For starters, am I the only person who hears noise when a blowdryer is on? Do they operate on some frequency that only I can hear? Is this my version of a dog whistle? Now you may wonder why I would ask this, but every time I'm mixing paint and I dry a sample using the blowdryer, people insist on talking to me, and they talk in at a normal volume, and I can't hear a blasted thing they are saying. So I turn the dryer off, answer their question, and turn it on again... I repeat this cycle numerous times... and after 13+ years of it, I'm finally having to question this actual sound involved here. Am I really the only one who hears it?
Secondly, I don't think it is asking too much for a customer to know whether the paint they want me to make for them is oil based or latex? And after going through a bizarre "Who's on first-esque" routine with a man the other day, only to determine that he needed latex stain, I mixed it up for him, and as I was drying it, he asks (over the noise of the blowdryer of course) "Now that's oil-based, right?" And when I, completed befuddled, answered, "No it's latex," he swore at me and told me he wanted oil for his fence.
I had one of those fantastic feminist victory moments at work the other day, and even though I'm not a feminist at all, I still need these little victories from time to time. We have a ratcheting pipe cutter for tubing and PVC. (The pipe, not the heart contractions that I have) On a number of occasions over the years, I've had men try to cut their own tubing only to bring the cutter up to the front, blow right past me and tell the guys that the cutter is broken. At that point, I walk over, grab the cutter, and pull it open, and then show them how to use it. It happened again the other day, and as minor as it may seem, I really needed that little moment.
I've had a mental list of random thoughts that I wanted to explore, and I've been adding to this mental list for several days, however I seem to have put the list down somewhere and I can't find it, so I'm searching my memory banks for traces of the other thoughts I wanted to delve into.
OH YEAH!!! Here's one... Why do people feel the need to share their personal lives with the people waiting on them in stores? I really didn't need to know that this girl's brand new husband broke their "No Hickey" rule because it was their honeymoon night, so he thought rules shouldn't apply. Then I got to hear about how her ex-husband's new wife took their 3 year old daughter and got her ears pierced, and she felt it was inappropriate since he wouldn't let her get them pierced when she was an infant. At this point, I'm thinking to myself, "Sweetie, I don't even think I know your first name, I really don't need to know this much about your life... I'm just trying to mix your paint!"
And finally, as I was driving to church on Sunday, I passed a rather large homemade sign that appeared to be painted on a sheet and attached to a railing advertising a "Huge G Sale." It should come as no shock to anyone that before I could stop myself, my mind had sprinted off in a few different directions and I was giggling the rest of the way to church. First thought, "Shoot! I already bought G, and I paid full price for it. If they had J, Q, or W however, I might be interested." Second thought was, "What if they aren't selling letters, but rather the wanna-be gangsters who refer to themselves and all their buddies as "G?" If that was the case, I'm glad I drove right by that sale, because Everson and Nooksack have already reached their quota of wanna-be gangsters, and I'd probably be in lots of trouble if I bought any, no matter how cheap they were selling them for.
I crack myself up sometimes... well ok, most of the time... Anyway, that's all for now...
