Laila Rowe's $1.68

Perusing the sale merchandise at Laila Rowe on 5th Ave and 42nd Street during my lunch break on Tuesday, I observed a slim woman of about 50 years of age with a bob-cut of white-grey hair toting a small mop dog and going OUT OF HER MIND WITH ANGER.

She was IRATE and inconsolable over $1.68. I mean, she would NOT stop yelling for at least twenty minutes. The young cashiers just wanted her to hear their side of things. She wouldn't listen.

She: "IT'S 3rd GRADE MATH! IT'S NOT ROCKET SCIENCE!"

Her claim: She returned a gift from a friend worth $20.00 and bought a scarf for $25.00 and paid $5.42. And the cashier gypped her the refund of the tax on $20.00 which comes to $1.68. She believes she should have paid $3.74. The cashier owes her $1.68. Pay up!

She: "NOBODY WANTS TO BE GYPPED OUT OF $1.68!"

My say: Ma'am, you're wrong. About the $1.68.

Let's review:
Say I paid $20.00 plus tax ($21.68) for your ring. I then give the ring to you as a gift. You return said ring to the store. The cashier refunds $21.68 to you. You then select a pretty scarf at the price of $25.00 (a $5.00 difference). You pay $27.10 (this includes tax) for your scarf. This is a grand total of $5.42 difference from the refund to the new purchase.
So...apparently you need to go back to 3rd grade. Because, say we do an "exchange" for your items. We charge you $25.00, with a deduction of $20.00 for the refunded item, which leaves you with a difference of $5.00 plus tax to pay. Um...that's a grand total of $5.42.

Maybe it IS rocket science. Maybe it is. But, really, Lady, I think you are an impatient, insensitive MORON. Go back to school and leave those poor young cashiers alone! They really don't want your $1.68.

But, while we're on the subject of being gypped...Could you please refund my twenty minutes of down-time that you stole from my lunch hour with your incessant hyper-screaming? 'Cause, well, nobody wants to be gypped out of twenty minutes.

69

Why does the weatherman predict 69* of weather for an entire week? I mean, it's an estimate. It'd be very simple to round up or down a degree, right? Avoid the speculation, the innuendos and the crass jokes.

But, no, for an entire week the weatherman predicted "a high of sixty-nine degrees".

Reason being? He wanted to see the world get a little more action.

Thank you, Mr. Weatherman. Thank you.

Gasp! A MOUSE!

A MOUSE!... KILLING A PIECE OF CHEESE!!!!

(He tried to tell them it was just a myth, but they wouldn't listen.)

A mouse...chilling on a piece of cheese.

(This mouse took a more innovative approach to the excessive-offerings-of-cheese dilemma.)

A MOUSE! A CONFUSED MOUSE!

(He doesn't understand why he wasn't even offered any cheese...)

REFUSE THOSE COOKIES!

In the office, a lot of free cookies get passed around.

At most offices, and mine is no exception, there is cake on birthdays. We have cake. And chips. And soda. AND cookies! I like cookies.

When I go to meetings, there is always a plate full of cookies up for grabs. And what else are you going to do while you are pretending to listen intently to all that jibber jabber on corporate overhead? You are going to eat a cookie. That's what else.

There are a lot of women on our floor. Whenever one of them is going on a new diet, they empty their desk drawers and cupboards and mini-fridges of all the chocolates, candies, sweets and cookies they've been hoarding and lay them out for everyone to share. I usually grab a cookie or two.

My desk is right next to the dining halls at work. One of the kitchen staff has taken a liking to me. The other day he brought me a plate full of fresh, whole fruit. I was very excited. I shared them with my co-workers, they were very excited. Then, ten minutes later, he brought me a bowl full of cookies. I tried to share them with my co-workers. They adamantly refused. What was a girl to do? I ate two. Okay, maybe it was three. Then I found a small child running around the office and gave him the rest. I mean, a boy of four has got to have energy to keep running full steam like that. He needed the sugar.

There is a conference room on our floor that none of us use, but many other departments book full all month long. They have catered meetings. When the meeting is finished, we all swoop in like vultures upon the leftovers. Usually, it's a few meat-laden sandwiches and a bunch of cookies. I eat the cookies. It's free! How could I refuse?

Summary: I like cookies. I can't say "No" to free cookies. I eat a lot of cookies at work.

So what should I do? Stop going in to work? Good Idea. Although I'd probably just start baking cookies at home. And not having a corporate body of people to bestow a gift of sweet treats upon, I'd just eat more cookies. Hm.

I think the answer here is "Just say NO." This is a lesson I learned as a child. And I'm not sure I applied it to all the right areas of life. I mean - Cookies! - they are a deadly habit. Shouldn't they warn you about these things when you are interviewing for a job? "We really like your resume, Ma'am, but I want to tell you, this office is Pro-Cookie. We eat a lot of cookies around here. Do you think you can handle that? Are you up to the challenge?"

Pseudo Celebrity

From my experience last night, I've determined that I have arrived at pseudo-celebrity status.

I'm like Ashlee Simpson. No one really knows me or my work. But they know my brother. And he throws my name around a bit. (And one day I'll become a star, riding on his fame...right?)

When two people in one evening have heard of you for no reason other than your brother and one of them knows all sorts of strange and disconnected details about your life - like where you use to live - you start to feel a little strange.

But soon, I just smile and relish in my new pseudo-celebrity status and wonder, "With all this fame and attention I'm getting...why isn't anyone reading my blog?"

Sunflowers Sun on Me

It's possible I'm totally oblivious to my surroundings. I'm not saying I am. I'm saying it's possible.

I live in New York, after all. There's a lot to take in. And, after the first couple of years, you learn not to look interested in your surroundings, avoiding all eye contact and walking briskly from point A to point B.

It was somewhat startling for me to discover a bushel of sunflowers in front of my apartment in early August. I mean, right outside my front window! IN FULL BLOOM! How did they get there? Were they there all summer? Do I really not pay attention?!

Everyday after I discovered the sunflowers, I made a point to take a moment outside my door and just look at them (and look around for any stalkers, people hiding in the bushes, or the like, which clearly I had not bothered to be alert to before.)

Here's something about my hippie neighbors that's nice. And hippie. Just yesterday, we bumped into each other outside the front door. They asked if I was enjoying the sunflowers. I said, "Why, yes. Did you plant them?" They said "Yes. Every summer." I asked how long the flowers had been in bloom. They said, "About a month, maybe a little more." (Phew! Maybe I'm NOT so oblivious.)

And THEN, they gave me a lesson in botany. Stripping an over-ripe (can you call it that?) sunflower of it's petals and soft plant fur, they revealed to me the seeds. Yep, sunflower seeds. Just like you buy from the store. You can toast 'em and eat 'em, or you can replant them for next summer. The hippies handed me the head of the sunflower for my eating enjoyment, with a warning to lookout for bugs.

I've decided to give it a try. Toasting sunflower seeds, that is. And because my sister likes sunflowers (and all flowers in general) I decided I would mail her some of the end product, if it turns out edible. (This will also serve as a test to see if she is keeping up with my blog which she professed so much interest in. Heehee.)

This is a quick photo synopsis of the process:

from left to right, top to bottom: 1. Pick sunflower in bloom; 2. Shuck sunflower seeds from center of flower, dispensing of bugs, if any are present; 3. Rinse seeds thoroughly; 4. Dry seeds and weed out weak or hollow ones; 5. Spread out on flat pan, season if desired and toast; 6. package for consumption; 7. Find a test subject and enjoy!

As you can see, there are a lot of steps involved. It requires a lot of loving care. Drying off each little seed, weeding out the weak ones. What I'm saying is...preparing the sunflower seeds for consumption has taught me that, where I might be totally oblivious to my surroundings, I am not totally unaware and detached. I can focus on the little details. Maybe the fact of the matter is, I'm overly focused on the details, and I miss the big picture. Hm.

Anyway, while toasting the sunflower seeds, I noticed they started making a "popping" sound the longer they cooked. And so I concluded, Sunflower Seeds = the new, Mini Popcorn!

Mmm...Sunflower Seed Popcorn!

So, there you have it. Not all hippie neighbor happenings end in me mopping up the water from our bathroom floor. Sometimes it ends with a new popping obsession!

When at first you don't succeed...

I was in bed early last night, trying to fight off a cold.

Shortly after 10pm, I was stirred from my bed by the doorbell.

Our neighbors rang to tell me that their sink had overflowed and flooded their bathroom. Were we effected?

I turned to see the water traipsing down from the ceiling as the first of several drops landed on my nighttime sweatshirt. I nodded a firm YES. Yes, we were effected.

As I was drying up the puddles and changing my pjs, I thought: The hippies are going to flush us out of this apartment come hell or high water! (High water clearly being their optimal choice.)