Contraband Masks, and Shower Caps

In Coronapocalypse, grocery shopping can only happen once school is done for the week. Luckily, Shea was done by Thursday morning, and Xander was…..well, close enough.

As I drove into Georgia, I began to wonder if this was a good life choice. Friday was the first day the state was beginning the reopening process. Would the grocery store be crazy, because the world was out living it up? Or would it be empty, because everyone was getting their roots touched up?

It seemed typical for Aldi, but as I walked to the door, the unfortunate employee who had to stand outside (this is the south, and it’s already hot) and clean every cart, informed me they had reached 50 shoppers, and would I please stand on the X. Absolutely! The next couple who walked up weren’t so impressed with rule-following–he asked them to please stand on the next X, as they were at “capacity,” and the couple continued to stand directly in the doorway. When another patron walked up, he once again explained that they were at capacity, and would they please stand on the next X. The response was, “how were we supposed to know that if you didn’t tell us.” I rolled my eyes hard, but then remembered I still had sunglasses on, so no one saw–probably for the best.

After a full 90 seconds of waiting, I was allowed to go inside. It looked just as overcrowded as the tiny Aldi always looks. I got a lot of nasty looks and rude comments: “that is a lot of food.” Well, I’m not leaving my house for 2 more weeks, so mind your beeswax! No…instead I would smile (which goes unseen under a mask), and would say, “you don’t realize how much extra food you’ll need for 2 kids and a husband at home all day every day!” Which is mostly a lie–my husband is not home any more than he was before. But my kids do eat nonstop. And also, mind your beeswax. I don’t hoard buy–I 2-week-supply buy.

Then I began to take notice of all that was going on around me. As a lifetime sufferer of ADD, I flip between being hyper focused and unobservant, to daydreamy and ultra-observant. Of all the women in the store, 1/4 of them were wearing either shower caps, or scrub caps. What. Is. Happening.

I feel like there are a number of public service announcements that need to be made. The newest seems to be: just because you see a nurse wearing something, that does not meant you will be safer by wearing it too. You don’t need gloves (eww), unless you plan on changing your gloves every time you touch something (honestly, if I thought about the number of gloves required to grocery shop without cross-contamination, I would need a whole box). Masks do you no good if you only wear them over your mouth (unless you have corks crammed up your nostrils, this is silly). And now, scrub caps are NOT SAVING YOU!!! What exactly do they think the purpose of the scrub cap is?? No Coronapocalypse fad has confused me this much.

On my drive home, I looked in my rearview mirror and noticed a man, alone in his car, wearing a mask. Oh my gosh, this has to stop. But wait! At the next light, I saw he had taken it off! Alas, perhaps he just forgot he was wearing it. He was also smoking a cigarette–whatever, you do you, buddy…until he finished his cigarette and put the mask back on. With smarts like that, you’re better of just staying home.

Also, I’ve been making contraband face masks. The SGM of the Army put out guidance, telling soldiers not to use uniforms to make masks (because they’re dipped in chemicals…great). This guidance came out after I had already made Justin 4 multi-cam masks, that he handed out to friends at work. And now, even though they are illegal (well, not illegal…just, not recommended), it’s what everyone wants. “But they’re not allowed.”
“He wants multi-cam.”
“But…they said…”
“He wants multi-cam.”
Great. So, when the shakedown happens, and these soldiers crack under pressure and give up their supplier, I’m going straight to Guantanamo Bay. Which I’m assuming is worse than prison. Which I’ve already established, is a place I couldn’t handle. I’m doomed.

While My Ears Start to Bleed

I’m currently sitting at Honda, waiting for my van to be serviced. The waiting room is an ADD sufferer’s nightmare.

Ahead of me, there’s a tv airing CNN. I am trying so hard to follow the impeachment debate. Behind me is a second tv, where some kind of game show is playing. To my right is the dealership, playing Christmas music. All three are equally loud…or quiet. They are competing for my attention, and at this point, I’m the only one losing.

Add to this aural nightmare, the random persons around me choosing to listen to one YouTube video or another. I just heard “ok, I’m going to put potato chips in my vacuum bag.” Now I’m mildly frustrated and confused. Who in the world just puts potato chips in their vacuum?? Potato chips are for eating. And who are the people that are clicking through videos and stopping to view such atrocities (in this case, it seems to be a 3 year old. Whatever makes you happy, kiddo).

I simply don’t understand what causes people to feel entitled to making their presence be audibly known. Maybe it’s because I was raised by a Ballschmieder, with the understanding that in public, you remain quiet. Perhaps it’s my introverted desire to disappear into the background and remain unnoticed. I will never be the person who puts my phone on speaker in public. I will most likely not even answer my phone if I am in public (I probably won’t answer my phone even if I am alone, because I’m not a fan; I never have been).

Back to the initial earsore. I envy the individual who can sit with multiple distractions around them and focus on one item. I hear them all at once, and it ends up a jumbled, “air freshener leaves us with a blanket denial,” and I’m left having to decide if febreeze is in denial, or if it’s the Republicans. Give me closed captioning so I can turn my ears off and read what I want to be hearing!

Who Taught You Manners!?

It’s been a crazy few weeks, especially at work. I haven’t been able to work out my typical 5-7 days a week. Instead, it’s been more like once or twice a week, if I’m lucky. And by lucky, I mean, if Justin is around on weekends to watch the kids so I can go for a super slow run. I am so, so slow.

I also have to add that nothing about me has changed. I haven’t gained 100lbs, or something weird like that. If anything, I’ve probably  lost a little weight, simply from an increase in stress, and a decrease in time to eat (well, ok. I did have ice cream for lunch one day last week. Don’t judge me).

Yesterday, while running up and down stairs to the office I currently occupy, I was called over to the side of the pool by a woman who comes in and does water aerobics nearly every day. I thought for sure she was going to make a comment about me only teaching once this past week. Boy, was I mistaken:

“Sam! Are your pants too small?”

Um…I’m slightly confused, but don’t worry, it’s about to get so much better.

“I’ve never seen you with a belly!”

I pull the waist of my workout pants up, tucking my gut, and the extra skin riddled with stretch marks, back into the confines of the spandex (for the record, it was well hidden under my shirt). “Oh, I’ve always had a belly. I just hide it well.”

“Well, I’ve never noticed you having a belly before! You came down the stairs, and I thought, ‘oh my gosh, is she pregnant?!'”

Excuse me, what?! “Oh, no no no. No more babies for me. I’m done having babies.” I smile and walk away, sucking in my gut the entire way back up the stairs.

Did that just happen?!

When I told a co-worker about what was just said, he nearly spit his drink out as he burst out laughing. “It’s not funny,” he responded, “but, I mean, it kind of is.”

This woman is notorious for being nasty to the lifeguards. In fact, there are quite a few senior women who feel as though they are allowed to be disrespectful, simply because the lifeguards are young. Normally, I am not the one on the receiving end of their nasty attacks–obviously because I’m old. Or at least much older than the average lifeguard. I am constantly telling the kids working, “they would be horrified if any of you spoke to them they way they speak to you.”

Has no one taught them manners?! Or have they decided that they’re too cool–or perhaps too old–for manners. These women complain frequently about disrespectful millennials. Yet, they can saunter over to me with a grouchy face and say, “excuse me? Whose music is this?? Do you realize we are old?? Can’t you put it on Golden Oldies, or something like that?!” My response was, “of course I can!” But as I walk away to put something else on, I think, “‘C’mon N’ Ride It (The Train)’ is over 20 years old. It’s older than most of the lifeguards!” Who in the world walks into an exercise class and immediately complains about the music!?

Perhaps these women have just been catered too for entirely too long. Or they have too much time on their hands. Or NO ONE EVER TAUGHT THEM MANNERS!

I suggest we spend a week speaking to them the way they speak to us. The complaints we would receive wouldn’t be worth it. But where can we send our complaints about nasty patrons??

The girl guarding during my interaction with little miss “are you pregnant,” later said to me, “What the fuck was that about!? You handled that so well, cuz I probably would’ve kicked her in the face!” Dang, why didn’t I think to kick her!? Her face was perfectly located at foot level. But, alas. My momma taught me manners. She also taught me to kill them with kindness.

So, it’s fine. It’s whatever. I’ll keep my “I carried 2 babies” belly safely hidden behind the confines of some good quality spandex. And I’ll keep smiling and saying, “good morning,” while I think, “what a bratty old hag.”