Or do I have the word "Sucker" stamped on my forehead or something? Yesterday, at lunchtime, I was on my way to drop off a package and someone outside Borders stopped me "Excuse me, miss, can I ask you a question?" Usually I say no, or just hastily move to the other side of the sidewalk, but then the (cute) guy went on to ask "About your hair?" Huh? My hair? That threw me, and I stopped. What could he possibly want to know about my hair? Well, you guessed it, it was a sales pitch for some alleged salon in the south loop. It involved all kinds of special treatments, all for one low price, and if you give me your credit card number right now, we'll sign you up. Yeah, right! I don't give my credit card information to people on the street, I don't know about you. As lovely a plan as this sounded, I had no idea if the salon actually existed AND, I don't give my credit card information to people on the street. He got the huff with me and was all like "Do you think I'd memorize this stuff for fun?" etc. and told me to call the salon, call 411 etc. Regardless. He told me he only had 4 of the coupons left blah blah blah, so if I changed my mind... I had to come back that way, and he was still standing out there. He was actually still standing out there when I headed home that evening too. I started wondering why I always get called out for these kinds of things - do I look nice? Is my little round face too trusting looking? Or gullible looking? Or, in this particular instance, did he think I had bad hair and desperately needed this package?
Then on the train yesterday evening, I was scribbling away in a notebook (lists, you know) and this girl parks herself in the seat in front of me and starts talking on the phone. She talked solidly from Union Station all the way to Morton Grove (1/2 an hour!) . She was going to Libertyville (figures, doesn't it?) and I heard all about her journey on the Amtrak train. She freaked out because a lady with a baby sat in front of her. In her words "And I was like, 'Are you kidding me? I hate babies" she tells whoever she's talking to "HATE them!" Who the hell hates babies? Crying babies can be annoying, it is true, but hate the crying, don't hate the baby... Did she really think it was more courteous to her fellow passengers to yammer away at top volume on her phone for 30 solid minutes? At least the baby has an excuse... I hadn't put on my ipod while I was writing because I tend to get all absorbed in what I'm doing and I didn't want to miss my stop. But finally, I couldn't take it any more, and I put the headphones on and selected Patti singing "Mr. Tambourine Man" and you want to know something? I could still hear this chick babbling away. Over Patti. Singing at top volume. And her "Mr. Tambourine Man" is not a quiet song. I left my seat one stop away from Morton Grove and stood in the vestibule for the rest of the ride. Thank goodness it's Friday, huh?
1 comment:
Goodness, you need to chillax!
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