Spontaneity (And How It's Hard to Find Sometimes)

I need a road trip. Travelling is probably one of my favorite ways to pass the time, and I tend to get to do quite a bit of it. Whether it's going to see my family, or just going somewhere to be with someone, it's one of those things I get a little thrill out of every time. I like stepping into the car and closing the door and knowing that I'm headed somewhere, and I'm not rushed to get there.

I like travelling a lot. Almost as much as I like Dunkin' Donuts. However, I don't like...tourism. One of the things that I can't stand when travelling is having a set itinerary. "At 7:45, breakfast at Dunkin' Donuts. 8am, leave Dunkin' Donuts. 8:30am, Arrive at Titanic Museum." Gag me.

I don't mind seeing the sites that everybody absolutely must see. Don't get me wrong. I love the view from the "Top of the Rock" at Rockefeller Plaza, and there's something undeniably cool about the Gateway Arch. But I like walking down the sidestreets, places that you really only see locals. I like jumping on the subway when the rest of the group goes shopping on 5th Avenue so that I can hang out outside the Blue Note Jazz club and push my ear up to the window with some drunken homeless guy. (That, by the way, is a true story.) I feel like you miss out on what makes an awesome place so awesome when you only experience the same stuff you can see on just about every movie that takes place any given city.

Of course, there's nothing wrong with a bit of that. I pretty much "Squee" every time I see a picture of the Majestic Theatre in New York, and I get a sense of wonder when I think about the Grand Canyon. (Although aside from the Grand Canyon...there's not really all that much to see at the Grand Canyon.)

That being said, I need to plan a road trip. I'm thinking about Branson, Missouri. I lived there for a couple years recently, and I have a lot of good friends still there. It's been a while, though, and I feel the urge to get back into my car and take off for it. It's one of those rare places that I actually felt at home. :) But you can be certain you won't see me in the house of the Baldknobbers' Theatre or careening down a slide at White Water (although, if it can be managed, you might find me at Silver Dollar City for an hour or two...).

The point is, Peticus needs a touch of spontaneity here. So, expect to hear about me travelling somewhere at some point in the next month or two. :D

This Post Contains T.M.I.

Initial Statement: I'm not a girl.

Expansion on Initial Statement: I'm glad I'm not a girl.

Explanation of Initial Statement and Expansion Thereof: To be explained in this blog entry! :-D

Okay, ladies and gentlemen, I have come to the conclusion that being a guy is just...well, it's easier. Why, you ask? Well, I'm so glad you asked. I'm going to take the time out of my busy, busy schedule (As in, I'm sitting here at the laundromat, bored out of my mind, and watching the rinse cycle just isn't amusing anymore...) and tell you a little story.

The other night, I was sitting at home with my roommates. As roommates are wont to do, we were talking. The girls started talking about their teachers, which I was totally left out of, because I didn't go to their school. Anyway, Roommate K said: "One of my teachers always talked about how he was on the swim team." This led into the fact that, when on a swim team, you shave. Everything. Your stomach, your back, and your legs, at least. "He used to tell us, at least every year, that every guy needs to shave their legs at least one time in their life. He'd say that you shave your legs, and then you crawl into nice, clean sheets, and it's literally the best feeling in the world."

Folks, I'm not stupid. But I'm not necessarily the brightest bulb in Home Depot. While she's talking, all I can think is, I wanna feel the best feeling in the world!! So of course, I pipe up: "I wanna try this!"

After a few moments of blank staring, we all go upstairs. I'm going to spare you a lot of the details, because frankly, you don't care, and I feel like it's borderline T.M.I.  You don't want to know about how I used an electric razor to get the hair really, really short first, then how I used a razor and shaved every inch of my legs, from ankle to upper thigh. These aren't details you need. ...wait...oh well.

Anyway, so I shaved my legs. It was weird. At first, they were hyper-sensitive. Everything kinda felt like a small electrical shock. I put my pajama bottoms on, and they drove me crazy, so I changed into shorts, which was still strange, but not as strange.

By now, you're thinking, "Yeah, all of this sounds pretty normal for when somebody shaves their legs for the first time." You haven't let me finish, though.

I woke up the next day. Went to work. About halfway through my workday, I start to itch. "This is normal," I convince myself. I get home, and I step into the shower, and my face does this:

"HOLY CRAP!"

I feel like I've just stepped into a very large swarm of angry fire ants and killer bees, who have teamed up to conquer and destroy a common enemy: my legs.

It feels like I'm on fire. The teeny tiny little particles of my leg hair apparently stood on end and saluted the worst case of razor burn in the history of shaving. My legs were covered in little tiny red bumps from top to bottom, front and back. I opened my mouth and said some rather obscene things, and waited for the pain to stop.

The heat of the shower helped...until I stepped out of the shower. For the next three days, my legs basically caught fire every time there was contact with clothing, or a small temperature change, or I yawned, or there was a breeze, or...pretty much anything you can think of. I tried lotion, I tried washing them more frequently, I tried ice packs; nothing work, nothing helped. If that's what Hell feels like, I'm so glad I'm Heaven-bound.

Anyway, the hair is growing back just fine now, in case you were wondering. I've learned my lesson, though, and I will never shave my legs again! -shudder- 

Things -Not- To Do In My Checkout Line

A Comprehensive Guide for the Common Fool Shopper

1. Do not tell me things about my job. I may look confused at the mango in my hand, but trust me: I know that it is a mango. I don't care how much it costs, I just care about punching in the number on the sticker. If I can't find the sticker, I will have to look up the number on the register. Have some patience, okay? (Fun Fact: The most common PLU number for mangoes is 4051...)
2. Don't tell me what a hurry you're in. I'm kind of asinine. When you inform me that you're in a huge hurry, my speed will slowly decrease. Intentionally. I won't say anything about it...but still.
3. Don't talk on the phone in my line. I won't talk to you. "Paper or plastic?" No. You'll get what we give you. If you try to multi-task and talk to me and the phone, you may rest assured that I will talk louder than whoever is on the phone. Not obnoxiously loud enough to seem rude, but loud enough that you'll be forced to keep asking the person on the line to repeat themselves. 
4. Don't answer your phone in my line. Seriously? See #3.
5. Smile. The first thing I do when you step up to my register is smile. I like it when you smile back. It makes me feel important, and, believe it or not, I am a rather crucial step to you leaving with the ingredients you need to make your lemon meringue pie. I'm very grateful to you for coming through my line; I like people, and I show it. So please smile, and make me feel good about helping you.
6. Feel free to call me by name. I have a nametag, and I secretly love it when people notice it. 
7. Strike up conversation. Guess what? I am interested. I love people; I love hearing their opinions and thoughts and finding out what makes them tick. I'll talk to you, too. It'll be fun!

Okay. I know it seems like it, but I'm not a horrible person. I just like common courtesy and respect, y'know? You'd be probably very surprised by how much of that you don't get as a cashier. I ask for two to three minutes to help you out of the store, that's it. Put your phone away and, if you must plaster it on, plaster on a smile. If you're having a genuinely bad day and simply can't, don't take it on me.

Like, the other day, I had stepped over to another register to discuss a schedule change with somebody and to buy a water. While I was away, a gentleman came up to my register. He waited no more than 15 seconds, I know. When I got to the register and smiled and greeted him, he kinda just stared. I was like "...okay..." and finished ringing up his items and sacked them. I asked him if he had his discount card with him.

Me: Do you have your shopper card today?

Guy: No, but I'm sure you do.

Me: Well, yes, I do have mine, but I'm afraid I can't let customers use it.

Guy: And why's that?

Me: Company policy. (gestures at sign about cards and policy and stuff) I can look up your card by phone number?

Guy: I don't have time for that. First, I had to wait for you to come over here and now you're telling me I can't use your card?

Me: Yes, I'm sorry.

Guy: That's bullsh*t. Total bullsh*t.

Said guy angrily storms over to customer service. Apparently, he had time to fill out the form for a new card and get it registered. Then he came back and yelled at me about it again, shoved his cart pretty hard into the middle of the lobby (not walked with it, shoved it on it's own...) and stormed out.

Common. Courtesy.

Overall, I love my job, by the way. Just sayin'.

Okay. So. I have this fun idea. Let me know what you think, okay? I want to start doing short interviews with random people. I'm thinking maybe people in nursing homes who don't really have family. Then posting the interviews here. Sound good? Lemme know.