It’s finally Spring!
It was sunny today for a little while, and then it rained… but it was still above 55 degrees! I rode home from work tonight brakeless in the rain, but it was really nice. I love it when it rains and is warm enough to keep your fingers from getting numb. It was refreshing… until it started really raining and my eyes began to sting like crazy. Dayummmm! I don’t know what’s falling from the sky in this town, but it definitely is not eyeball-friendly!
I need to learn the fine art of not giving customers too much information at work. For example, this one lady came in and wanted the “Phantom of the Opera” soundtrack. So I asked her if she wanted the movie or the play version. She had no idea; it was for her niece. Thus I proceeded to tell her that they were pretty much the same, blah blah blah but the movie has an extra song Blandrew Lloyd Webber write especially for the movie (how the fuck did I even know that?!). Sometimes I just need to shut up. This lady didn’t really care; I think she just wanted to grab her CD and get out.
Sometimes it backfires, though, like when Crazy Dude #47 asked about some Herzog film, and so I showed him all the ones we had, and he went into a long tirade about the Criterion edition of Fitzcarraldo and I had to try to one-up him with my knowledge of Strozek which was stupid, because the dude was obviously a little nuts. I just hate being patronized. I always go overboard when I feel like I’m being patronized.
Ok, luckily certain parties I work with claim to be computer illiterate and will most likely never read this, but just to be sure I will refer to said person as Sparky… Sparky never trusts me to do anything. He doesn’t think I know anything, and always assigns me to “maybe help out with” things that other people are in charge of, like I’m the retarded 5-year old whose grandmother allows her to stir the cookie batter after it’s already stirred just to humor her. OK, I realize I have a major paranoia of being humored, but I definitely get more being-humored vibes from Sparky than I have from any other person I’ve worked for.
I think he’s kind of sexist. I mean, not in an awfully malignant way, just in the way that most guys are– it just doesn’t occur to them that chicks are able to do things besides paint their nails and cook scrumptious casseroles. It kind of weirds me out. If I make jokes about something other than puppies or kittens, Sparky just looks kind of shocked and doesn’t really know how to react. However, if Darryl or Cal or one of the dudes tells the exact same kind of joke, or even something more risqué (I don’t even make risqué comments at work. Can you believe it?), he thinks it’s really funny. He also spologizes if he swears (even if he says “damn” — come on! You’ve been able to say that on prime time TV since the 60s!) or mentions things like going to the bathroom (shock! horror! My tender ears can’t handle it!) .
He also makes a huge deal out of things when I accomplish anything. I mean, really. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to put a stack of trading cards away. However, the last time I did it, he was all like, “wow, you REALLY put those away! WOW! I can’t believe it!” etc. I know I’m being an ungrateful bitch. I mean, Sarah would have probably bitched about the fact that I didn’t inform her of my trading-card-putting-away methodology and then been upset that I didn’t adhere to strict trading-card-putting-away protocols etc. had I had to perform a task like that at Harvard. I probably would have gotten another closed-door this-is-why-you-suck meeting about my conduct. So, the fact that I get annoyed about being praised by an employer is pretty stupid. I realize this. Hear me out– I just feel like a puppy who didn’t shit on the rug for once. Should I be lauded for not shitting on the rug? I mean, I’m not SUPPOSED to do that? Am I making any sense?
Sparky doesn’t act like it’s a major miracle when anyone else does his or her job. I just feel like a retard. That’s the other thing– I provide 50% of the ovaries at my job. I’m the Token Straight Girl– the other chick is more manly than most of the dudes who work here–that gives her more One of the Guys status.
Bleagh. Yeah, I know it’s stupid. I should just not be so picky. I mean, Sparky is a cool guy–he’s just from a different planet than I’m from. I’m from Venus, he’s from Uranus. Ok, I didn’t mean that, I just can’t resist that stupid joke. It’s probably just as much my thing as it is his thing–I’m not exactly adept at dealing with Guys with a capital G. All the males I’ve ever had to deal with from my grandfather on down have been nerdy and/or artsy pussies who wouldn’t know what to do with a baseball if a remedial version were given to them with a detailed instruction booklet. I guess I’m not used to dealing with dudes who are actually in possession of testosterone. Maybe there’s a self-help group I can join called something like How To Interact With the Normal American Male I.e.., guys who Like Lynyrd Skynyrd: a Course For the Clueless Nerd. Lemme check the listings at the Brookline Adult Ed Center.
