When someone has nothing to do....

A couple of days ago I stopped by a local bakery to pick up some bagels. There was only one other customer, an irate woman who was haranguing the clerk. It seemed the woman wasn't happy with the service she had received. "You're not answering my question! I asked you a question!!" The young lady was flustered and said, "Well, maybe you could use a different tone." The woman was obviously unhinged and irrational and I knew she wouldn't stop unless I stopped her. Without preamble, I asked, "May I get some bagels?" At that, Irate Woman turned on her heel and was out the door, where she seated herself at one of the tables outside.

"I knew she wouldn't shut up unless I said something," I told the young woman, who seemed to be almost on the verge of tears. I asked her what the woman's complaint had been. Apparently, there had been a rush of customers and she hadn't gotten the attentive service she felt she deserved. Here was something I was familiar with. "I am sure that woman has never had a job in her life," I told the clerk. She agreed. "I thought so too." I looked at the woman seated outside. Why had she been in such a hurry? She obviously had nothing else to do but sit and read a cheesy bestseller.
I had the pleasure of dealing with women (and it was mostly women) like these when I worked at a health club a few years ago. If you have never had a job, you don't know what it means to have to tend to someone else's needs and expect the same individualized service you get from your pedicurist.

One woman accused me of being RUDE to her and went to the manager. When she'd asked about a class, I'd pointed out the schedule and suggested she look at it. Apparently, I was to go over it with her line by line. When the Manager came down to see me, I told her that I had not been rude. However, I had possibly alienated someone who could potentially be a new member and may have ten friends who could be members. I didn't say so aloud, but I was certain I had done my co-workers a huge favour by alienating this woman and frankly, doubted she had ANY friends at all, let alone ten. But I kept silent, except to say that I was sorry she thought I had been rude, but I was not going to admit to something I hadn't done.

Not for what I was paid which was not enough to bear it all with the passive, cheery smile we were constantly told would attract new customers. Being accused of rudeness seemed to be de rigeur. It had happened to everyone I worked with, most of whom I had never seen exhibit anything remotely resembling rudeness. The reasons for the complaints were no more substantial: I didn't get them a towel; I told her she had to sign up to use a machine; I told him the class was full; I asked her to wait while I served someone else.

Too much spare time and too much spare money- a bad combination.

I gave the clerk some advice on how to deal with the Woman With Nothing to Do. Say, "If you feel you weren't given optimal service, I am sorry, but we do the best we can." Just leave it at that. Don't engage, don't argue. I struck up one for the workers of the world against the Idle Rich.

Horrors on the road....

A few years ago, my ex and I headed out on a bike ride and, parked in front of the Courcelle bar (a desperate saloon in St Henri) was a car with a moosehead on its roof. We had to stop at the red light and I averted my eyes from the grisly sight until the light turned green. When we returned a few hours later, I'd forgotten about poor Mr Moose, but the car was still parked there.

There are definitely less than pleasant sights out there. Yesterday, I celebrated the fact that it wasn't raining by riding out to Beaconsfield. On Lakeshore road in Pointe Claire, I passed Stewart Hall, a cultural center that also hosts wedding receptions. On the way back I noticed they were having yet another wedding reception and had to avert my eyes. Not from a moose head or squished squirrel, but a nightmare inducing wedding party.

A few weeks ago, I stopped at Stewart Hall to use their water fountain and saw a wedding couple having their photo taken. The bride's dress was actually quite pretty. On the way home, I passed by and saw the wedding party outside for photos. And there they were: magenta-fuchsia bridesmaid dresses with pleats, similar in color to the Ciclamena jersey or the carpets in a movie theatre.

Last year I saw bridesmaids in Millenium park with maroon dresses that Catherine the Great would have worn. And this time, the poor girls were in fuchsia-cyclamen magenta with pleats that resembled a giant upside down parasol.

How on earth to brides do this to their friends? What are these girls eating before they go to bed that they dream up these colours?

Frankly, the sight of a squished squirrel is less painful.

SPLAT!

The weather has been less than ideal for cycling, but I've managed to get out when it stops raining. Last week on the bikepath to Lachine, I had the great good fortune to see the bloody aftermath of an accident. A young woman was lying on the path, bleeding from the head- not dead or unconscious, fortunately. She was not wearing rollerblades and had not been riding a bike-the likely scenario: she stepped onto the path without looking and was knocked down, probably by the rollerblader who was tending to her.

In spite of the endless invective about evil roadies who want to go more than 3 miles an hour on the bikepath (amids all the rollerbladers, dog walkers, kids, pedestrians and strollers), every accident i've seen on the path has involved a rollerblader: two (at different times) crashing into the wall of the underpass in St Henri; another collision between two bladers and a guy on a beat-up old bike (he was unconscious, wearing an ancient styrofoam helmet), and I had a minor collision with one who was showing off for his girlfriend. Neither of us was hurt.

The number of near misses is too many to count. Right after the Sunday incident, I had to yell someone out of my way-he was dazedly looking at the scenery and was wobbling int the opposite lane- my path. I yelled BEEP!!!! and he righted himself. In Lachine, near the water fountain, an 11 year old kid came charging out of the bushes on his bike and nearly smashed into me- until I yelled HEY! Watch it!
If we had collided, both of us would have been messed up, but he was unhelmeted.

That's why, as soon as I get to Lachine, I get off the path and onto the road. Cars are infinitely safer than most oblivious, Ipod wearing rollerbladers and there are no kids. Yell at me from your car all you want- the bike path on weekends is not an option.

Notes from the Continuum

Many people have asked me, "What is this Male Space time Continuum that you refer to?

This article, which appeared on a dating website, has another name for it: Predictable male Withdrawal:

Why a Man Won’t Emotionally Commit

One of the most common situations women ask me about is what I call Predictable Male Withdrawal. If you’ve had any experience with men and dating, then you already know what this is. I’ll take a second to explain exactly what this is and why it’s important…

Regarding emotional commitment, I am not terribly interested in that, not at this juncture anyway. However, we all want to know: when men (and women) withdraw (read: vanish), where do they go?

Where do they go when they vanish, never to be seen or heard from again? You had a great date and talked of meeting again. You made plans to meet but he never showed up, called or emailed. You call his cell and get no answer. He's vanished without a trace, someplace where cell phones, email or Blackberry cannot reach. Obviously, your feelings are hurt and you feel insulted- perhaps you send an email saying something like "blow me, you dickwad". He went somewhere, but where?

The Male Space Time Continuum. Like the Wizard of Oz, it's very good, but very mysterious.

This usually happens AFTER:

-they have satisfying sex and an orgasm with you

-you tell them you love them

-you tell them you like them

-you tell them you want to go out sometime

Of course, it must be a pleasant environment, if so many men go there. More pleasant than being with you. And it is. The Continuum is a giant basement with a huge bar, populated by men who walk around in boxers and t-shirts (the latter if it's winter or they want to dress up), complete with wide screen TV that receives sports channels, porn and Man TV, and booze is served 24/7 by deaf-mute, topless Hooters girls.

I dated a really nice guy who described a previous girlfriend's escape to the continuum. She vanished when SHE thought that she was getting too attached to HIM. Yes, women do vanish into the continuum- it's not sex-segregated. In fact, it's tempting for me, as I'd love the widescreen TV and sports channels. I can see myself vanishing if I were faced with a guy who, say, told me how beautiful I would look pregnant or suggested that I stop using my laundry basket as extra storage space. But the Continuum is mainly populated by those Predictable Withdrawers, alas…and women who aren't deaf mute beer servers are outnumbered and outshouted.

And scattered throughout the continuum are huge pile of those mismatched socks, sent there by dryers all over the world. So you know they aren't going to waste, as the men who live there make good use of them so they don’t' go barefoot.

Let's start on a happy note...

I just saw my upstairs neighbor's mother and pimply friend moving a bunch of stuff from the house. This after a whole year of:

-Movies in surroundsound (Registered trademark) with lots of explosions, screaming and booming.
-Videogames in surroundsound: WOW, Grand Theft Auto, Guitar Hero, and others involving lots of explosions.
- screaming girlfriend who wants the world to know she's having sex.
- jam sessions
-piano playing of the same half dozen songs including The Charlie Brown Theme, and selections from the Beatles songbook.

And all of this right over my head, with very low ceilings.

Do I sound like a bitch? try living in what sounds like a Cineplex or a giant Stomach...

Actually, last year at this time I was surrounded by 20somethings, mostly men it seemed. On the top floor lived an endless stream of changing tenants. The last group were nice enough, but made a dreadful mess. On the top floor next door was another group of 20something guys...also nice and friendly but, like a lot of young men their age, completely disgusting. Cigarette butts, beer caps and junk littered the driveway. Then they got two dogs- pitbulls of course. One was a puppy and very sweet; the other rescued from a fire. After they left, the landlord saw that they had disposed of the dog crap by putting it in plastic bags and tossing it out the window. Where it snagged in the trees. I had wondered what that stuff was.

In the basement apartment opposite mine lived another 20something guy named Matthew who looked a bit like Silent Bob but was very nice- even he couldn't stand the noise, dog crap and cigarette butts and moved out in May. A man in his 30s lives there now but I haven't seen much of him.

The Pitbull guys followed shortly after. The Perpetually Stoned tenants upstairs have been replaced by three young women. The driveway was cleaned up and all the junk disposed of. My landlady has sworn off 20something men as tenants.