A Cry of Hounds
When it comes time for me to eat lunch at the office, it's usually 2 or 3 p.m. and I am delirious with hunger. I don't know why I always wait so long, but I do.
When I don't bring a frozen burrito or leftovers from home, it's always a challenge for me to decide where to go for lunch because of that whole crippling laziness thing I have going. For a brief moment several weeks ago, the clouds parted when I heard that a new restaurant with a varied menu of fresh offerings was opening up close to the office. Alas, having since gone there and been assaulted by overfriendly staff twice in a row, I've been afraid to return. Last time I was there, the manager--no doubt high on Grand Opening fumes, which is a reason but not an excuse--felt compelled to come out from behind the counter, shake my hand, introduce himself, ask my name, find out where I worked and what my favorite color was, smile WAY too much while looking deep into my eyes (for market research?), and then run to the back to get a block of fresh parmesan cheese, which he insisted on shredding atop my slice of pepperoni pizza and which he also, in his overzealousness, dropped on the floor with an "oopsy-daisy!" He actually said "oopsy-daisy." I couldn't get out of there fast enough.
Can't there be a line for people like me--people who don't want to exchange names and pleasantries when ordering food; people who, in retail stores, don't need help finding anything; people who just want to get in and get out because they are delirious with hunger and/or don't require handholding to pick out a pair of socks? I realize that there are types out there who appreciate the personal treatment they receive in many finer stores and boutiques and restaurants (I typed that with a French accent), and far be it for me to deny you that annoyanceindulgence. That's why I'm not asking for an end to that sort of behavior but merely an express lane or a special hat or something that will notify employees of an establishment that I haven't the time nor the energy to make friends; all I want is a cheeseburger.
Last Friday, delerious with hunger, I succumbed to the lure of the McFastFood, not because my body was aching for a quarter-pounder with grease but because I just couldn't handle a side of hyperactive gladhanding with my turkey sandwich. It gives me indigestion. For me, the biggest draw of McFood is the process: all I have to do is tell the cashiering robot what I want and she and her polyester-clad comrades give it to me, no nonsense, no breaking the employee/customer space barrier, and certainly no direct physical contact. It's the place I go where no one has to wear a special hat to get treated like crap, and that's the way I like it.
One of the reasons I started taking late lunches was a desire to avoid the mobs of rangy high schoolers who descend on the area. At 11:45 sharp, they prowl down the street in packs of twenty, and they scream and fight and spit and generally make a trip to the corner store more like an afternoon ferry ride through the Strait of Messina, that is, if Scylla wore do-rags on each of his heads and Charybdis’s enormous mouth gaped against a pink rhinestone cellphone at 12 million decibels.
Sometimes, though, when separated from their herd* these teenaged creatures can be inoffensive and, on occasion, even charming. Last Friday I went out for lunch after school had already let out for the day, and as I was waiting in line for my Filet o’ Yum, I overheard some local youths--a boy and a girl--filling out job applications. They hoped aloud that they could still get hired even though they didn't turn sixteen until March and April respectively, and I smiled at the reassurance that they aren't all ne'er-do-wells and no-good-niks.
When the boy got to the box labeled "References" on his application, he wasn't sure how to fill it out, so he asked his friend. When the girl explained it to him, he decided to put down Jasmine as his reference. He wrote out her name and number and then stopped again when he got to the box marked "Relationship." "What do I put for 'relationship' here?" he asked. "Baby's mama? Is that okay?" "More like skank-ho. Shit." Ah, kids. Don’t they just say the darnedest things?
And speaking of kids and their darned things, over the weekend I dreamt that Will and Nina got married in my parents' bedroom, which was the same as in real life except the bed had been moved against a different wall in order to create enough space for the bridal party to stand. Everyone was wearing tuxedos, even the ladies, and right before the bride walked in, I was being poked at to hurry up and finish ironing my tuxedo shirt because we needed to remake the bed, which I was using as an ironing board, before the ceremony began. An unmade bed at a wedding is decidedly unclassy. When the door opened and Will and Nina stood there in their matching bowties, the overhead lights went out and the black lights came on and all over the walls were hung glow-in-the-dark carnival games, only everything was made of junk food--for instance, instead of throwing darts at a grid of balloons, there was a grid of Twinkies. Prizes were awarded to the winners. And no, my parents' bedroom does not normally feature black lights or carnival games.
Finally, my cousin had her baby on Saturday and although I haven't heard the official news yet, word on the street is that they did not name the new boy after a rapper or a small green Jedi. So those are still up for grabs if you want them.
*Noticing the various collective nouns I used to label groups of teenagers, I thought I might reveal that one of my favorite ways to nerd out is to read lists like this**. Some options of particular relevance to the youth of America: a cartload (as of chimpanzees), a sloth (as of bears), a business (ferrets), an implausibility (gnus), a leash (greyhounds), a crash (hippopotami), a smack (jellyfish), a mischief (mice), and a clutter or clowder or nuisance (as of cats, although somewhat unfairly because did you see the Kitty Half-time Show during Puppy Bowl III? OMG).
**A "mob" of wallabies? Really? I never imagined them the pitchfork-waving type.
I am so with you: my mother-in-law is always bitching that "you can't get a Real Human Being" on the phone anymore, and I'm always praying--PRAYING--to get a machine. I don't want the personal touch, I want to do it easily and my way. I don't like bank tellers, I like ATMs. I don't like to be personally greeted by the owner of the establishment, I like to deal with a bored minion.
We've been negotiating with your parents to hold it there however the asking price is very steep.
Wacky dream - I love it. I have been thinking about a dream post for the last few sleeps... I'm a people-person, sorry to confess. I prefer to have someone there because then I feel like there are jobs out there for my students who will need them.
I agree completely about the "helpful" store people. I manage to avoid them most of the time, but my greatest wish is that they'd stop making you check your stuff at the dressing rooms. . . I HATE that. Bring on the hats!
I wish my breasts would fit in a tuxedo shirt.
Also, Will wants to know if we can "do it" in your parents bed.
Wait, no, he just corrected me - he wants to know if HE can do it in your parents' bed AGAIN.
I'm marrying this boy.
It's no secret Will has the hots for my "moms." I think it's why he and my dad get along.
That's it. I'm satiated. I can't read another word. This was delightfully satisfying. No, no, really; I can't read another byte.
Lovely bouquet.
I laughed 'til my belly jiggled.
Enough.
Whew.
Wait.
Is there desert?
:)
i too am a big fan of the "stop hovering and leave me alone" method of customer service but it just struck me, does the whole not wanting to exchange names and pleasantries when ordering food thing sound really familiar?. . . as in did it ever happen in a seinfeld or curb your enthusiasm episode?. . .
Black lights and carnival games? I think I just found the next decorating theme for my bedroom.
I'm all for a real human being on the phone (my options, which always seem to have recently changed, rarely ever fit my type of problem) but don't like to be helped in person at a store, in general.
BTW, my local Subway has guys that creep me out a little with their overt friendliness/flirting, but sometimes I just need a ham and turkey! :)
I'd consider taking out a restraining order against the manager before returning... I don't expect people to know by looking at me that I'd rather be left alone, but you would think a brief response stripped of niceties would signal "get the f*ck away". But noooooo, they always make you say it out loud.
I mostly agree, although I have found many benefits to exchanging niceties with those that serve my food. For instance, the terrible day when I went into Subway after I had been stressing out and trying not to cry at work, and the guy said "You nice girl. I give you cookie." And the bagel guy who would slip extra bagels into my bag and the deli guy who would randomly buy my sandwich or make it ginormous. There are perks to interacting, although somedays, I admit, it's just not worth it.
How can you wait so long to eat lunch??? I couldn't do it. I'd start gnawing on my hand or something :)
I definitely thought that I was the only person who watched Puppy Bowl III. I kept alternating between "I can't believe I'm watching this crap" and "So cute! Puppppies!!!"
I wait til 2pm for lunch also...to avoid the high schoolers down the street or to get a good park after lunch if I have to drive. I'm so with you on the `less interaction the better' theory...Luke is completely the opposite, even when he rings to order a pizza he's so chatty he draws it out of them when even they don't want to interact...I just don't get it *sigh*
We flipped over to Puppy Bowl during commercials - I was surrounded by dog lovers who kept complaining how kitties are boring because they don't DO anything. Bah.
"Implausibility of gnus" is my fave.
That overzealous restaurant-manager guy probably says "oopsie daisy" whenever he dropped the cheese, like that time right before you got there. :-)
Teens=Pimple Cloister, Hormone Harem.
Nobody could ever have a dreamt wedding in my parents' bedroom. There's always laundry piled on the floor.
Quoth bloopy:
i too am a big fan of the "stop hovering and leave me alone" method of customer service but it just struck me, does the whole not wanting to exchange names and pleasantries when ordering food thing sound really familiar? ...as in did it ever happen in a seinfeld or curb your enthusiasm episode?...
Brings to mind:
What we of the self-service ilk need is the equivalent of a Soup Nazi lane. Fast, efficient, to the point, and everyone who wants to stop and chat gets 'no soup for you!'
And as for special hats, I think the ones who want a sales floor representative to constantly hover and harass them should be the ones required to don attention magnets.
True fact: My baby is named after a rapper.
He is! Maybe that's why he gets all the ladies.
I loved this! Clicked over from mom101 and so glad I did. Hilarious. I too can't stand overzealous product or service peddlers. I avoid eye contact so earnestly they probably think I'm a shoplifter and I end up getting double the annoying attention.
We watched the puppies & kitties during commercials, too. We kept saying it was for the benefit of our dog, who likes to watch other animals on TV, but it was really secretly for us. Well, mostly me. Yeah. Probably all me.
("High on Grand Opening Fumes." Love it.)