Monthly Archives: May 2010

Too Much Food

Sometimes, I just don’t know when to stop eating. Tonight I came home for dinner and, seeing nothing cooking on the stove, put together a large bowl of cereal. I went into the living room to see my husband and he asked me why I was eating cereal when he was making burgers. I said, oh man, I thought you hadn’t prepared anything. But what to do? I couldn’t just dump the stuff. I had already done that this morning when I poured bad milk onto a bowl full. So I ate the cereal and then assembled my burger. And a mound of Tater Tots. And drank a tall glass of water.

It’s not really the burger or the taters that sent me over the edge, though. That line was dangerously crossed when I got back to work tonight and thought it a good idea to have two marzipan pastries. Don’t judge me, THEY WERE SMALL PASTRIES.

So now I’m bloated, and sedentary. My job is not exactly physically taxing. Sometimes I stand up during commercial breaks and do push ups against the computer console. Right now I’m extending my legs out in front of me in my office chair. I’m burning loads of calories.

Why don’t I learn? Even as I’m eating that blasted pastry I know I don’t want it. I knew I’d have to sit on my ass for the next four hours.

I fear it won’t be too long before I am no longer able to get away with the alimentary recklessness of my youth. My youth being three years ago. Because, word is, once you hit thirty it’s like BAM! Your whole metabolism changes and suddenly grazing on your co-worker’s Costco-sized box of mini Charleston Chews after having a bowl of cereal, a burger, taters and two marzipan pastries doesn’t seem like such a good idea.

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Salespeople And My Annoyed Baby

I am not a salesperson by nature. I know people who are good at it, but I have never liked selling and therefore don’t have a knack for it. And maybe it’s because I don’t like aggressive tactics when I can usually make up my own mind, thank you, that I end up having a bit of distaste for pushy salespeople in general.

Which is not fair, I know. We’re all trying to make a buck. And boy do I know what it’s like to be FORCED to sell stuff a certain way. When I was in high school I worked at a shoe store. Being what I considered a good reader of body language, I hung back when I could tell the customers were just looking. I’d smile at them as they came in, so they knew I was there and then I’d just make myself available as they needed. I actually had a couple of customers tell me that they really appreciated how I worked. One woman even told my manager! I must have been employee of the month, right? They must have given me a raise to six bucks an hour in recognition of my efforts! WRONG. After a grand total of ten weeks on the job, my manager fired me for “being too quiet”. Was I ever MIFFED. I had sold just as much as everyone else.

So back to present day. This afternoon I was with my daughter at the mall and my window-of-stroller-contentedness was closing fast. When she started to express her displeasure, I gave her a rice cake. When she became more insistent that sitting still for over an hour was NOT one of the activities she had planned for her day, I picked her up. I put her BACK in her stroller when my arm started to burn. That’s when my baby started having a fit. She rarely spazzes, but today she was seriously annoyed with her circumstances. She started making lots of noise. Pissed off noises, as if to say “Listen MOTHER. This is NOT FUN. I will NOT TAKE THIS ANYMORE. Can’t you understand WHAT I’M SAYING? HELLOOOO? See how far I launched that rice cake? Take that! So help me, I will throw a tantrum like that toddler over there if you don’t PICK ME UP AND ENTERTAIN ME OTHERWISE.”

Any parent knows there’s only so much you can ignore before your irritated child starts totally stressing you out. I walked faster, towards the exit. I had taken advantage of her good nature for longer than I knew smart and I was paying for it. If I could just get OUT OF THE MALL she might calm down in the fresh air. I hightailed it down the last, long corridor in the direction of the main entrance, weaving in and out of leisurely shoppers. That particular corridor has several kiosks down the middle for small merchants. There is always one employee standing beside each kiosk, facing the passerby in an attempt to generate attention to their display. One saleswoman, seeing my frenzied approach, smiled at me from a few feet away, and, stepping into my path, pointed to her booth and said, “Could I interest you in sampling one of our moisturizers?”

What was WRONG with that woman? Didn’t my narrowed gaze, grim face and determined gait convey ANYTHING AT ALL? NO. I DO NOT want to sample your products. I have a CRYING BABY who is throwing ALL HER TOYS OUT OF HER STROLLER in protest. She is arching her back and kicking her feet against the frame and SHE NEEDS TO GET OUT OF HERE. Do I LOOK like the ideal person for whom you should be giving your spiel?

I shook my head tersely as my daughter continued to complain and blew past the offending woman.

Bad choice, Ms. Saleslady, bad choice. Now I’ll likely NEVER buy something from you.

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Attention: Women

There is a new sign above the toilet in the women’s washroom at my work that reads “Please DO NOT dispose of your feminine napkins in the toilet. Use the garbage receptacle.” I know why this sign was made. On several occasions I have seen menses-matter in the commode and it revolts me for several reasons. First, the obvious notion that these things should not be going in the toilet. In fact, aside from the occasional soft leftovers-gone-rotten from the fridge, bodily eliminations and TP should be the only things deposited in a toilet. It’s not good for the pipes. Second, if I’m seeing this stuff then the person before me didn’t stay in the stall long enough to ensure the water fully carried her contribution away. Menses-matter is the nastiest to behold, so extra time should be taken to witness its total disappearance. Otherwise, another flush may be necessary. Finally, if you are employed at my place of work, I tend to assume a certain amount of intelligence, environmental awareness and basic sophistication. Exposing your coworkers to these unmentionables astounds me. I guess we’re not all as erudite, savvy and classy as I would expect of a professional bunch. 

That’s it. I have commented on bathroom matters before, and I probably shouldn’t again. But please adjust your behaviour accordingly. It’s just not cool.

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