A post card from an angry toe

Dear readers:

Here’s a funny story.

Yesterday, I had surgery on my foot to stick a pin in my toe and pull a pretty badly fractured bone together. I had to go under stupid general anesthesia for the whole thing and spend the better part of the day at the hospital getting prepped, sliced and diced, and then recovering.

Right before the nurses finally wheeled me out to my mom’s car, I asked if someone would go over my discharge information with me, since I hadn’t seen the doctor post-op and I wasn’t sure if he had spoken to my mom (who came up for the weekend to help out). No, no, the nurses assured me, since I am an adult, the doctor will speak to me, not my mom (you know, HIPAA).

The doctor never spoke to me. Fortunately, the nurses were wrong about him not talking to my mom; if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t know how the surgery went.

And I wouldn’t know this funny little piece of information (and by funny, I mean absolutely ridiculous and irritating). Apparently, somehow in the past week, my bone had magically healed itself and no pin was necessary. Which means yesterday, I had my toe peeled apart like a banana for FUN TIMES at the local Hospital for Sadism.

At least I have the comforting knowledge that some med student perhaps had the opportunity to watch and learn why x-ray machines are our friends. And could maybe be used before (and in my case instead of) opening up a body part to see the bone directly.

Yours (in a clunky shoe, whilst hobbling around on crutches on a foot that positively hates me right now),
Correspondent E

A post card for you

Dear readers and Emmy:

Remember a couple of months ago when I was crossing a street, and I was hit by a truck? I do. Well, I mean, I remember waking up in ICU afterwards and the doctors telling me right before they wheeled me off for something like the fifth CAT scan of my brain. Anyway, this whole recovery process has been a bit of a journey, and one day I realized I shouldn’t be hoarding all the valuable, character-enhancing lessons about life I’m accumulating. No, indeed—I should share the wealth.

Consider these my postcards to you, sent back from my travels through the wonderful world of convalescence. On one side are pictures of pretty things in exotic locales, and on the other? Pearls of a salonniere’s wisdom.

Today’s gem? Things you shouldn't say to someone who was just hit by a truck (and why):

1) Any variation on: "Guess you'll remember to look both ways before crossing the street next time!"
(You know what? Sometimes you do everything you're supposed to, and you still get hit by a driver who didn't hold up his end of the social contract and follow the traffic rules. So let’s give me a little credit there. And since I almost died, why don’t you hold off and let me make the first joke before assuming it's okay and you can be an ass-clown? Thanks for that.)

2) "You know what? I was in a car accident last week myself! I hit a parked car while driving."
(As much as I appreciate the attempt, I really don't want to bond with anyone over car accidents.)

3) "How did you hurt your feet if you were hit by a car? Are you sure that was from the accident?"
(All I know is, I didn't have any problems with my feet before I woke up in ICU. So unless the paramedics took turns smashing my toes in the ambulance, I'm going to have to believe it IS from the accident.)

4) "Do you feel better today?"
(Um, you do know this isn’t a cold, right? It’s probably going to be a long process before the head injuries get better, so I’ll probably just feel terrible for awhile. But thanks for checking in.)

5) "How did you survive?"
(Magic?)

6) "Now you need to remember to live each day to the fullest."
(Thanks—you are SO right! I totally hadn't considered that and really needed the extra outside pressure and guilt. Heaven forbid I just appreciate being alive right now.)

Yours,
Correspondent E

Places E and I may or may not be going on vacation...

If there's anything we here at Lucky Ball Charms love, it's an internet black hole. You all know what I'm talking about--you just log on for a second in the morning to take a quick look at something and 5 hours later, you realize the sun is shining through your window at an AFTERNOON angle and you've missed a major appointment. Well, the latest black hole we are here to promote is English Country Cottages, where you can view beautiful pictures of places you'd really like to be besides where you are right now.

E, you'll be pleased to know I've found some possibilities for our next vay-cay. So, this is the best one so far--behold Hafod Y Rhedrwydd:

I can't say the name even though I had that half a semester of ancient Welsh back in college except for I think the F in the first word is pronounced as a V because technically, it's not an F and the 'dd' at the end is NOT two 'd's, but actually a separate letter. That's all I've got to offer, people--try to deal. So tell me you don't expect to see Ioan Gruffudd come walking over that hillside in a billowy white shirt and breeches with some large, heavy animal slung over his big, broad shoulders. Or perhaps some cherubic children in day dresses giggling and chasing puppies. Or FAIRIES, even. It's THAT kind of place, E.

Next up is The Barn, which obviously is a converted barn, and you know, I'm great with that:


It looks great from the outside. In fact, the only reason I included this one is because it has some of the ugliest, seizure-inducing carpeting I've ever seen:


So, I feel like it's one of those perspective-bending street paintings that looks real--like when they paint a swimming pool and people are falling over themselves to avoid stepping in it because it feels like they're going to fall in. I wouldn't be able to walk on this carpeting because my brain can't figure out the depth pattern--if I step on the white parts, are they going to be higher than the red ones? Perhaps you get a free Cheshire Cat with so many square feet of this carpet design, and he appears above the fireplace and says things like, "That carpet pattern is completely mad. In fact, we're all mad. I'm mad. You're mad," and "My dear, that depends a good deal on where you want to get to. Step only on the white parts if you want to live." Also, this carpet would be a GREAT way to deter home invaders--just carpet your foyer in that pattern, and then, when the robbers entered after picking the lock, they'd just fall to the ground grasping at the walls to keep from falling into the florid abyss!

Next up is the Awesome Hen Wrych Hall Tower:



I mean, LOOK at the bed there, E! Amazing. See, E, if we were to go here, we could pretend to be Locked In The Tower By The Queen and it would be so much more effective since we all know you can't spend the night in the Tower of London. Or maybe we could have been sent there by Henry VIII who really wanted to marry us but didn't want his court to disintegrate when all the women went into jealous rages since we were way better-looking (not AS inbred) and so startlingly witty we made them all look like perfumed DOLTS. So we were EXILED. You see how I can come up with these incredible scenarios? Just like that? I guess I'm just good like that.

So, just when I thought that that carpet was the ugliest floral I'd ever seen, along comes Horner Cottage to light the way (to hell, obviously). I mean, from the outside, it looks lovely and incredible:


And THEN, dear readers, comes the fall:




So, I don't want to ALARM anyone by revealing this, but...these rooms were decorated that way ON PURPOSE. Nestled in the description blurb is this choice line:

Thoughtfully furnished by the owners (who live close by) with pine furniture and Laura Ashley fabrics.

Ah, the cornerstones of quality decorating--pine and Laura Ashley. I mean, obviously we can't stay at this place, E, because the owners live nearby and they'd probably hear us snarking and making fun of their taste and barfing after spending too much time in the yellow bedroom and it would just be so Awkward Turtle. It might even be Awkward Turtle On Its Back... But you know, it's not just Awkward Turtle On Its Back--it's WORSE than that. It's Awkward Turtle On Its Back IN THE SUN. And we all know what happens to turtles on their backs in the sun. They DIE, E. It's awkward AND tragic which pretty much sums up the whole Horner Cottage interior design job.

Shopgirl Skills 2.5

Oh, E, I forgot to tell everyone about the CliffsNotes! Dear readers, for some reason, people seem to believe that CliffsNotes makes a study guide to every book ever written. Back when I was a glamorous shopgirl, it always peeved me when people would buy the Cliffs instead of the book. I mean, it made more sense if they at least bought the original text since I always thought CliffsNotes were to help students understand hard-to-grasp symbolism, or a confusing plotline or even "unreadable old time-y language." Still, parents would come in and demand the Cliffs for every title on their children's reading lists. When I tried to tell them that CliffsNotes doesn't make guides for ALL BOOKS, they would act like I was blowing them off or accuse me of hiding a bunch of copies in "the back" (which--brilliant practice for a small business--refusing to sell things to people...obviously HUGELY lucrative).

Parent: Do you have the CliffsNotes for Jurassic Park?

Me: No, ma'am, they don't make CliffsNotes for that.

Parent: What? Are you sure? I mean, they have them for everything else! Do you have any in the back?

Me: ...No, ma'am. We don't have any books in the back. Everything for sale is on the floor. They don't make CliffsNotes for that title. It's relatively new.

Parent: Well, I'll just find it ONLINE!

So, good luck with that... OH WAIT! I found a copy--right here next to the CliffsNotes for Goodnight, Moon! What a save! I mean, really, lady--your kid needs the CliffsNotes for Jurassic Park? Well, to be fair, it IS written in the "unreadable old time-y language" of 1990, so maybe they need to GET ON THAT over at CliffsNotes. Not to mention--uh, it's called Blockbuster. Barring that, your kid could probably string together enough YouTube clips to be able to answer the assigned questions adequately. Besides, lady, we all know how T-Rex can't DEAL with morons; he just goes all CRAZY and starts ripping stuff DOWN and eating all the Velociraptors. It's just not SAFE to be an imbecile when he's around:


T-Rex ain't PLAYIN'...stop being a moron and asking me stupid questions.

Shopgirl Skills 2

So, that's a picture of me trying to keep the hordes of hysterically desperate Summer Reading customers out of the bookstore after closing ("PLEASE let me in! Now LOOK, my child is going to FAIL OUT of English if we can't get in and get our books! He's going to fail and it will be YOUR FAULT!"). No, it isn't a picture of Lillian Gish in The Wind (1927). People are always telling me I look like Lillian Gish--must be my stunningly expressive eyes...you know people, I can't help it if every candid of me ends up looking like some amazing silent film capture, okay? I mean, that's not even the point, anyway.

So, SUMMER READING, everyone! Overall, I loved Summer Reading, but I was a dork like that. Well, a GLAMOROUS DORK, but you know what I mean. I loved nothing better than to zip through some titles and then whip up a few overwrought and unnecessarily long responses to assigned questions with the addendum, 'Please explain your answer using textual evidence.' I know! That doesn't seem like me AT ALL! Well, time changes you, people...

I do realize that not everyone is all YAY READING, but it seems like kids are so ANTI-READING now. I mean, excuse me if it alarms me when kids are looking at Of Mice and Men, which is, like, EIGHT PAGES LONG and freaking out about not having enough time to read it or when the parents come in and complain about some of the books having unreadable "old time-y language" (actual description used by a customer). Perhaps many of you agree with me, dear readers, so it seems only fair to document my most tragicomic summer reading customer encounters from back when I was a glamorous shopgirl. We'll begin with a summer reader--a rising sophomore in high school--who was having trouble remembering the title of the book she needed:

Girl: Hi, I'm looking for a book for summer reading.

Me: What book?

Girl: Well, I don't know the title.

Me: Do you know the author?

Girl: No...

Me: Okay, do you know what it was about?

Girl: Uh, yeah, it was about, like, grain, or something...

Me: ...Grain...is it The Catcher in the Rye?

Girl: YES! That's it! Oh my God, thanks!

Me: No problem.

Also, I would just like to use this opportunity to express my abject hatred for The Catcher in the Rye. I mean, no offense to anyone who hearts this book, but I can't say that I am at all jazzed about getting into the head of some whiny and annoying 16-year-old boy, much less being FORCED to do it by teachers who are always going on and on about how incredible this book is. Maybe having brothers kind of killed Catcher for me, but we'll probably never know. ANYWAY, people, next up in our Parade of Airheads is a parent who was confused about why they have to use such BIG and FOREIGN words in summer reading titles.

Parent: I am looking for a play for my daughter who is a junior, but I can't remember the name of it. It has some weird name that starts with a 'P.'

[After about a week of summer reading, you practically memorize the names of the books, and there was only one play on the list that started with 'P.']

Me: Pygmalion?

Parent: Yes, that's it! Why do they call it such a weird name?

Me: Well, ma'am, there is an ancient Greek myth about a man called Pygmalion, and this play was based on that myth. The play is the basis for the musical My Fair Lady.

Parent: [scoffs] Well, WHY couldn't they just call it 'My Fair Lady'?

Wouldn't it be LOVERLY if people could grasp the concept of TIME AND SPACE? I mean, I didn't end up answering her because her cell phone rang, but seriously, people. How was I supposed to even touch that without making her look like a moron? Then again, maybe she wouldn't have noticed. Our next encounter is unfortunately with another parent looking for a copy of Animal Farm and getting lost in the George Orwell section. She called me over to her and she had this book in her hand:


Parent: Hi there, can you help me?

Me: Sure. What are you looking for?

Parent: I'm looking for Animal Farm by George Orwell.

Me: It should be right there where you found that one [gesturing to the book already in her hand].

Parent: [finds Animal Farm and pulls it off the shelf] Oh, there it is! I am so blind sometimes! I thought it was this one [holding up the copy of 1984 pictured above], but I don't know WHAT this one is--it doesn't even have a title on it! Thanks for your help! [puts the copy of 1984 back on the shelf and walks to the front of the store to check out]

So, I guess she thought '1984' was some kind of publication date and it was the new IN thing to put it on the front cover next to the author's name. Well, at least she put it back and didn't just toss it onto a random shelf like some customers would have. Still, pretty frightening overall, I'd say... Our last encounter is not my own, actually, but the experience of one of my coworkers at the same bookstore. A parent walks in with the school summer reading list in hand and reads out loud slowly:

"Hi, how are you guys doing? Let's see, I need...The Twel... Twelfth Night by...Will-ee-am Shake...spear-ay... Do you carry that?"

Well, madam, it just so happens that we have an entire SHELF devoted to Will-ee-am Shakespeare-ay--his stuff is SO HOT right now! Allow me to lead you thither...

That summer, we also had a junior in high school come in and say, as he was buying HIS copy of Twelfth Night, that he had never heard of Shakespeare in his entire life. Cross my heart and hope to die. For REAL, y'all. I know--TERRIFYING. I weep for the future, as does poor Will Shakespeare-ay, as illustrated by that last visual aid, which gives us all a rare glimpse into his REAL THOUGHTS.

Shopgirl Skills.

I KNOW that looks like Clara Bow in her definitive film role in the silent classic It (1927) in that picture there, but it's not. It's actually me back when I used to be a spunky shopgirl, not at all above positioning myself provocatively on the desk of the handsome son of my rich-as-God boss in the hopes of trapping him into marrying me and THEN spending my evenings dancing the night away in smoke-filled dens of iniquity that we used to call 'speakeasies.' Hey, don't hate me because I was this glamorous even as a shopgirl...

Anyway, I'm sure we can all agree how amazing working retail is. In what other industry can you get paid under $10 an hour to deal with the most infuriatingly annoying and mind-blowingly stupid people on Earth? I'm pretty sure the only other industry for producing such rapturous joy in its employees would be food service, which...been there, done that, as well, people--in the SAME JOB, no less. Alas, friends, recently the Emmy half of your Pair of Salonnières has landed a job outside of the retail arena. As a fond farewell to my life as a shopgirl, I have decided to share with you, in a series of posts, some misty water-colored memories of my days working in a small independent bookstore/coffee shop. Don't be jealous that I got to deal with people like this guy:

Customer: Hey there, I'm lookin' for some kinda tea... It's called like, baron somethin'...it's uh...EARL GREY--That's what it's called. Y'all got some of that?

Me: Yes, we do. It's there on the counter in the yellow packet.

Customer: NO, honey, no. I SAID GREY. Not yellow. It's grey. EARL GREY.

Me: ...Sir, it is Earl Grey tea. This brand just comes in a yellow packet.

Customer: No, it comes in a GREY packet. EARL GREY. You're not listening to me.

[I take a packet out and hold it up in front of his face.]

Me: Sir, this IS Earl Grey tea. See here where it says 'Earl Grey Tea'?

Customer: ...well, that's decaf. That's why it's in a yellow packet. I need regular and obviously y'all don't have any.

Me: ...No...it isn't decaf, sir. It's regular. It doesn't say decaf on the packaging, so it isn't decaf.

Customer: Well, then, why is it yellow?

Me: Because that's the way this brand packages it.

Customer: ...Okay, I'll take a cup of that. Y'all got any honey?

[I make his tea and hand him a brand new bottle of honey and he proceeds to pour probably a third of the bottle in his 16 oz cup of tea. On the way out the door, he calls back to me.]

Customer: I'm glad y'all had honey because I'm type II diabetic, so I gotta watch my sugar. HAHA! See y'all later!



Uh...I know. I hope he had some kind of one-touch 911 service on his phone because I'm pretty sure the amount of honey he put in his tea could have sent him into a diabetic coma at any moment. Still, amazing. So, dear readers (if there are any of you left), feel free to comment with your own incredible adventures in retail and food service, because I KNOW you have them. Hello, people.

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...E, why can't we be all OMG ANIMATION? Get back to me on that...