drunk they can’t fly
From smelling that good old mountain dew
For Roy. The man who gave me Crockett and my first job (green breaking horses for $100 a head when I was in high school). He once offered me $1500 for my saddle horse, so I knew he was worth twice that.
For those of you still following updates: I left once Tammy got a solid army behind her to return to the pressing concerns of the Co-op in spring. Turns out I should have stayed. Mom texted me that they are waiting for the preacher, then turning off everything. His organs have failed. To have lived 83 years the way he did, this seems like such an uninspired ending. Maybe I’m just optimistic that he will blink a few times & say, “let’s go to Cracker Barrel, where’s my moneybelt?”
My uncle Roy did not become a miracle, he did not wake up, and he was cremated within two days. My cousin celebrated her birthday amid many tears and memories of both her beloved parents. I guess no matter what you’ve clawed your way through in the span of your lifetime, when your ticket is punched your board the train.
I would love to make this long story short, but I don’t want to lose anything in translation, so here goes. It gives you something to do this rainy Wednesday. And it’s not a gripe, although it starts like one.
Most of you know about my commitment to Coach bags & accessories. Buy quality, so you don’t have to buy more, is my motto. (Not that that has stopped me from having one….or two…in every color.) Well, I was over at Belk before Christmas & saw this beautiful Fossil bag & matching wallet. It favored Coach, which is probably what drew me in the first place. I have been adamant against Fossil for several years when I had to take back a watch that broke within a week, I had paid cash, but they had to have an inordinate amount of information, such as where I worked & a phone number there. I told them this was an invasion of privacy. I mean, what did it matter? Give me my MONEY back for your crummy product!
I got over it, until someone from corporate ACTUALLY CALLED ME AT WORK to talk about it. Wth?! Are they stupid? So I vowed then to never buy anything from them ever again.
That lasted about fifteen years. I sorta know how to hold a grudge. Well, technically, I STILL haven’t bought anything, Johnny did. He got me the bag & wallet for Christmas, as per requested. Also a coach bag & wallet, which I didn’t request, but what can I say, he has good taste.
So I carried the new Fossil bag & wristlet for about two months. All of a sudden, the side busted out! Now, I’m not known for my tidy housekeeping skills when it comes to my wallet, but this one stayed fairly organized because of all the handy slits. Where it was supposed to be sewn it was glued. I was furious! This would never pass inspection with Coach. So, I finally made my way back to Belk after about two weeks & explained my situation to the lady at customer service (after being snubbed by two women at the jewelry counter—closest to handbags—but no matter). She was really sweet & asked if I wanted a replacement or refund. Well, I didn’t have a wallet that color & I needed something, plus, I really liked it. Problem was, they didn’t have one in stock. I go back to the counter, they offer to order it, but then that color isn’t listed online, either. They told me to keep checking back, or I could check myself.
Slightly seething, a few days later when it hadn’t reappeared on Belk’s site, I go online to Fossil. There’s the wristlet, but not in raisin. Grrr. I leave them a one star review about their crappy wallet & how now I can’t even get it replaced because it’s no longer offered. I wasn’t the only one complaining, either. Several others said if it wasn’t the side busting out, it was the zipper.
Within six hours, I had received an email from a Fossil representative, apologizing profusely. After several emails back & forth, with more pictures of my wallet & receipt (that I had already posted with my review & in the first email) they determined that the wallet was discontinued & out of stock in their secret stash (which I had already figured). They offered me a gift card in the amount of the wallet to buy one of my choice. I thought, great, I’ll go to Coach & get a good one. It may not match, but that’s just a part of life. I ask them what kind of gift card. “One you can use in any fossil store or our online store.”
No, thank you. Why would I want another one of your subpar products that doesn’t even match?
This all transpired about two weeks ago. Yesterday, I finally make it back to Belk. I go back to the Customer Service counter. Once again, I explain my situation, producing wallet & receipt. She gives me a disbelieving look & sends me to a lady manning the jewelry counter. She is waiting on another customer, but notes this encounter out of the corner of her eye. I patiently wait my turn.
She is nodding the whole time I’m telling her what’s happened & quickly issues me a refund. And apologizes for the behavior of her associate. No problem. Sometimes I pawn the crazies off on my coworkers, too.
I head over to the Estee Lauder counter to get my foundation, happily noting I’ve timed this perfectly to coincide with gift. There are a few things in this world that make me feel like a grown-up. One is standing at the meat counter at the grocery store, selecting cuts of beef, and another is the makeup counter, selecting new cosmetics. The lady there is super friendly, hunts up my foundation (had to go to the stockroom), helped me select a lipliner, then informs me that if I spend $19 more dollars, I’m eligible for the nighttime cream valued at a gazillion dollars.
I hedge. I need Step 2 (toner) & gel moisturizer but I’m loyal to Clinique on those products. She senses my hesitation & starts talking to me about skincare & starts slathering my hands with moisturizer. I’m not convinced. “Well, this one is closer to what you’ve been wearing. It’s a gel formulation, but it has the age-defying hydroxyl bentromalate.” (or whatever the heck she said.) in my head I’m thinking, “I have wrinkles. Age defying might not be a bad idea.” So I buy it & their toner so I don’t have to deal with Clinique too. In turn, I scored the priceless night cream stuff AND she gave me an extra gift. Plus she made me a new card, because my last TWO have been lost in the shuffle. She informed me she was the new counter manager, she’d came from Lancome, and gave me her updated card with numbers & extensions & the like. I thought, “wow. She’s really doing a thorough job.”
I THOUGHT she told me my total was “121.57.” I handed over my newly acquired gift card for seventy-odd dollars, & she ran it, & told me my new balance, which I thought she said was “121.57.” Again. Same total. Whatever, I’ll check my receipt. Surely she slid my card & just looked at the old total. She sends me off so I walked over into clothing & surreptitiously slipped my ticket out of my bag to check it. No, there it was, the gift card taken off. So I must have heard her wrong the first time.
I continue merrily shopping. My library meeting didn’t start till 5:30, technically, so I had loooooadsssss of time. I make my way to the Crown & Ivy section, my favorite. Cute summer dresses abound. One had bees all over it! (Not real bees, you ding.) I decided I might should try them on. Last time I thought it would fit, but not even close. I was feeling strong today, so maybe I wouldn’t cry.
Although, what is it about the lighting in dressing rooms? Do they find the cruelest electricians in all the land & they think this is a way to get even with all the women who have made their lives miserable? Or is it the clothing managers are in cahoots with the makeup counters to sell age-defying antioxidants for the face? Probably they should be partners with local gyms, by the look of my legs I could totally benefit. Oh well. At least I had some stuff for my wrinkles.
None of the dresses fit, but that’s ok. I understand some designers think women are twigs. I am not a twig & it’s okay. I like cupcakes. Thank God for palazzo pants, which are back in style again this year. Looks like I’ll be living in them. I purchased two pairs, & a maxi skirt & checked my watch.
Oh, snap. Time flies when you’re trying on clothes & shopping sales. Nearly an hour had passed since I had last looked at my watch. I was almost late for the meeting. I breeze in (of course, the last one, as always), scarf down a salad & a tiny smidgin of some apple dessert (you’re WELCOME, fat legs), & listen attentively to library business for the next two hours or so.
I get home & unloading my bags & decide to check my receipt one more time.
SIXTY-EIGHT DOLLARS?!?!!?
What in Michael Jackson’s name did I spend SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS ON?!?!?!
I lay out my cosmetics one by one.
Foundation. $37.
Lip liner. $22.
Earrings. (oh yeah. $16.)
Toner. $32.
Age Defying Lotion $68.
OH. MY. STARS.
I actually turned red. No wonder she was being so nice to me! She saw a sucker! I never thought to ask how much it was. It may have been marked, but I doubt it. I know that you can get moisturizer all day long for $10-$15 at Walgreens, probably less if you buy store brand. I know that the wrinkle cure stuff is more expensive, but Holy Mother SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS??!?!!? I’d rather have wrinkles. For sixty eight dollars I could eat at Ruth’s Chris & bloat myself to get the wrinkles smoothed down. Much more enjoyable regimen, anyway.
I packed its one point seven ounces right back in the bag with my receipt to head back to Estee Lauder today. And I’m taking back one of the gifts. It’s only right. Sure, I’m embarrassed, but SIXTY EIGHT DOLLARS?!!? THEY should be embarrassed!! So, anyway.
There’s how a sixty eight dollar wallet with faulty glue turned into a sixty-eight dollar lotion for my face that will turn into a sixty eight dollar credit yet again. Geez.
Sorry if you read all this. I know it’s a let down, but I very nearly collapsed in my bedroom last night from a heart attack. If it happens later on, know this was the cause. Sue Estee Lauder.
Later: So I have returned from Belk. I carried in my sorry bag & noted with a lift that it was a different girl from yesterday manning the counter. This one was younger, so I figured she might understand my woe. She was waiting on an elderly lady, who was dickering about the price of a handbag. I waited placidly, trying to keep a smooth face, so anybody could I see I clearly didn’t need the wrinkle cream. Meanwhile I’m studying the display of various creams & serums. The prices ARE marked, subtly, in light gray letters, about a 1/2″ tall at the bottom. Hmph. Good thing she didn’t sneak one of the $98 dollar ones in on me! I WOULD have died. So, here comes the Lancome lady, looking all polished with her acrylic nails & perfect lipstick. “Can I help you?” “Yes, ma’am. I need to return this…” I say weakly. “Ok…” Her friendly smile turned into a faint frown. She’ll be needing some $68-$98 wrinkle cream. But she probably gets a big discount. Anyhoo, she says, “Well, what is it?” I’m being a little shy. “This day wear gel with Age Defy…” Her eyes widen & she touches my arm. “Don’t you like it?” “No, I didn’t even try it…I didn’t realize how expensive it is…” At this, the elderly lady turns to me. “Oh, honey, it WORKS.” “I’m sure it does. But I’m not paying $68 for it. And I know, I know, it’s better than the $15 stuff you get at Walgreens–” “Oh, thus stuff is sooooo much better than that–” they interrupt. “I KNOW. I’M saying I AIN’T payin’ no sixty eight dollars for snake oil!” At this point, three different skincare representatives have surrounded me, along with another little old lady who had joined the first. Whatever crack they had envisioned in my resolve was quickly fused & she led me over to the Lancome counter to process my refund. “Ok…this was on a gift card… not sure how I’m gonna do this.” No, a hundred some-odd dollars was on my Belk charge.” “Oh, I see….” She finally figures out how to credit it, then she starts back in, telling me how all cosmectics are gonna be 20% off tomorrow, I should come back & try it then. I narrow my eyes. “Wish she’d told me that YESTERDAY when I was buying all this crap.” “Well, I’m just saying that tomorrow would be a good time to try it.” In my head I’m thinking ‘do I really look that bad? I know these lights don’t do a thing for me, but hell-o.’ Out my mouth, I stuttered. “No. No-no-no.” “Okayy….” …..then I venture over to the Clinique counter where I stocked up on eye primer, Happy, & blush, & ended up spending $93 on presale so I can get the sale price. *sigh* I’ll never win.
You know how statistics show the best marriages have no secrets?
Well, that’s bull.
Because if Johnny had just walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes, he would have run for the hills. And not the ones behind the house. The ones in like, Canada.
I’ve been subscribed to Ipsy for a year now. They send out these flashy little packages once a month called “Glam Bags” filled with travel sizes of new cosmetics, face care products, & most recently, an eyelash curler. Anyway, I’m not much of a girly girl & all this crap has been piling up under the counter. I decided to put some of it to use tonight. Namely, an exfoliating mask. Harmless enough. I’ve used them before. They’re kinda fun because your face tingles.
I pull off the safety seal & squirt some on my index finger to apply. It looks like mud, which is typical. I begin applying it in a circular motion like the directions indicated. It has the consistency of sand. You know, gritty. Then there’s this glob of…stuff that suddenly appears on my chin. By glob I mean something that resembles spinach. I poke at it. Feels like spinach, too. Hmm. I pluck it off, thinking it just didn’t get ground down in the manufacturing process. Then there’s more. And more. It’s falling into the sink, onto the rug, getting in my eyelashes & hair, and stuck to my nose so my eyes are drawn to it, rendering me cross eyed for a moment.
I get the rest of it all mushed into my face & take stock of the situation. It looks as if there’s been a seaweed or spinach explosion in the bathroom. I can’t go out looking like this, so I vacuum up the mess & comb out my hair. By this time the mask has dried & I can attempt to take it off. This presents a whole new mess in the bathtub.
After awhile, I come back into the living room & say to Shug, “you know how everybody says not to have any secrets in marriage?”
He eyes me steadily.
“Well, I’m just glad you haven’t walked in on me in the bathroom in the last fifteen minutes.”
“Yeah?” He’s lost interest already, back involved with his gun magazine.
I explain in a nutshell what happened.
“I heard the vacuum cleaner going, I didn’t know what was going on.”
“I didn’t get it all cleaned up in the bathtub, so don’t panic when you see green slime.”
Lord. The perils of beautifying.
It’s in my mouth and ears, too, I just discovered. I’ll never be rid of this gunk. When I said I wanted to be a mermaid, this isn’t quite what I had in mind.
If you’re southern, and you call around hunting a product, it goes something like this:
“Such-and-such store, this is Do-Lollie, could I hep ye?”
“Good mornin’, it’s Amy at the Co-op, how you doin’?” (nevermind I’ve never met or talked to this person prior)
“Good mornin’, Amy, I’m doin’ alright, other’n this rain, it always makes my hip hurt. How are YEW?”
“Oh, I’m alright. If I’s a pig, I’d be enjoyin’ this mud a little more.”
A chortle. “I heard that. What can I do fer ye?”
“Well, I’s wonderin’ if Bryan was in?”
“Yeah, hang on jest a minute & I’ll git ‘im fer ye.”
“Thank you!”
“Mm-hmm. You have a good day.”
“Hey, you too!”
With that, I am placed on hold. {I can imagine the hollerin’ to the back of the store “Bryan! Line one! It’s Amy!” “Huh?” “Line ONE!” “Ok.”}
“This is Bryan, could I hep ye?”
“Good mornin’ Bryan, how are ye?”
“Well, I ain’t talked to you in a coons age! You doin’ alright?”
“Yeah, how ’bout you? Stayin’ dry?”
“Oh, ain’t it awful? I can’t even let the horses out of the barn, I’m afraid the mud will just suck ’em right down.”
“Shooo. How many you got now? Did you have any damage up at your place at South Fork?”
And so it goes on. Five minutes later, I get down to business, the real purpose of my call.
“You got sledgehammers?”
“Yeah, I do.”
“Now, he’s picky. He’s wantin’ two short handled 10 pounders & one long handled 20 pounder.”
A pause while he ponders this, mentally taking inventory in his brain. “Noooo…now my short handled ones are 3 & four pounds…”
I relay this information to the customer standing in front of me, who is shaking his head. He thanks me & takes his leave.
“Well, thanks anyway Bryan, hope you have a good day.”
“Hey, you too, Amy. Thanks for callin’, good to hear from you.”
“Yeah, don’t be such a stranger. Take it easy!”
“Alright, you too, we’ll see ye.”
“Thanks again.”
“Bye.”
“Bye.”
If you’re from the north, the conversation goes like this:
“Sales, could I hep ye?”
“Yes, I was needing to get some pricing on gates. Farm gates. The type that are silver & have round bars. If I give you the dimensions on the ones I need, can you give me the price? I need to get the prices on a six, eight, twelve, and a sixteen if you have it. And how much are posts? The wooden ones that are round. Do you have quickcrete?’
“Ok, let’s do one at a time. Did you say six footer?”
“Yes, six feet. Then eight, then twel-”
I interrupt, & proceed to give him the prices for everything one at a time.
“Ok, thanks.” And hangs up, concluding the call.
Even on rainy days, they’re in a hurry.
And yes, both these really happened within fifteen minutes of each other.
And another thing, while I’m on it, it’s “Ap-uh-latch-uh,” not, “Ape-ay-lay-shuh.” At least, it is if you’re from here, in this part of the “Ap-uh-Latch-yuhs”.
