Can't believe anyone actually talks to me
I sent a fella a basic "hey, howdy-do let's talk more, what's up wit choo" email and got this in return:
Subject: HIHO HIHO
"With the few exceptions (in every profession) who mask their lives in mind alternating substances, this Color Designer researches, tests, develops and consults on many design methodologies that bring to life the very ideas that hold our imagination captive! I coat the world in color and bring a new demention to way we see colors and the good feelign we associate with them. I'm a residential and commercial paint contractor. Tell me more about your welding. I have never ever met any gal who welds and likes to talk about it. You'll tell me more, won't you?"
This was my reply:
Subject: Reasons why "Hiho" is a risky greeting
"Of course I will tell you more!
Welding, for me, is a game of imprecise exactness. I learned at the shop of a large regional theater, on giant commercial welders and while building a large platform meant to convey barrels and crates onto the stage for a rustic Irish barn scene (of course).
I quickly learned that it is impossible to see with the welding mask on, and that it is impossible to weld without damaging your brain/eyes/will-to-live with the welding mask off. They taught me to aim well, quickly flip down the mask, and pull the trigger, trusting memory to guide my hand along with the dim flashes of structure that filtered through the dark glass. I also learned to move fast, but not too fast.
Holes were burnt, skin was reddened (there is a reason for the long sleeved jackets, apparently), welds were broken, eyes were burned, and eventually the platform came into being. It rolled, jigs were danced, and I did random other projects with the welder until I finally left the shop (including adapting a metal gate so that chihuahuas could not fit through the bars).
They normally tell us gals not to discuss our welding prowess until at least the 3rd anniversary, but I'm feeling risky today.
Tell me a story! Any story."
Aaaand, then there was nothing.
I still chuckle about the ho thing though.
hee hee.
Pray for me
Good God, I've started dating again.
It's taken me months to work up the nerve, and (thanks to friends and the internet) seconds to find likely fellas. Now I'm communicating with approximately 30 different men and just finished the second of my initial dates. I had a couple of guys that were disturbingly eager to meet, so I figured I would use them as warm-ups since it's been quite a while.
Wait, that makes me sound bitchy.
Normally when I'm contacted by a fella who has most-but-not-all of my list of wants and needs (a.k.a. same religion but 10 years past my limit, good match of personality but he lives in Nevada) I brush them off rather quickly, but these two were persistent despite my lack of interest and communication, so I decided that I'd give them what they wanted - a date with a woman they are attracted to but who has told them she is uninterested - and I'd use the opportunity to remember what it is like to talk with someone who isn't a close friend and hasn't had the benefit of years of inside jokes and/or quirky humor. Hence, warm-up status.
The first guy is not outdoorsy unless you count walking a golf course as a hike. He also is unsure about his religious beliefs, though he claims a general stance. We went out for pizza and talked awkwardly for a bit (lots of pauses), and called it a night fairly early despite admitting that both of us were night owls earlier in conversation and would likely be awake for long after. I don't think I laughed once, and drank my glass of wine in record time. My favorite moment was when we were discussing roommates and he said that he hated giving up any of his alone time, and that he needed complete privacy when he came home from work. I looked up and raised an eyebrow while he gave his anti-people diatribe, wondering how on earth he was ever going to handle a wife and children, and felt a distinct cooling in the temperature of our previously-cozy booth. His rant continued and I felt like I was personally imposing on his private time, almost scooting towards the door in a subconscious attempt to give him what he so desperately seemed to need. When the date ended he gave me a friendly back-rub and asked for another. The sick part of me that simultaneously thinks "Maybe I'm misunderstanding him" and "He's probably more relaxed in a different environment" said yes before I could think it through properly, and the other section of my brain that constantly is saying "Well, at least I'll probably get a good story out of it" gave a silent cheer.
The second guy took me to lunch today and when I asked him about his (seemingly interesting) job, he sighed and said "yeah, everyone wants to know about that. It's a common line of questioning. I kind of get sick of talking about it sometimes." Then he proceeded to talk about nothing else for the better part of an hour! The few times we talked about things in my life, he asked me about other places I'd lived and what I hadn't liked about them. Not wanting to seem negative, I tried to highlight the good parts (Texas has good salsa! Chehalis is... quiet!) but he kept digging until I was forced to expound on my views. I did the talk-really-fast-about-unpleasant-things-then-change-the subject routine, but he was like a bulldog. I tried cracking jokes, diverting with talk of the weather, considered breaking into a little soft-shoe, but nothing worked. I just got the blow-off "let's be friends" e-mail from that one, and frankly I'm relieved.
I wish there was a way to send "let's just be friends" out to the world, but technology isn't quite there yet. I guess I have to continue with my 1-Man-at-a-time plan.
Sigh.
Dear Diary
A friend loaned me a new book to read that chronicles the diary entries of a woman from age 11 to 25 or so, showing her journey from popular girl to outcast to raver to drug addict ("Dear Diary" by Lesley Arfin). Oh, and then she goes to rehab and writes the book so yay for semi-happy, not-quite-as-depressing endings! She also writes updates after each diary entry where she either clarifies what was going on or tracks down the people involved for an interview. All that in order to say that it was/is a good book and an example of an interesting exercise in personal memoir theory, and that it totally inspired me to pull out my earliest diaries and see if anything in my life was remotely book-worthy.
Short answer: No. I have never been interested in drugs and didn't start drinking until college, and even that has never really gotten me into too much trouble. Most of what I wrote about in my early diaretical years (15+, apparently I didn't have the urge to write much of anything besides odd dreams through junior high) was about what I happened to do that day and boys.
Long answer: Maybe, but solely a screenplay for what would be an excellent soap opera or telenovela! I had forgotten just how incestual and convoluted the dating world in a small town can be, and how awful it was to try to fight the women there for the few men that could be considered boyfriend-worthy. Here's an example from my own dating history, with names adjusted to protect any future I might have in politics.
The players are:
(Female) = Myself, Sis, and K (a pretty, young, blonde thing).
(Male) = Batchelors #1, 2, and 3.
Batchelor #1 was my first real boyfriend (after an attempt at dating another guy that lasted all of a month, between Homecoming and the Christmas Ball. We never talked and I'm not even sure we were really dating) and what I considered to be the love of my teenage life. We were the most sickening sort of couple for months, until the fateful day when I tried to make conversation by saying that Batchelor #3 (who was a friend of mine, NOT with benefits or anything like that, just a friend) was having problems with his girlfriend K, and that I was worried about him. This led to 1 cheating on me with what I in my diary called a "totally UGLY" girl named Heidi (in supposed retaliation for what he assumed was my cheating on HIM with Batchelor #3), who he then cheated on with another girl. I wasn't supposed to know this, so I acted surprised when he broke up with me and agreed to be "just friends" while secretly planning to stab him in his sleep. After Heidi dumped him, Sis asked him to her Prom, and he accepted. They had a lovely time (the pictures are wonderful, he in his mullet and 80's clothes, her with her teased hair and ruffles). Since I was unable to stab him with my sibling in the way, apparently I gave up and we later dated for another month before I broke up with him for showing cheater-like behavior (again, staying "just friends" and not giving anything like the real reason for the breakup. Hey, I was 15). Sis remained good friends with him for years. He now attends my parent's church with his family and makes my few hesitant visits there every year painstakingly AWKWARD.
Batchelor #2 was my second real boyfriend, though he'd been on a couple dates with Sis before we hooked up. Our relationship was pointless and meandering, and it was almost a relief to find out that he had been cheating on me with K (yes, Batchelor #3's K) and then break up. The day after the breakup he went on a date with Sis, though their relationship (as far as I knew) was mercifully brief. Later, K dated his little brother. He's now married, kids, etc. etc.
Batchelor #3 was the guy that I SHOULD have been dating all of this time, but we were actually for-reals "just friends", and good ones at that. He was a natural counselor and needed to be, with all of my insane dating tales. He also was a total push-over where K was concerned, and had his heart stomped on for a long time by Batchelor #2 and others. We did end up dating a bit a couple years after Batchelor #1 suspected me of infidelity, but #3 wanted to marry and settle down and I preferred college and the wandering path. He's also now married, kids (probably), no contact, etc.
So in summary,
#1 = friends with Sis, friends with me, involved with me, involved with others (simultaneously with me), involved with Sis, "friends" with me, involved with me, then lost to the great unknown (but not really far enough for my tastes). K was not in the picture (he was from another school, or I'm sure she would have been)
#2 = friends with Sis, friends with me, involved with Sis, involved with me, involved with K (simultaneously with me), "friends" with me, involved with Sis, his bro involved with K.
#3 = friends with Sis, friends with me, involved with K (simultaneously with #2), friends with me, involved with me, then lost. Thank God he was never involved with Sis or I think my head would have exploded.
Anyone else feel like they need a bar graph or pie chart or something? Later on, they all went to college at the same place and became good friends. For reals.
In Sis's defense, though it seems like she was all over my boyfriends I have to emphasize that we never dated anyone at the same time, though we did get awfully close. Also, as I mentioned before the pickings were slim, and she was kind enough to let me hang out with her friends (she knew these guys before I did) and tag along to many a movie, dance, or party. I appreciated her social training very much in those years, being a shy little butterfly coming into high school. She's gone very far in her man selection since then, and her current husband is not only, like, 200 times cuter than these guys but he's also a lot of fun and a good father to their collection of children.
Another discovery I made was this paragraph (please pardon the 15-year-old continuing boycraziness):
"Ya know, I really want a boyfriend. After I put Sis's diary back (older JB edit – I didn't read it! I found it, but couldn't go through with the peeking even though this was after Batch #1 and I broke up and she was going out with him), I still couldn't sleep. So, I got dressed, put on a blanket and went out to look at the stars. They were gorgeous (old JB – one benefit of a small town life is no light pollution). If I ever get married my husband will have to love looking at the stars. Tonight was the perfect night for two people to cuddle up and just look away and soak up their brilliance. Of course, when you're alone it isn't recommended because you end up remembering how safe you felt in his arms, and how much you want him to be there with you. I still need to decide who "he" is. The people I feel the best around are [Batchelor #3] and [Batchelor #1]. However, I can't have either one of them. See my dilemma? Dad did. He's so sweet. He came out with me and we talked for a while. He's really worried about me, I can tell. I would say "no need", but I don't really know if that's true yet. When I marry I wish my husband is as caring and kind as dad was tonight."
He braved a very late night (my parents rarely stay up past 9, I'm sure this was after midnight), a very light-sleeping and potentially grumpy wife, and certain overwrought teenage angst to sit on the deck and talk to me about love. To say I appreciated it would be the understatement of the decade. He is without a doubt the main reason that I continue to believe in the dream of finding a good man.
End of an era
I'm not sure when the fascination begain, but once I'd picked up the first book back in 1998-99 I was instantly hooked. After trying to recommend it to my sister (and her children) multiple times and being rebuked for peddling witchcraft (though she has since seen the light), I was content to loan the first book out to every friend I had to try to spread the geeky love that was beginning to grow in my heart. The next book increased the complexity, and with each new release I was more and more convinced of both the author's skill and the depth of the world that she had created. I finally found a cohort in college in '04, and we have since spent possibly hours discussing plot points and hypothesizing wildly about the very final volume, which was released early this past Saturday morning (and finished by both of us later that same day).
Yes, I'm a big Harry Potter nerd.
After calling to reserve weeks prior, pretty much our entire weekend was taken up by this little collection of words on paper. Both of us avoided any media source that even hinted at giving spoilers, and woke up quite early on Friday to line up for wristbands that gave a letter grouping for later that evening. We were in the first two groups, which meant that we'd hopefully be among the first to crack the cover, but then we had to return to the store that evening for the festivities and yet more lines. There were loads of children, loads of teens (in costume) and enough adults that it was difficult to walk through the 3-level store. We took advantage of their promotional activities with no shame (ah, the bravado given by cocktails and anticipation) and got ourselves little baggies with "magic" rocks and a scrap of parchment declaring ourselves members of Dumbledore's Army (though my stunning spell only works when I actually hit people). Also, we ended up with glow-in-the-dark round glasses and a perfect score on the trivia game.
Finally it was time to break off into our groups, and M went to one end of the store while I held down the other. I was in the first section of the line, behind a tiny little nervous man who was holding spots for his teenage children and before a group of young college kids who had a video camera and some costumes (I believe most of them were Ravenclaws). Luckily, I was near a column so I leaned lazily and watched the crowd, doing my typical "which house do they belong in?" mental excercise (I feel that I'm quite accurate. One of the "Ravenclaws" behind me should have totally been a Hufflepuff). Then my entire body started sweating and the heat felt out of control. I was standing near a door that was open to the cool night air, so I took off my hoodie and turned toward the breeze. I texted M that I felt sick and suddenly felt incredibly nauseous. As I was leaning over to try to improve circulation to my head, my ears quickly felt as though they filled with cotton and my last clear thought was "...oh dear". Then I woke up on the floor with a wide array of little people, Death Eaters, and faux-Ravenclaws staring at me anxiously. The nervous man went into hyperdrive and got me a chair and some water, and I sat red-faced, explaining that I didn't want to go outside (particularly not with only 5 minutes remaining!) and that I felt a lot better, thank you. I remembered that my coffee of that evening was the first caffiene of any kind I'd had in over 2 months, and that perhaps I shouldn't have ordered what WAS my typical double shot of espresso. Buoyed up by my fellow line-members, I finally made it to the register at 12:03 a.m. and held the orange-covered brick-of-a-book in my hands (seriously, it's like 760 pages). I went to find M and started reading as I walked, then drove home (not reading, though it was a struggle) and kept reading until 4 a.m., when my face hit the book and I decided to call it a night. I woke up again at 10 and stayed curled on the couch until 4 p.m., not moving except to grab more tissue and occasionally stop to reassure the dogs that nothing was wrong (they don't "get" fiction). Finally, after the last page was turned, I was able to reenter the living and realize that I really, REALLY had to go to the bathroom and that my stomach had been growling for probably the last three hours.
It's been years since I have so completely lost myself in a book, much less an entire series of books, and for that I'm eternally grateful to J.K. Rowling. She's given me weeks of excellent-quality entertainment and I can't wait for the day when I'm able to share that with my nephew and nieces (they're a little young for the scary factor, still) and I still delight in loaning all my books to friends.
And for one little last bit of Harry randomness, here are some texts from the past couple of months:
J: (trying to figure out how best to get book) I just want the words. Dont need actual spells and gadgets
J: (frustrated by bookstores) Is not funny is trauma! I weep non magic tears
J: (found it) I am calling them now. Will start making wizard hat tonight
M: Im still wrkin on my sorting hat
J: Am reserved! How long to find a good wand, you think?
J: Was just going to walk in the woods until a stick called to me
M: Stick talker
J: Dont hate. We have a special bond
M: Sorting hat sorts!
J: (pirate + wizard = ) Arrbacadabra!
M: New theory: snape dies
M: He good just dies savin harry
M: 2: both harry and voldy die
J: I think they meld into a cyborg
M: Cpt kirk dies
J (after getting book) Crying like a baby here
M: Ditto
Fun with arson
Last night I was getting ready to go out with friends when out of nowhere the dogs started whining at the door. I assumed that their car had pulled up (sensitive hearing is a great doorbell) and grabbed my jacket and went outside. There was no car (sensitive hearing isn't always an accurate doorbell) but the night was clear and warm, so I grabbed my phone to harass the latecomers and decided to go for a stroll.
Smoke wafted through the air and I thought to myself what a great night it was for a barbecue. Then I turned and saw a dark column and thought to myself, "either that's a helluva barbecue or someone's having a bonfire". Then my brain finally clicked. People don't have bonfires in the city. I jogged to the end of my cul-de-sac and looked at the source of the smoke, which ended up being a new addition to a house just a few down from mine. I quickly hung up with my friends and called 911, sure that others HAD to have noticed the growing smoke column (now punctuated by sparks as the fire feasted on the exposed plywood and studs of the addition).
The operator picked up and I calmly said I wanted to report a house fire (again, assuming that I was the 5th or more to do so). She got the info and immediately transferred me over to the fire department. I heard sirens right away, and directed them to the house, which now had giant flames lapping up its side. The operator was flustered and kept pressing me for more and more info, asking my name and address and then asking for the address of the house that was on fire. I realized that I must be the first one, and told her that I was behind the house, and the sidewalk next to it now had flames going across it so there was no way I could get to the front and read the numbers. I gave all the landmarks around us and the street number, hoping that was enough. By the time I finished describing the area the trucks had arrived, on the front and rear streets, and the firefighters dragged hose past me and started going to work. The operator was yelling at me, asking which street the fire was on and I tried to tell her that the firefighters were already there. I got flustered, and told her the street I lived on instead of the street facing the fire, but it didn't matter in the end. She asked if there were any people around and I told her that I saw a guy earlier but that he looked like one of the people who lived there (totally shellshocked expression, kind of wandering around). She asked if anyone was around taking pictures and looking suspicious, but EVERYONE was taking pictures of that inferno (now it was up and over the roof, threatening the home next door). My neighbors were yelling for their kids and I saw sparks heading in the direction of my house. The operator hung up on me and I ran home to meet my upstairs neighbors already in the backyard, getting the hose in working order. He was watering the grass (where we saw most of the sparks falling) but I quickly educated him in the basic laws of fire (a.k.a. green things don't burn right away, dry things do) and had him wet down our roof, the wood shed's roof, and what we could reach of our neighbor's.
We stood in the smoke, watching the house go up and silently praying that it didn't spread too far. My neighborhood is not wealthy, and most houses contain multiple families. My friends called again and told me they were parked a little ways away (trying to avoid all the police and fire vehicles that were now swarming my street). They still wanted to go and wanted to know if I was game. Looking at the still-blazing inferno surrounded by 6 firetrucks and multiple police cars, I knew that any danger was likely past and headed out to meet my friends, stopping by a police car on the way to say hello and make sure that they didn't need any more info from me.
I
still smell like smoke even after a shower, and found out this morning that the fire is thought to be part of a string of arsons around the south Seattle area. The operator was flustered because this was the fourth fire to be called in for our area that night (which also explains why the trucks got there so fast). A little scary, but that's modern life. Check out any of the main Seattle news agencies to see photos of the blaze (www.komotv.com has a nice video up right now).
The art of the barter
Chichicastenango is a wonderful little town in southeastern Guatemala that puts on a helluva show every Thursday and Sunday. Its market is enormous and has established the town as one of the largest Mayan trading centers in the area.
We were able to spend only one day there, but it was long enough to turn even the meekest tourist into a hardened, stubborn bartering machine. Our bus ride down was spent making sure that all in our group knew the Spanish way to say "ooh, that's too expensive", "how about half that price?" and "I saw it cheaper elsewhere", but many were sure they wouldn't be able to use them. Things changed as we pulled into our parking place and 50+ young girls with armloads of colorful merchandise swarmed the bus.
I stepped out, a woman on a mission (I was shopping for many gifts, in addition to helping my friend stock her shop) and blew past the girls with smiles and many "no, gracias"s. Most of them found new targets, but one girl who was about 11-12 years old took that as a challenge. "Mi amiga!" became "Mi amiiiiiiiga!", which became "Mi am-EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-ga!" as she tried to interest me in her kitchen magnets. She followed me down the aisles of the market, and I continued to inform her (in Spanish) that I was very glad that she was my friend, but that I didn't want any magnets and if she was a true friend, she wouldn't try to make me buy them. We had a cheerful banter going that got more and more ridiculous, until I was claiming that I didn't have a kitchen while she frantically waved a knitted chicken teapot cover. Finally she found some hairbands in her bag of goodies that folded out to kerchiefs that were really cute, and I was actually interested (this was probably a good hour after she'd started tailing me, and the "Amiga" now stretched out for 5 minutes and she had to take a breath in the middle). She offered them for 20 Quetzales (local currency, named after a bird, that equals about 7.5 Quetzales to 1 US dollar) and I said I'd like the "special friend" price of 5 Quetzales. She told me all about how she needed to buy food, school, clothing, and that 20 was already the "friend" price (smiling all the while - she was good! Also well fed, dressed prettily, and smart). I shrugged and wandered on, filling my arms with textiles, sculptures, and ceramics at amazing deals (the trick = take the price they offer, halve it, subtract a bit and start there. Expect to end up around 60% of the original gringo price. If you buy more than 1 of the item, offer more like 40%). After another 1/2 hour we agreed on 5 Quetzales and I took a couple of them. My friend from the group overheard the price and bought 4 on the spot (mi amiga didn't like that so much but Quetzales are Quetzales). She then tried to reinterest me in the magnets but I gave her a tip and a hug and sent her on her way.
Another little girl came by later on as I was bartering with a shopkeeper for some woven purses. She was wrapping them up and I noticed the tiny little kid (she looked about 6 but had to have been older) with her baby brother tied to her back with a large cloth. She said "only 1 Quetzale!" and I turned to her and decided to have some fun. I didn't even glance at what she was holding out to me, but instead replied "Only 1 Quetzale for the baby? That's really cheap!" Her eyes got big and she giggled and started to protest but I kept going. "You really should charge more. It's a cute baby! I don't think I want one though..." (I smiled at the baby and it smiled back) "...you could get at least 50 Quetzales, I think, but I don't know how I would get it home. Babies are kind of messy and big, and my luggage is pretty full already. Sorry, I'm going to have to pass on this but you should really reconsider your price." She was laughing so hard that the baby strapped to her started to giggle too. Soundly defeated in her sales pitch, she waved and disappeared into the crowd.
The longest barter of the day came when I stepped into a woodworking shop and spied a carved hardwood shrimp-type creature. It was really well done, and the woods were beautiful. I didn't need it, so when the shopkeeper noticed by interest and offered me a high price I told him that while I thought it was pretty, I didn't want it. He followed me out the shop door and offered 100 Quetzales lower. I told him that I'd only pay a price that was about 1/3rd of what he originally offered, intending to make him give up on my cheap US behind and go on to his other customers. He said he couldn't do it and I left to shop elsewhere. Hours later when we were returning to the bus I happened to wander by his shop again and he came running out, agreeing to my price! I was amazed that he recognized me (yes, there were other gringos there) and that he'd go down that low, but I couldn't refuse now that he'd called me on my offer. I got him to throw in a t-shirt (hey, once you start with the barter it's hard to stop) and am now the proud owner of the best-made hardwood lobster/shrimp/?? creation in all of the northwest region. Guaranteed.
It may sound counterintuitive, but I've found that the bartering process actually allows me to be more sensitive, make a closer connection, and to feel even more like I'm supporting the shop owner than just going in and paying a fixed price. It's part of the culture of Chichicastenango (and the surrounding areas) and it personalizes purchasing and is built into the economy. I would never attempt it up here (I'm not even a coupon cutter!) but in the right context it really does add another layer to what otherwise is a purely commercial endeavor.
AAH-chkkkj
I have many stories about the past 2 1/2 weeks (spent in Guatemala and Belize) but I've got to start with the most random. Placido, our hotel concierge, was incredibly happy that we were going to be visiting the Mayan ruins of Tikal on one of the most holy days (20th day of the 20th month in the 20th year of a cycle) and to celebrate he used his research texts to figure out our Mayan astrological signs and the accompanying predictions.
Without further ado, here is my Mayan chart with translations by the lovely Maria (who was tired and might have skipped parts and was giggling the whole time):
13 IMOX
AAJ
TZ'IKIN / IMOX / KEEJ
TOOJ
(all of those mean things, I'm sure)
Notes:
"Unusual life and personality, strange. Crazy. People think you're crazy. Strong relationship with animals above and below the water, especially with whales and dolphins. Strong bonds with them, grand capacity to recieve messages, spiritual brotherhood. Paranormal development is extraordinary, good intuition. Pay lots of attention so things can turn out better. Will have lots of vision, will grow and will torment you.
Revelation of dreams (in dreams) is constant to understand messages, translate the code (from the whales and dolphins?). Order and seriousness can cause craziness (NOT crazy in the head). Eccentric, do a lot of unusual things. Keeps me conveniently social, will relax my head in love, can bring me into a really serious person. Will give security in life, others will recognize merit. Lot of fortune, make sure I don't only confide in good luck, might suffer a good back side.
Right hemisphere brings luck and fortune in business and will let me love comfortably. Help romantically, will sometimes be insensible. Left hemisphere is commanded by the sign of KEEJ. Will give sensibility, will help with difficult situations and places, will give rapid mind. Very useful to solve the problems you get into. Be careful with liquor and drugs because apparently you have no control of them. They can trap you and cost you a lot. Sex is another weakness (debilitating), need to learn to control it. Destiny and orientation of your life is to pay your unhappiness, various times something can retard you. It can be really good for you, protection, it can be an internal cost (unintelligible scribble here) because of that it's convenient that you make spiritual offers and also inform material people who really need help."
The only real outcome from this was that I was saying AAJ every five seconds for over an hour (AAAAAjjjhh) and bugging the hell out of people. Everytime someone else would mention it I'd be on my AAJ kick again (glassy-eyed, drooling... I just said it again and it still makes me happy for some unknown reason). I also tried to communicate with dolphins and whales when I was diving in Belize but all I saw were sharks and a giant sea turtle, and apparently my powers don't transfer over to them quite as well.
Dear Mr. Man,
My aunt and I braved the Swedish modern wilderness (swmonderness?) that is IKEA yesterday, and were highly excited to see a handicapped spot near the entrance. You see, my aunt isn't able to walk more than about 25-30 feet nowadays and therefore relies on a scooter (a sweet, 4WD scooter that can lap me even when I'm really moving - my aunt has a good sense of humor and an agile joystick hand), and that scooter takes some extra space to be able to leave her vehicle on its special motorized crane-thingy. Normally we don't have any issues finding good handicapped parking but IKEA is its own mega beast and even though they have 2 rows of dedicated spots, they were very full and a line of waiting vehicles snaked out of the building. We were waiting for another car to move so we could pull her minivan into the coveted spot, and you swept in from the wrong way in a one-way and stole it with your shiny SUV.
My aunt said "Huh, maybe their handicapped sticker is on the other side of the car." I took a look at your early 20's-aged punk ass and your similarly non-limping friend, realized what was happening, and rolled my window down. "Hey guys, I have a woman here with a scooter who really needs a spot like this. All the other ones are taken, can we have it?" Said with the right intonation (a little sugar, a little acid underneath, a lot of "you know you just got totally busted, healthy boy"), it was very effective. You sputtered that you worked there and were just running in to get something, but if I wanted to pull around again you'd move for us. I knew you were lying, so we continued to search (plus, to "pull around" in the IKEA parking garage takes approximately 20 minutes and sprouts dense thickets of grey hair) and managed to find another handicapped spot farther away on the next row over.
By the time we got her scooter out and headed towards the entrance, we saw that your SUV was firmly in place and you were nowhere to be seen. My aunt is a generally very chipper person and was just thrilled to be out and shopping with me (we have a good friendship and have been close since I was born) so I didn't let it bug me too much that you had shown yourself to be such a typical, selfish, ignorant a-hole (all right, so it did bug me). Then I noticed that a man in a dark blue outfit was paying close attention to your windshield, and I started to laugh. My aunt asked me what was up, and I told her to wait until we got around the corner of the row of cars. She cracked up when she saw the cop car parked directly behind your vehicle with flashers on and officer in the process of entering your info into his computer.
"Oh, I gotta do this..." she said, and zipped out into the lane in her scooter towards the cop car. She reached the window and waited for the officer to see her, then once it rolled down she beamed her hugest smile and said "THANK YOU!!!!!" They chatted for a bit (I was slow to catch up, being non-motorized) and when we went into the store she said that the cop was writing a lovely $250 fine to thank you for your parking generosity.
Her smile lasted for hours, so I'd like to express my appreciation to you for giving my aunt an opportunity to see a little justice in action. For future reference, she did say that if you really wanted to use her parking spaces without getting tickets, she'd be happy to trade her bum legs for your fully working ones anyday. She's generous like that.
