I hate the post office. Every time I have a day full of errands to run, the post office is inevitably involved. I always save it for last, thinking that it won't be as bad as I remember, but it is. And it's always worse. I'm writing this blog from the post office (I'll post it later), and I think I might actually be in hell. Here's why:
1. There is a crying baby. He alternates between crying and joyously pulling off and replacing his spiderman bandaid. I can see from 5 people back that there is pus on his finger. I find this disgusting, but the elderly woman filling out her hold mail form keeps playing with him. Clearly she is too old to see that there is an oozing, throbbing pustule on the boy's index finger. Blind Broad also doesn't seem to notice that the line in front of her is moving. This really bothers me, just like how it bothers me when people don't scoot their cars up all the way at an intersection. Even though the line is 10 miles long, I still would feel a lot better if she just moved up so the construction worker behind me would stop grunting at the weight of the box he is carrying. Every time I turn my head slightly to indicate that his overexertion is irritating me, I see his knees buckling and I worry he'll fall forward and kill me.
2. There is a mentally retarded asian teenager in the front of the line. I feel really bad for him because he's alone and quite helpless, but he's holding up the line! All boxes are supposed to be taped before they reach the counter. There's a large sign emphasizing this rule but of course no one has read it. No one wants to cross the teen, seeing as he has currently covered a large portion of his torso in priority mail tape. He is repeatedly scraping his forearms along the counter to try and remove it while simultaneously flinging his body in every cardinal direction.
3. Despite there being more people than the entire construction crews of every Extreme Makeover: Home Edition episode combined, there is only one employee working the counter. While there are 4 other visible employees in the back, I can't understand why one of them, clad head to toe in a muted, subtle fuschia, is walking down the line asking everyone what they're at the post office for. This doesn't help anyone. It only helps me think of more reasons why I want to scream.
4. There is an automated postal center for a reason. It means do it yourself, and it is in fact the most self explanatory machine ever. So why is there a man hovering over every person there asking them what zip code it is when the machine is already asking that? Why is he not behind the counter helping the woman who resembles Tess from Touched by an Angel?
5. Tess. She's moving at a glacial pace, which normally thrills me, but seriously, she could not possibly be more of a sloth. I understand that she doesn't want to be here any more than I do, but it's her job, and she has to do it. There is literally no more room left in the line and it is now going out the door.
6. There is a lovely Chinese couple in front of me speaking in loud, rapid Mandarin. It appears they're arguing over how to spell the word "jacket" on the Customs form that Fuschia Franny decreed they fill out. I don't know if it's them or Construction Carl behind me, but someone smells rank, and I'm not pleased. Tess from Touched by an Angel has just informed the woman that she must have her jacket in the box and taped by the time she reaches the counter. I'm only one person away from freedom, and the woman can't speak english, so she takes all of the stuff out of the box and places it on top of the box and smiles. I don't understand. Tess asked her if her box weighed over 4 pounds, which was a stupid question seeing as I'm pretty sure they use the Metric System or like jade stones to weigh stuff in China. Naturally, she doesn't understand this either, and I'm starting to feel sorry for her, so I just pop her stuff back in the box and hand her some tape. She almost snarls at me, which is nice to see when you help someone.
It's finally my turn, and NOW of all times, a new employee comes to help Tess. Wow, awesome. I'm never coming back here again, unless of course my time has come to leave this earth and Tess comes to take me home to Jesus.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Wednesday, September 24, 2008
Eyebrows
A couple of years ago, my half indian friend introduced me to the brilliance and wonderment that is the art of eyebrow threading. While it is, essentially, the act of hair being forcefully yanked out of some of the most sensitive skin on your body, threading makes your brows look fantastic. That is, once you get past the first day when your eyebrows look like a gay man's.
I'm writing this blog directly from this salon in a place I like to call India, which consists of a shopping center containing Indian clothing stores, Bombay Chinese cuisine, and a vegetarian restaurant, and it wouldn't be complete without the ever-popular TJ Maxx and Party City, garrisoned on either end of the strip mall.
India has recently been renovated, and it looks simply stunning. Gone are the days of yellowing floors and fraying wicker furniture. Oh no siree, they've upgraded to a new formica floor in some sort of mottled pattern that is supposed to look like marble. Elegant white stone pedestals draped in ornate plastic roses give the room classic Athenian feel. And the smell? Lysol Lovely.
The best part about the waiting room in India is the 50 inch, 9,000 pound television that is constantly playing the latest in Middle Eastern soap operas. Right now, there are two heavily made-up women abusing a crying child and undoubtedly inducing shaken baby syndrome, Bollywood style, lighting up the screen. This is only mildly disturbing, given the previous scene of several men dressed in traditional women's garb dancing through a marketplace and occasionally hitting a meek beauty, laughing more uproariously with each smack.
My eyes are wandering, and I begin to read the Salon and Accessories Menu. Keep in mind that there are no accessories of any kind listed on said menu, unless you count accessories to the crime of misspelling. Threading. It appears one can get a full face threading for only $10.00. For an added fee, one can have one's neck dehaired also. This is only offered for women. Women with beards, apparently. There is only one service for men, and that is an eyebrow thread. A full or half stomach wax is also available. If you're going to wax your stomach, I really don't know why you wouldn't go through with the whole thing. Hair and make-up is also available, including "bridle" make-up for a cool $125. I'm perplexed. I was unaware that horse mouthpieces and accompanying harnesses really required all that much make-up, but I guess I was wrong. Horses can be so sensitive about their looks. The bottom of the menu says "Your Satisfaction is Our Success." I understand the message they're trying to send, but it still doesn't make that proclamation roll of the tongue any easier. Not to mention that I don't believe they care if I'm satisfied or not, seeing as the heavyset woman largely resembling Roz from Monsters, Inc. who mans the register hates me. She hates me more if I compliment her, I don't know why.
The other threaders are eyeing me anxiously. They know that I'm waiting for my usual torturer who never messes up my eyebrows and always mentions any and all pimples for no apparent reason other than to call more attention to them than is already being done by the heaps of concealer I have subtly covering the geysers. They can stare all they want, I am waiting for my threader. Call me sentimental, but I just couldn't stand to peek out with one eye at anyone else besides her in her red chunky Tommy Hilfiger sweater that I may have owned in 6th grade. I was really into wearing the most exclusive designers back then. Today, she's wearing a baby blue lycra tee proudly emblazoned with "Banana Republic". She's such a fashion trailblazer. Lifetime should make a movie about her next, it would be way better than the Coco Chanel Story, even though I watched that twice.
She just finished doing my eyebrows, and they look just as I want them to: partly homosexual and raw around the edges. Look out, world, here I come.
I'm writing this blog directly from this salon in a place I like to call India, which consists of a shopping center containing Indian clothing stores, Bombay Chinese cuisine, and a vegetarian restaurant, and it wouldn't be complete without the ever-popular TJ Maxx and Party City, garrisoned on either end of the strip mall.
India has recently been renovated, and it looks simply stunning. Gone are the days of yellowing floors and fraying wicker furniture. Oh no siree, they've upgraded to a new formica floor in some sort of mottled pattern that is supposed to look like marble. Elegant white stone pedestals draped in ornate plastic roses give the room classic Athenian feel. And the smell? Lysol Lovely.
The best part about the waiting room in India is the 50 inch, 9,000 pound television that is constantly playing the latest in Middle Eastern soap operas. Right now, there are two heavily made-up women abusing a crying child and undoubtedly inducing shaken baby syndrome, Bollywood style, lighting up the screen. This is only mildly disturbing, given the previous scene of several men dressed in traditional women's garb dancing through a marketplace and occasionally hitting a meek beauty, laughing more uproariously with each smack.
My eyes are wandering, and I begin to read the Salon and Accessories Menu. Keep in mind that there are no accessories of any kind listed on said menu, unless you count accessories to the crime of misspelling. Threading. It appears one can get a full face threading for only $10.00. For an added fee, one can have one's neck dehaired also. This is only offered for women. Women with beards, apparently. There is only one service for men, and that is an eyebrow thread. A full or half stomach wax is also available. If you're going to wax your stomach, I really don't know why you wouldn't go through with the whole thing. Hair and make-up is also available, including "bridle" make-up for a cool $125. I'm perplexed. I was unaware that horse mouthpieces and accompanying harnesses really required all that much make-up, but I guess I was wrong. Horses can be so sensitive about their looks. The bottom of the menu says "Your Satisfaction is Our Success." I understand the message they're trying to send, but it still doesn't make that proclamation roll of the tongue any easier. Not to mention that I don't believe they care if I'm satisfied or not, seeing as the heavyset woman largely resembling Roz from Monsters, Inc. who mans the register hates me. She hates me more if I compliment her, I don't know why.
The other threaders are eyeing me anxiously. They know that I'm waiting for my usual torturer who never messes up my eyebrows and always mentions any and all pimples for no apparent reason other than to call more attention to them than is already being done by the heaps of concealer I have subtly covering the geysers. They can stare all they want, I am waiting for my threader. Call me sentimental, but I just couldn't stand to peek out with one eye at anyone else besides her in her red chunky Tommy Hilfiger sweater that I may have owned in 6th grade. I was really into wearing the most exclusive designers back then. Today, she's wearing a baby blue lycra tee proudly emblazoned with "Banana Republic". She's such a fashion trailblazer. Lifetime should make a movie about her next, it would be way better than the Coco Chanel Story, even though I watched that twice.
She just finished doing my eyebrows, and they look just as I want them to: partly homosexual and raw around the edges. Look out, world, here I come.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Lost in Translation
Every time I venture to a foreign country (and/or 5 minutes away from campus and end up in either Mexico, India, or Sudan), I always notice the often mistaken English language translations. I'm pretty sure everyone has noticed this, the same as mostly everyone notices when something on a dinner menu is spelled incorrectly at a restaurant (i.e. Braised Pork with Sweat Potatoes). Here are just a few things I have recorded in my brain or sometimes a tiny notebook because my memory is crowded:
1) Angus Meet Balls. This was on a menu in Puerto Vallarta to describe spaghetti bolognese. I was unaware that Angus had to actually meet Balls.
2) Jingle's Bells. My senior year of high school, I went with 4 boys to a Theravada Buddhist temple for a world religions project. We figured we'd stay for 30 minutes or so and then leave, but no. They made us gift baskets that they tempted us with if we converted (it was difficult to resist the strong pull of a large, multi-colored streamer and several cakes that appeared to be made out of a crude mixture of play-doh and dead ducks). They fed us "lunch packs", also known as apple juice boxes. They told our fortunes to us, which was nice for the guys until I got one that said I am as dried up as the roots of an old tree and will grow old alone and bitter. And finally, they asked us if we would join them in a round of Christmas carols (it was October), starting with the old classic "Jingle's Bells", accompanied by Pancho, yes, Pancho, the Theravada Buddhist monk, on the bongos and myself on the tambourine. The lyrics were written on a dry erase board and said: "Jingle's Bells, Jingle's Bells, Jingle's got a way. Over what fun it is to drive a one horse open hay. Hay!"
3) Chicken Pepe Will Play With Your Children. I saw this sign in Mehico as an advertisement for a playplace at a fast food restaurant called Chicken Pepe's. I guess it meant that the mascot was in the playplace waiting to goof off with your kids, but frankly, I wouldn't really let my children go into an area where a middle-aged man dressed as a chicken would play with them.
4) "Piece of chicken". A friend of mine is a personal trainer and was teaching this asian lady how to work the leg press. When asked if the weight was too heavy, the lady replied "No, it's easy! Piece of chicken!" I think she might have meant piece of cake. We may never know.
5) Special cocktails for the ladies with nuts. I saw this sign outside a Korean bar in Hawaii. I believe it was intended to say that there were special prices for women AND there were nuts at the bar. But you never can be sure.
I'll post more of these later, I just wanted to go ahead and write down the few that I can remember before I forget. Have a nice day and don't go near Chicken Pepe.
1) Angus Meet Balls. This was on a menu in Puerto Vallarta to describe spaghetti bolognese. I was unaware that Angus had to actually meet Balls.
2) Jingle's Bells. My senior year of high school, I went with 4 boys to a Theravada Buddhist temple for a world religions project. We figured we'd stay for 30 minutes or so and then leave, but no. They made us gift baskets that they tempted us with if we converted (it was difficult to resist the strong pull of a large, multi-colored streamer and several cakes that appeared to be made out of a crude mixture of play-doh and dead ducks). They fed us "lunch packs", also known as apple juice boxes. They told our fortunes to us, which was nice for the guys until I got one that said I am as dried up as the roots of an old tree and will grow old alone and bitter. And finally, they asked us if we would join them in a round of Christmas carols (it was October), starting with the old classic "Jingle's Bells", accompanied by Pancho, yes, Pancho, the Theravada Buddhist monk, on the bongos and myself on the tambourine. The lyrics were written on a dry erase board and said: "Jingle's Bells, Jingle's Bells, Jingle's got a way. Over what fun it is to drive a one horse open hay. Hay!"
3) Chicken Pepe Will Play With Your Children. I saw this sign in Mehico as an advertisement for a playplace at a fast food restaurant called Chicken Pepe's. I guess it meant that the mascot was in the playplace waiting to goof off with your kids, but frankly, I wouldn't really let my children go into an area where a middle-aged man dressed as a chicken would play with them.
4) "Piece of chicken". A friend of mine is a personal trainer and was teaching this asian lady how to work the leg press. When asked if the weight was too heavy, the lady replied "No, it's easy! Piece of chicken!" I think she might have meant piece of cake. We may never know.
5) Special cocktails for the ladies with nuts. I saw this sign outside a Korean bar in Hawaii. I believe it was intended to say that there were special prices for women AND there were nuts at the bar. But you never can be sure.
I'll post more of these later, I just wanted to go ahead and write down the few that I can remember before I forget. Have a nice day and don't go near Chicken Pepe.
Thursday, January 10, 2008
Why Braille is Not Always Necessary
Recently I've been noticing Braille writing more. Maybe it's because I've recently developed a love for the impaired or I'm just bored of reading normal signs and have moved on to a different reading language, but still, I've noticed it more. I am beginning to question just how important Braille actually is on certain signs. Here are the examples that I have gathered where Braille might not be so important.
1) The drive-thu ATM. This is an Automated Teller Machine. It is not easy to use if you can't see the screen. Yes, there is Braille on the touchpad to type in your pin number, and Braille to tell you where to insert your card, and a place to put a headphone jack, but unless you've memorized all of this, there is no way a blind person would be able to actually get money from the machine. Also, WHY ARE THEY DRIVING? That is a hazard.
2) Outside of public restrooms. If a blind woman goes into the men's restroom, she can't see anything. As long as she doesn't sit on a urinal, it's okay.
3) On the touchpad to enter pin numbers at Best Buy. Are they buying movies? They...can't see them. And I know hearing is just as important, blah blah, but NOT REALLY.
4) AT LENSCRAFTERS. This is self explanatory.
5) I have no more, but keep an eye out for weird places to have Braille. It's weird.
1) The drive-thu ATM. This is an Automated Teller Machine. It is not easy to use if you can't see the screen. Yes, there is Braille on the touchpad to type in your pin number, and Braille to tell you where to insert your card, and a place to put a headphone jack, but unless you've memorized all of this, there is no way a blind person would be able to actually get money from the machine. Also, WHY ARE THEY DRIVING? That is a hazard.
2) Outside of public restrooms. If a blind woman goes into the men's restroom, she can't see anything. As long as she doesn't sit on a urinal, it's okay.
3) On the touchpad to enter pin numbers at Best Buy. Are they buying movies? They...can't see them. And I know hearing is just as important, blah blah, but NOT REALLY.
4) AT LENSCRAFTERS. This is self explanatory.
5) I have no more, but keep an eye out for weird places to have Braille. It's weird.
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