No, I don’t think it’s funny that you have all these friends who make their cats “service pets” so they can bring their pets to their college dorm, thanks to notes from their doctors that they use to claim “anxiety problems.”
First, you imply they are lying about their need, potentially thereby making those with legitimate need seem to also be faking. And who are these doctors who make these cats “service pets”? Do they realize they are just catering to a bunch of spoiled girls? (Girls, not women. Because women wouldn’t pull this kind of childish thing.)
Second, you are also, in a way, mocking those of us who do have anxiety issues. Those of us who might actually well and truly benefit from some calming influence of a pet. You don’t know me at all, but you assumed that I didn’t have an issue. Why?
Third, learn some customer service skills. When someone seems familiar with Docs and says, “This, in a 6,” when you finally deign to pay attention to her instead of your little coffee klatch of friends trying on boots, get her a UK 6 as that is how Docs are sized. Don’t bring a woman’s 6 and then ignore her as you unlace the boot a bit, then hand it over and ignore her some more. Or, even better, learn that questioning is a good choice and ask a fucking question instead of being a rude ignorant entitled little prick.
Thanks for summing up my whole Seattle experience in one exchange.
(Just as a side note, that isn’t truly the *whole* experience. But it seems pretty typical thus far…and I leave tomorrow.)
I didn’t purposely start this blog to just be a laundry list of complaints. But when the stiletto fits…
Now, you may be asking yourself, what does a stiletto have to do with Steak ‘N Shake, that normally awesome place to get a cheap burger and fries with some good milkshake. Well, let me tell you a story.
So my birthday was earlier this week, but it was in the middle of the week, and so we decided to go out to celebrate it on Friday. Seemed logical. We decided on hitting the Steak N Shake out in Pearland because there was a movie theater right there, so we could eat and see Judge Dredd.
We got to the “restaurant” an hour before the movie. Should be plenty of time, right? Wrong. Because right after we got there, a whole busload of students from some sport (volleyball? softball?) also pulled in and they went to the “to go” line. Still shouldn’t have been a problem. But apparently they were understaffed, both mentally and physically.
It took a few minutes to get seated because no one was clearing the empty tables. They just sat there, drinks and other detritus still waiting. So eventually they cleared one and seated us. Yay! We ordered our food and our shakes. Ten minutes, we got our drinks. Meanwhile, half the team had been served and were standing around, eating. Thirty more minutes, and the table next to use – who had been seated and ordered long before we got there – stood up and left. Hmmm. The movie was coming up, and the food was nowhere to be seen. But the team had *all* been served, including the coach who had been last in line, and they were happily finishing their food. While we waited, ignored. Forty minutes of sitting and waiting. Nothing.
We did quick math to pay for our drinks, left cash on the table, and got up to leave. A waitress saw us going, and we told her the problem. Her response. “Oh, I just got here.”
On our way out, we ran into a couple who told us that they had gotten there 30 minutes before the team, and they had been served as we walked in. And their food was cold. And no one cared.
So we went to see our movie (not a bad one, for those who like Dredd and ultra-violence in slow-motion).
But here’s the other thing. In the parking lot, when we got there and when we were leaving, we saw a van. It was “Stiletto Steppin.” We had to know what it was because, really, if you saw that in a parking lot, wouldn’t you want to know, too?
Apparently, CW39 had a recent “news” piece on them. And just like I’m not willing to call Steak N Shake a restaurant (don’t restaurants normally serve food to customers?), I can’t call this a news piece. It starts off by saying, “Women are nuts about their shoes. They’d literally fight for them.” Literally fight for them. Yup. A “news” article is telling me that I would fight for my shoes. Not bloody likely, “news” channel!
I’m not gonna lie. I like shoes. Totally like them. I buy them. I wear them. But fight? Only if the prize was $10,000 or a full-ride scholarship. Not a pair of stilettos decorated with rhinestones and other novelties.
I love the idea of a woman starting her own mobile show business. That’s pretty cool. I wouldn’t mind it if every business became mobile, in fact – that could help fuel our obesity epidemic. But the reporting on the business? The part where the owner of the shoe van, Shawn Bassett, spoke was interesting, and I could see how it would be a good business model. The article itself? Horrible.
Regardless, to get back to the point of this blog – Steak N Shake in Pearland? Boo to you! Dredd? Yay! Shoe van? Interesting. Reporting as per CW39? Boo to you, too!
All in all, a pretty interesting evening out that resulted in me having a headache from having a shake for dinner and getting all annoyed with two different places. Hopefully next year’s birthday will be a bit better.
So I could be writing this blog with a brand new Movado on my wrist, but the guy at the jewelry store didn’t want to sell me one. Really.
I got this awesome coupon from a particular jewelry store at the local mall where I have done a lot of business in the past. The coupon was for a free pair of pearl earrings for my birthday. Just come in and get them – no purchase necessary! Apparently, it should have said, “no purchase allowed.”
From the minute I walked in, the salesman was…interesting. Quoting their own trademark back at them, I said, “I’m so loved! Look what y’all sent me!” And he immediately said, “No, I don’t love you.” Oh, ehem. Well, never mind then. But I assumed he was just being a smart-ass, something I don’t normally mind from a salesclerk, as long as he’s fun and sells me things.
He had me fill out the back of the coupon with my information, and then got my earrings. Pretty.
Then my friend, who was with me, asked to look at a watch. I didn’t like it – it was gold, but right behind us was a display of Movado watches.
Now, I’ve always loved them. My husband thinks it’s because they remind me of my first Swatch – black on black on black. And he’s probably right. They’re simple and pretty and high quality. Great watches, right?
I asked to see one once my friend was done. I tried on the smaller women’s size, and then I tried on one of the men’s. I liked the men’s better. $495. Not a cheap watch, but it’s almost my birthday, and, to be fair, my husband had gotten a guitar or two lately, so why not splurge on a cool watch for myself?
Then the salesman saw that I was trying on the watch with the face down, on the inside of my wrist. “You can’t wear it that way,” he said.
“Well, yeah, I can,” I say. “I wear all my watches that way.”
“Why would you buy a Movado if you’re going to wear it like that?” And he blathers on about how only military people wear it that way, but why would I, etc, etc.
“That’s how I like it,” I say. “It’s how I’m comfortable. I’m not buying it to show off it’s a Movado. I’m buying it because I like how it looks and it’s a quality watch.”
“If you just wanted a good watch,” he says – and I swear this is actually what he said – “then you can just go to Wal-Mart and spend $5.”
“Not for the same quality as Movado,” I said.
“Yeah, the same quality.”
Okay, so now I’ve been told that, 1. I’m not supposed to wear my watch like that. 2. A Movado is the equivalent of a $5 Wal-Mart special.
Needless to say, I walked out without buying anything. My friend turned to me and said, “Wow, he really talked you out of that sale, didn’t he?”
When I got home, my husband was annoyed enough to call the manager was who surprised and said, “We don’t care how you wear what you buy. We just want to sell it to you.” He was very nice and told me I could go back before 9 o’clock, and he’d be happy to deal with me.
But right about now, I’m a bit soured on the place. Next time, maybe they’ll sell me something. For now, I’m going to the Internet where Amazon doesn’t tell me that I’m wearing my watch wrong.