I have been feeling just a little bit frustrated lately…out of sorts might be a better description. And kind of mad…at almost everyone. I mean I’m not out of control or anything, but I have been having these relatively minor, teensy little, hardly worth mentioning really, nervous breakdown thingys.
You know my mom died, and my sister and I are estranged, and the funeral was sort of a nightmare what with the melodramatic eulogy that kind of erased my whole existence, and the marching up and down the aisle with histrionic sobs and head shaking recoveries, while my family and I sat riveted in our pew and tried to be elegant by comparison ….(actually that last was rather easy) Once I turned slightly to catch the eye of a friend in a row just across and a little bit behind, and was rewarded by seeing a church full of people with their eyebrows up around their hairlines. The scene gave a whole new meaning to wide-eyed.
So I figure I am entitled to a little upset here and there. Only I seem to be having them, umm… everywhere. First it was the restaurant. We don’t have many restaurants up here and in winter they close early and business is slow. You’d think this might make them actually want to please their customers. Only this is not been the general experience. Good restaurants continue to be something we pine for from our old lives.
I wanted a little iced tea. Now I am well aware that it is winter, but did I mention that my mom DIED? Doesn’t that entitle you to some iced tea if you want it for God’s sake? I didn’t actually say this, but I did try to persuade her to bring me some iced tea. The server calmly repeated that they don’t serve iced tea in the winter. I patiently explained…(okay patient could possibly have been mistaken for condescending), that since they have tea bags and water and ice, really we could all be on the same team here. Yes, but when they serve iced tea they do it from pitchers, and they didn’t have any out because they weren’t serving iced tea, explained the slightly exasperated server. Just bring me a tea bag. And some ice. I will make it myself. She started to speak, and I may have raised my voice a little when I said PLEASE, I want hot tea and a GLASS of ice! My daughter could be seen whispering to the server and my husband left her something like a lifetime tip, and I realized that we were all acting like I was a perhaps being little bit unreasonable here. I don’t know. I just wanted the tea.
And recently I went into the bookstore. I buy literally thousands of dollars of books from this store every year. Once a salesperson slipped and told me I was their second highest customer. That may have been an exaggeration, but I am by any reasonable standard a good customer. I make special orders instead of using Amazon. I do most of my holiday shopping here. We buy books for our whole family. We are interesting eclectic readers. I am friendly, and cheerful, and never complain. Well, almost never. Well, until now I guess.
But they have taken the chairs OUT of the fiction section. Now I am a fiction reader and moreover a fiction browser. This is a real honest to God hardship. I am seriously bummed out here. I mentioned to one of the employees that I missed the chairs. Somebody bought them she said…(who buys their furniture at a bookstore) Okay so are more coming? Maybe!, she answered brightly. So, okay after a few days, I “mentioned” it again, only this time to the manager. He too told me the story of the couple who’d bought them and a whole bunch of other bookstore furniture. (I was beginning to really dislike these furniture buying people) I asked him if they were
replacing them and explained about how fiction browsers, like me, actually exactly like me, like to sit there and browse….(and buy of course was the bigger implication)…He was still smiling about the furniture buyers and fiddling with the cash register.
The owners are mainly upstairs and are rarely on the floor. So I emailed the youngest of them, and he answered with the damn story, told in funny quirky detail, about the people who bought the furniture!
Now I hang out at this bookstore quite a bit. And they don’t take tips in apology, so I am trying to behave. I am clearly not communicating effectively. They don’t seem irritated as much as amused, and clearly they do not get that I want them to decide about the chairs…and in my favor.
Yesterday I went back into the bookstore. I was feeling itchy and mad, and considering perhaps just a little screaming fit that they need some CHAIRS in the fiction section, when I went in and discovered these little fat ottomans paired together reminiscent of chairs. Only they were barely off the floor. Little leather cubes really. That barely hold my elbows let alone my bum.
What does a girl have to do around here for a chair?????