Some people are just so weird. Of course, I am practically perfect in every way (why, yes, “Mary Poppins” is my all-time favourite movie), so pretty much anything anybody else does of which I don’t approve can be deemed weird. However, I think that the actions of some people, while not especially nasty or dangerous, are just plain odd.
Except the person who does the thing. They obviously think what they do is just fine, in fact, normal and logical. But that person is clearly wrong.
On Friday, I was standing in the lineup of a local coffee shop, waiting my turn . The lineup was long, which is pretty normal at lunchtime in most food-themed places. In fact, it was almost to the door. When I came in, I immediately saw this lineup and joined it so that I could make my purchase. Simple, no?
Suddenly a woman came up behind me and poked my elbow. Before I even turned around, she barked loudly, “Is this the lineup?”
I felt like saying, “No. The police station is about ten blocks south of here.”
But I didn’t say anything. One of the people in the line ahead of me heard her (she was pretty loud) and answered in the affirmative. I was thinking, What the hell did she think it was? Did she really need to ask? Wasn’t it bloody obvious that this was the lineup to get to the counter and place your order? How on earth does this woman function in life if she can’t figure out something as basic as what a lineup looks like?
Then Saturday, I was getting my nails done. There was one other woman in the salon, and I had my back to her. But I heard her. Or rather, I heard her phone. She had this annoying snippet of music to signal the arrival of a text message, and within five minutes, I swear that music went off about ten times. She kept laughing and saying, “Oh, it’s my daughter texting me.” Apparently the daughter was texting two words at a time, if she had to send that many texts in such a short time span.
When it was time to put the shiny gloss on my nails and dry them, I had to go over to the counter where that woman was sitting. First of all, there are only four seats there. She was in one, and all her stuff was in another. And on the counter. There wasn’t much room left for me – although, granted, we were the only two people in the salon, so it didn’t matter much. Still, was there some reason she couldn’t keep her keys and her wallet in her purse, which was perched on the chair beside her? Don’t most women keep that sort of thing in their bags?
But more weirdness ensued. Let’s not forget what type of establishment we were in. A nail salon. A place where you get your nails done. A place where you can’t exactly use your hands. And what was this woman now doing? Texting. Presumably replying to her daughter’s multiple texts.
The nail technician was actually standing there on the other side of the counter, waiting. The woman continued tapping away at her phone, oblivious to the fact that she was wasting somebody’s time – time that she was, in fact, paying for. She eventually looked up and said, “Oh.” The technician sighed and said, “You can finish.” “Oh no,” said this woman graciously. “I’ll finish later.”
Damn straight, lady. Why would you think that it was appropriate to do some marathon texting while you’re in a nail salon? Are you not there to have something done with your nails, which are found at the ends of your fingers, which in turn, are attached to your hands? The hands that you are using to bloody text???