Retail Therapy

Is it just me or has the fun been sucked out of retail shopping?

I don’t know what it’s like elsewhere, but trying to communicate in English with staff in retail shopping venues in Northern Virginia is an exercise in futility.

Don’t get me wrong. I support and indeed, encourage, English and non-English speakers alike to get legitimate jobs. What’s more, I admire the immigrant population, because, to support their families here and abroad, many of them will work in seemingly “menial” jobs (use your imagination) that we native born Americans wouldn't deign to take. Shame on us, eh?

However, as a consumer, I have a much better experience – and probably spend more money – when I can understand what’s being said and know that my comments are understood.

Today, at the grocery store I failed miserably at getting my question (“Are these chicken thighs boneless?”) answered. Maybe it was my fault though. I guess my expectation that the staff at the Salvadoran market would speak the King’s English was a bit high….

Muslos de pollo deshuesados!

Actually what I asked several times was, “Como se dice en español, ‘boneless’?” in an effort to get to my second question. In other words, in Spanish I asked, “How do you say ‘boneless’ in Spanish?” It was a lost cause. I asked three times and got three different answers complete with hand gestures that I can only hope weren't insulting…

Defaulting to Italian didn't help, because I don’t know the Italian word for “boneless.”

So I didn't buy chicken thighs. But I bought other items and for the second time in three days, was overcharged. 

It seems today’s check out clerk is incapable of simultaneously answering questions and ringing up merchandise. I’m at a loss for why. After all, they’re just passing a bar code over a computer scanner.

That said, I've learned to check my receipt, since some places give you an item for free if it rings up incorrectly. At minimum, I’d think, they’ll make some concession if you’re overcharged.

Not. So. Much.

This smiling lady? NOT me. 

On Friday, I went to World Market where I bought two jars of hummus marked “Two for $5.” When I looked at the receipt and saw that I’d been charged $3.29 for each, I asked why and what the store policy was with respect to the overcharge. 

The checkout clerk – who spoke fluent English – looked at me blankly as if I’d asked her to explain quantum physics. When I asked if I got the product for free, she gave me a look that intimated, “Are you nuts, Lady?” and said something akin to “No way.”

That was all it took to unleash my inner witchy woman.

I opened a can of bi*** on her, demanding a manager “pronto” and she actually fled the register. Lemme tell you, it was no picnic having to deal with the manager to get things straightened out either.

Some people go shopping for therapy. My version of retail therapy was the meditation I did afterwards.

Maybe next time I should try some deep breathing before going into the store….

Written for BFF Inspiration #135. Theme: Witchy Woman

From the Department of Bushwa

The acronym BUS stands for a lot of things. Basic Urban Services; Building Use Studies; Bargaining Unit Status; Brown University Swimming; and Boston University Shuttle, to name a few.

I’d like to add one more entity to the list. Read on for more (pointless) information…

Yesterday while driving home from grocery shopping, my husband and I got into a discussion about the relative nutritional value of chicken at KFC compared to a mini muffin (I’m scratching my head trying to remember what, exactly, prompted the conversation…).

Anyway, the conversation included Gary saying, “You really don’t think they shoot their chicken full of chemicals and ….”

To which I said, “Maybe now they do, but I’m sure it didn’t start out that way. When Colonel Sanders started, it was probably just breaded, fried chicken.”

This prompted Gary to say, “Well, anyway, Harland Sanders lived to be 90, I think. Yes, 90. He died in 1980. He lived from 1890 to 1980.”

Okay, I’m richer for knowing that, I guess….

We continued on, eventually passing a McDonalds. When we did, Gary offered up this jewel: “Look, Daph, you can see the sign advertising the Tuesday special meal deal.”

Why does he know that it’s only on Tuesdays and since we almost never go there, why does he know about this special meal deal at all and what makes him think I care about it?

Whatever. I don’t care that he knows about it nor do I care if he goes to get it and since I married him for better or for worse, I’ll listen to him prattle on….

Truth is, I’m completely amazed by and caught up in his knowledge of utterly random, inconsequential information.

For the record, Gary works at BLS – the Bureau of Labor Statistics (which is a division of the Federal Labor Department) and he’s quite invested in his job. Heaven knows however, that the government collects all kinds of data that, when released, makes us wonder, “What were they thinking when they commissioned this study?”

I think they need a new agency called BUS – the Bureau of Useless Statistics. Should they ever create such a group, I’m going to recommend Gary for the job of commissioner.

What unimportant information do you pride yourself on having and sharing?

The Schnitzel Days of Daph

The Mystics game last night was so much fun! Per usual, since the seats next to us have not been sold for the season, there were strangers as occupants. But we couldn't have asked for better strangers. We sat next to a family of five who were visiting DC from (Excellent!) the Bahamas. I chatted up quite a storm with the wife, who was sitting next to me with her delightful, lively and very curious two-year-old daughter. I made a fool of myself in conversation when I said something about "Bahamanians." The wife had a good laugh on me before telling me that the correct term is "Bahamians." Whoops! What was it that sage fellow Abe Lincoln said? "Better to remain silent and be thought a fool, than to speak out and remove all doubt." No kidding, Abe!

The Mystics were playing the Detroit Shock. Think Katie Smith, Alexis Hornbuckle, Kara Braxton, Cheryl Ford, and of course, the legendary Rick Mahorn. I was tempted to yell, "Hey Coach Mahorn! Try not to get thrown out of the game this time!" Given his size -- like a small Mack truck -- and temperament -- let's just say, not the kind you necessarily want to bring home to mother -- I decided it was in my best interest not to share those comments. But I certainly was thinking them. And probably for good reason.

One of the assistant coaches -- Earl Cureton, aka "Earl the Twirl" drew a technical foul in the first half. Not quite sure why, but if I had to guess I'd say it had something to do with "misuse" (I think that's genteel) of language. They're a tough group, those "Motor City" ladies.

So after being the national champions last year, Detroit has been stinkin' it up BIG TIME this year. And as was expected, they lost. But the action was continuous and the lead did change hands a few times, so it was a fun game.

And it was only made better -- much, much better by the food. I have been waiting all season for breaded, deep-fried chicken tenders, better known as "chicken fingers." I absolutely love them and I got to have them last night. Since food is included in the price of our tickets, we got to have them for "free." It was so awesome! A basket of chicken fingers at the Verizon Center costs at least $9. It may be $9.50, I can't remember. So imagine having as much of this food as my little heart desired and not having to shell out serious bucks for it. And in addition to the chicken fingers as an "appetizer" they had a variety of cheeses. Oh man! I was in 7th heaven.

So I've been trying to figure out why I like chicken fingers so much and I may have hit upon something today.

I think it may have to do with the fact that as children when we would drive up to CT on Friday evenings and stop at Grandma Florence's house in the Bronx, she almost always gave us schnitzel. Here's a newsflash: Schnitzel is breaded, fried chicken breast. In other words, not so far off chicken fingers. Could it be that I'm having a flashback when I eat chicken fingers to those innocent days? I'm not sure, because as I recall, I would often struggle with Naomi about who was going to get to stretch out all the way in the back seat. Usually I lost. But even when I "won" the ridiculous and, I daresay, questionably safe child safety harnesses in the back seat made really lying down and getting comfortable next to impossible.

I never learned to duplicate Grandma's recipe exactly and it would have to be exact, because otherwise it's just not the same. Veggie schnitzel in Israel filled a void, but eating it wasn't ever really like eating Grandma's schnitzel in my pajamas at the insanely late hour of - it was probably 8:30 p.m. or so.

Perhaps with the extra time on my hands I'll experiment...

Score: Domestic Divahood, 4; Unfulfilled on the job, 0