Tag Archives: Costco

Another Typical Day and I STILL Don’t Know Where to Look

I like people.

Wait.

No.

Scratch that.

That’s wrong.

I enjoy people watching.

They’re ridiculous.

What they are wearing.  What they are doing.  What they’re saying.  Truly the world is filled with the good, the bad, the funny and the down right idiotic.    Who said that was a good idea and why didn’t someone stop you? Gut instinct is not passé  but perhaps it needs more of a designer label before people begin to listen to it.

If you only knew what was going on inside my head, it would explain why there is a constant smell of a camp fire around me.  It’s hell’s calling card.  I’m on the fast track.

Friday, I was on my way into work.  I live north of Miami and work in the port.  (Don’t ask me why I chose this location.  I am now considering a closer location under an overpass by the Arena….I’m from Alaska and have a tent.  I hunt big game.  I’m not afraid.) When I moved, I shipped my car here.  You don’t see many of my car here.  And why are the Subaru an extinct species here?  Not that I drive one but good grief.  Odd.

Of course back home I only drove a total of 18 miles a day – round trip.  It took me maybe 15 minutes each way.  These lighted signs advising drivers it’s going to take 15 minutes to go 3 miles just about causes me to swallow my tongue each time I see the warning.  Certainly it has to be incorrect.

How can that be?

I won’t even go into discussion about the new….literally stop and basically turn left into I-95 traffic, forget about any sense about a practical merge lane from Ives Dairy.  While I am not an engineer….at least an actual on-ramp would have prevented that daily disaster.  It may be faster to actually get to the port by boat or even the blimp.  Has anyone considered this?  Is anyone thinking outside the box here?

Friday.

Back to Friday.

I finally get into the heart of town and make my turn by Will Call.

Which, by the way is that place open 24 hours?  Is it like the Miami version of a 7-11?  I have yet to go past there when there wasn’t some kind of drama unfolding.

A co-worker described it as a “rough around the edges” bar.  Well, Alaska has rough around the edges bars.  I’ve been in those local, rough around the edges bars.   I’m talking about the true local bars – not ones where the tourists go when visiting the Last Frontier.  Yes, they truly are ROUGH.

Don’t ask me the intersection location because, as we do in Alaska, it’s the “Will Call” intersection. Which as I am quickly learning here….people expect you to actually know the cross streets.  When I was asked recently which Costco I use,  I said the one in North Miami.  The lady rolled her eyes and said, “WHICH ONE?!”  I sweetly said in my friendly Alaska way, “The one in North Miami on Biscayne.”  When she wanted me to confirm the actual street address it was my turn to roll eyes and I took a stab in the dark and said, “Yes, that’s the one.”  Seriously, come on, I know there’s 4,000 Walgreen’s in Miami but Costco hasn’t become THAT popular.

As I wait to turn at Will Call I see to my left….coming down the stairs…. some oddly placed pink fabric, long black hair lots and lots of skin and what appeared to be fishnet stocking but could have been thigh high boots.  All I know….I thought to myself ….WTH is that?

Wow…..a hooker!

Note:  If she was working in an office that would have been one hell of an office.

Wow.

As I tried to pick my eyeballs up off the floor mats so I could get another glimpse of this lack of an outfit, I had my chance to turn right so I took it – to avoid the ever annoying honk of friendly Miamians.

Only to find two half naked men throwing punches AND CONNECTING those punches in the middle of the street.

My little car, Norman, was first in line to encounter these idiots.

OMG – NORMAN!  Get out of the way!  Horn was blaring, as much as Norman’s horn can blare.  If these guys fall and hit Norman he is going to get dented and I’m going to be pissed.

I get around them and then as luck would have it, they run up past me.  Still yelling and throwing punches.  Now more cars have joined the crowd due to the stop light.  Horns are  blaring…..why?

These idiots….instead of following what their gut indicators should be telling them, which is, fight or flight….keep running back AT each other.  They’re running back and forth across the street, around street poles, between cars …. like a woman trying to get the last pair of her most favorite shoes on sale at Nordstrom.  Good grief.

Commit.  Commit.  Commit.  Sharpen the elbows and commit.

Idiots, complete idiots these two.

One throws a punch and runs away.   The other runs after, catches up and throws a punch.  The other returns a punch and runs away.   It was the strangest mix of sissy girl fighting trying to be manly. Dana White would have been so disappointed.

Make a commitment!  Either stand your ground, be a man and fight like a man or accept defeat, put your dick between your legs and run away.

RUN THE OTHER WAY!

Miami, you’re killing me with laughter.

 

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Apparently You’re Broken

I have a complaint.

Why have I not heard about the fundraising effort to assist cashiers across America?  Di you know, they have all broken their arms.  Shocking news isn’t it?

You must be kidding me.  Seriously, you can’t lift the head of lettuce, chili pepper, bottle of shampoo and loaf of bread out of my basket?  The basket is on the conveyor belt.  It’s waist high!  No, you still can’t empty it?  What on earth is wrong with this customer service world?   It’s not like I’m carrying around 50 pounds of cement mix in my basket…..if I can carry it with one arm, you would think the cashiers would be able to lift each item out individually to ring them up.

WRONG.  It’s happened to me at Target and now at Whole Foods.

“Is this your basket?”

No, I’m standing here to ask you if you prefer your orange juice with or without pulp.

YES, it’s my basket.  Who else would it belong to?

“Oh well can you help me empty out the items?”

A look of disbelief crosses my face like a tumbleweed in a desert ghost town.

I start to empty out the items and she turns to start talking to the bagger guy.  Since the conveyor belt keeps moving forward I have to pile all of my items together.  This is ridiculous.  After I empty out my plethora of heavy items she turns to me and asks how I’m doing today.

The only reason I can figure why this has now become the norm (I’ve had this happen to me both at Target and today at Whole Foods) is someone has undoubtedly thrown their back out by lifting out a can of chickpeas or a 4-pack of toilette paper out of a basket sitting on the conveyor belt.

Cashiers don’t even have to enter numbers any longer except when multiple quantities or a produce item comes across their stand.  When I was a casher in high school, at the local grocery, we had to actually ring in items.  Imagine that.  Then I had to walk home without shoes, up hill and in the desert sun.

At Costco here in South Florida, they unload your cart for you.  THAT’S service.  Of course, their management probably figures after heaving that overladen cart around their football field of items you’re arms are fatigued and you need help.

My purchases are finally rung through and as I’m preparing to swipe my card for payment (cashiers don’t even have to do that any more shocking) the cashier points to the basket and says, “Can you put this on the floor for me?”

Gobsmacked.

Are you kidding me?  Seriously?  Are your arms painted onto your torso?  What happened to customer service?  Here, move over and let me ring up and bag my own groceries.  Oh wait, I can already do that.  In fact, I did just that earlier today at Ikea.

What is it exactly that we’re paying cashiers to do these days anyway?  Drag items across a scanner that rings up the item.  Wow.  Difficult.

Imagine the qualifications for the job:  able to keep right arm bent at elbow for hours while dragging items across scanning device and shoving item with left hand to the bagger for packaging.  Smiling and pleasant chatting is not required or expected.  Prefer individuals with sour personality and frown hanging down to their knee caps.  If you can sweat sheer exhaustion and boredom, you’re hired!

Few cashiers are pleasant.  Most are annoyed you are standing in front of them.  Very rarely do they even greet you or ask if you found everything.  They’re too busy discussing with their coworkers when their next smoke break is and if they can borrow a cigarette.  TRUE, happened last week at Target.  If one should actually thank you for shopping at their place of employment, pigs would fly.  Actually monkeys would probably shoot out of my butt if good customer service was normal at retail stores.

Even the girl at Barnes and Noble was annoyed today.  When you are angry at the world, try not to take it out on me.  If being nice to customers isn’t your thing, may I suggest a job change.  You probably want to stay away from people so I would look into office cleaning in the evenings, back-room stock person or counting beans in a basement somewhere.  Maybe you could pass as a sultry 900 number operator, there you could wear a headset and not even have to use your arms at all.  There’s a bonus!

Seriously, I think owners and managers alike should do their own version of Undercover Boss and experience first hand just how rude their front line staff can be to customers.  It isn’t even rude as it’s down right anti-customer service.

I’m thinking of starting a rating system.  If you provide great customer service, I will thank you and give you a high five.  Actually, we have stopped managers in stores and restaurants to compliment a particular employee.  Maybe I’ll just start telling the anti-service cashiers, I hope their day gets better……let them ponder that one.

 

AN ADDENDUM:

I would also like to comment at this time that The Public should learn some manners as well.  The woman in front of me at Whole Foods today…..her son, maybe 8 years old, nearly ran me down as he was obviously hopped up on sugar and decided to run back into the aisles like a fox chasing a hare.  No excuse me.  No I’m sorry.  No pardon me.  NOTHING.  Even the man behind me raised his eyebrows and shook his head.

I don’t care WHAT country you are from people.  It’s never okay not to be nice.  Running down a stranger is not acceptable, unless they have a mafia hit on them.

 

Just a Quick Merp.

I love sleep.

It doesn’t always love me.

Which is disappointing, cause I’m pretty sure given the proper coaching, I could become a World Champion Sleeper.  Seriously.  The downside is I’d have to wear earplugs cause I’m a light sleeper.  If the cat farts, I wake up.

Besides sleeping for your health, I love to sleep because my dreams are usually AWESOME.  Yes, I dream in color.  I dream a lot about animals.  Bears are the most frequent animal in my dreams.  All kinds.  My dreams are usually crazy and involve lots of running and searching for things.

I love my dreams.

When I get a cold I can’t wait to go to bed just so I can take NyQuil.  OMG if you think my dreams are good normally…..NyQuil send them to the tenth power.  Amazing.  The colors, the details….phenomenal.  Which makes me think if I would ever try pot…..I can only imagine what my reaction would be…..probably a blubbering mess….which we don’t need to experience.  Thank you.

Last night I was having trouble sleeping as my mind was too busy talking to itself about work and life and Florida and art and the books I’m reading and work and the new Despicable Me movie coming out and work and so on.  After about 30 minutes I got up and took an OTC sleeping pill.  Actually, I take 1/4 of a pill because if I do any more I can’t get up in the morning.  This is literally the generic pill from Costco and it kicks my ass.  If I take 1/2 to a whole one I can’t function at all the next day.  Period.  This must be what bears take to hibernate all winter…..

At some point in the middle of the night I hear my child, Liggy….chattering.  The best way for me to describe Liggy chattering is to say:  Imagine a cat with Tourettes.  Short little bursts of Me.  Yeo.  Me. Ow.  Mur.  Ph.  Ye.  Ye. Wer.  Me.

A visual of the Liggy.  She’s is a dog trapped in a cat’s body.  She weighs 18 pounds and has an enormous body and a tiny little head.  Her tail is a giant feather boa of a thing.  She thinks she’s a Marilyn Monroe the way she whips that thing around sometimes.

So she’s chattering at the “whip it stick.”  Which is one of those cat toys that has the long stick with a feather on a string at the end.  Apparently, she and the stick have a love / hate relationship that can only be discussed in the middle of the night.

The routine always goes:

Eventually she chatters enough at the stick that she wakes me up.

I listen to her conversation to verify it’s a Whip It chat and nothing more.

I call out to her and tell her it’s okay, come to bed.

She gives the stick one last, MURP.

Then she comes running into the bedroom and jumps on the bed.

Sometimes she gets under the covers and sometimes not.  (Guess it depends on her conversation with the stick.)

So the other night she was howling at the stick.  Really giving it the what for.  Damn that stick.  The nerve!  Apparently, as I saw in the morning, she was trying to get it into the bedroom and it got caught up and therefore couldn’t be dragged into the dark cave with the rest of us.  Liggy read that stick the riot act.  Up one side and down the other.    Good job, you tell that stick.

Good grief.

Damn stick.

So going back to last night……

I have my 1/4 of a OTC sleeping pill and am off to happy dream land.

Mew.

Mrp.  Ye.  Yew.  Me.  Ow.  Meow.  Merp.

I wake up and realize it’s the whip it stick again.  I tell Liggy that it’s okay to come to bed. I try the tsk-tsk-tsk sound.  Nothing.  I reassure her it’s okay to come to bed.  Nothing.  Just a few little Merp Merps.

Then all hell breaks loose.

I can hear her pitching a full on fit about something.  Really telling something off.  Then I hear her running.  The whole time she’s yelling at something.

At this point I know one of three things have happened, I leap up out of bed and start calling her:

“Liggy, come here.  It’s okay.  What’s wrong?  You’re okay.  Come here.”

I can hear her running at me while Merping and Yewling.

Something is wrong and I’m thinking great…..either……she’s chasing a roach, which the thought leaves me lightheaded, she’s being chased by a lizard, which makes me throw up a little or she’s got something stuck to her butt.

Since she’s a big girl with long hair, it happens.  Sometimes the hiney-monster comes and visits.  Once a year tends to be the visit cycle.  The first time it happened I nearly peed myself laughing so hard.  She had swallowed some string and when she went to poop a clump got stuck and all the string didn’t come out so she tore through the house with this piece of poop attached to the string, flying from side to side hitting her.  OMG.  It was hysterical for the humans.  Liggy, however, ended up in therapy for the next two years.

Poor thing.

So you can imagine my anxiety when she’s carrying on about something, running at me and I’m trying to get to the light.

Finally I throw the bedroom light on and she’s standing at the foot of the bed looking at me.

Blink.  Blink.  Merp.  Blink.  Erp.

I ask her what the hell is going on.  I pat her down like she’s a felon and she’s fine.  I don’t see anything chasing her or being chased (thank you God) and then I turn my head to the bedroom door.

Seriously Liggy?

She was so proud of herself.

I looked at her, shook my head, turned off the light and climbed back into bed.

Liggy, enough, it’s bed time.  You did a good job, time for bed.

What was all the commotion about?   She was over the moon delighted with herself because she finally managed to get the damn whip it stick into the bedroom.

OMG Liggy it’s 1:20AM.  Step away from the whip it stick.

So. How You Liking Miami?

Over the last few days several people have asked me the same thing.  It’s always with hesitation they ask.

“So.”

l o n g        p a u s e      h e r e

“How you liking Miami?”

Then I swear they hold their breath and squint their eyes.  Waiting for me to sucker punch them or something.  It’s quite odd.

My response?

It’s fine.  Honestly, I have nothing to really compare it to logically.  It’s completely different from anything I’ve experienced in the last 18 years.  Below, I thought I’d take a moment or ten, to tell you what I think…..

First off.  It is the polar opposite of living in Juneau, Alaska.

  1. People here use umbrellas.  In Juneau, we use the hoods on our coats and tough it out.    A little rain never hurt anyone.
  2. However, the rain in Miami is a torrential downpour that floods streets and the car wipers don’t go fast enough.  Thunder, lightening and rivers…..30 minutes later and we’re done with the rain.  Out of Mother Nature’s system and moving on to better things.
  3. Lots of things I don’t need to see.  Such as that lady’s nipple, as she waited for the crosswalk signal.  Her bikini top was just a little off kilter.  Or that lady in front of me on my golf course walk, with the wrinkled and saggy skin…..with her short shorts tucked up on the sides under her thong (not kidding) so anyone behind her could see the loose bags of skin that used to be her butt cheeks…..but more like an overcooked potato skin….flopping around under her shorts.  She would have made a better impression keeping the shorts down and covering the cheeks.
  4. I’ve never seen so many BMW, Audi, Mercedes, Lamborghini, Maserati, Porsche, Lexus and Cadillacs in one area.  So much so that I have forgotten what a Subaru looks like, let alone a pick up truck.
  5. If you are trying to grow an alien out of your stomach, hip or butt…..please, encase that in spandex, we all need to see that.  And it’s better if you can encase it in spandex that has horizontal stripes.  See below:
  6. One day I went to work in a new work outfit.  Gone are the jeans and hiking boots.  I now wear dresses, skirts and platform heels.  I texted my cousin and said, “I think I picked the wrong skirt it seems tight and short.”  Her reply, “you are in Miami it’s all about butts and boobs.”  Noted.
  7. The land of 18 languages.  Russian, French, Czech, Yiddish and oh yeah… Spanish.
  8. Hey!  It’s not all Asian food here!  What a break!
  9. It starts to drizzle and the traffic slows down from 80 mph to 40mph.  I’m the only one weaving in and out of traffic at that point.
  10. Whole cases of freshly cut fruit at the grocery stores.  Not to mention the celebrity sightings there too.
  11. Beaches without rocks.  A novelty.
  12. Sunshine.  Lots of sunshine.
  13. I can get a manicure for $15.00 and a full service pedicure for $20.  Seriously.  With a massaging recliner chair to boot.
  14. Costco…..easily twice the size of ours.  I can get my prescription, fresh flowers, produce, gas, eyeglasses AND funeral casket all in one place.

It has been interesting.  Yes, living in the suburbs of Miami definitely has it’s challenges.  The traffic is something fierce but you learn to work around it.  The people aren’t always the nicest but you deal with it.  For example if I start talking to people in the grocery or Costco people automatically know I’m not from here and it either gets them interested in where I’m from or causes them to choose another check out lane.

My job is great.  I love my job.  It’s tough.  Every day is a challenge and you don’t know what’s coming next.  I’ve never slept so good – all because I’m mentally drained by the time I get home at night.

Working for a giant company is definitely odd.  The closest thing I have to compare it to is working for the State of Alaska.  Huge machine and we’re only responsible for the left big toe portion.  I’ve met two of the presidents, which is very exciting.  One of which thought I brought a great conversation to the table!  Okay!  Believe it or not he is British and I actually got about every third word he said —- rather than my usual every sixth word.

I laugh a lot every day and yet there are still lots of things I need to learn.  When the VP says, “DO IT.”  I at first think, “really?  He can’t be serious.”  No, really, he is serious.  This is soooo backwards from what I’m used to that it takes me a bit to roll it around before I swallow and say, “okay, well if he’s serious, then hell yeah!  Let’s do this.”

Many times people have asked me, “what do you do on the weekends?”  I am here by myself and it makes people worry about my sanity and social life.  The first thing I tell people is this is the SECOND time I’ve packed up and moved somewhere I didn’t know anyone or anything.  How do you think I ended up in Alaska for 18 years?  I’m a Philly girl!  Come on!

Second thing I have to tell people:  I’m an only child.

I was taught to fend for myself since third grade.  True.  While others in this world need outside people to complete them….I am comfortable doing my own thing, on my own time at my own speed.  Often times people are dumbfounded when I tell them I do all kinds of things by myself.

I take myself out to dinner and not just fast food.  Sit down, order a glass of wine, salad, dinner etc.  When I walk up to the hostess stand I always tell them, “I am a giant party of one.”  The facial expression is priceless!  What a relief!

I have gone to movies and art museums by myself.

I have even gone to theatre productions by myself in major cities.

It’s no big deal to me.  I can do it.  Contrary to what is difficult to lots of people in this world…..I am very, very comfortable being with myself.  By myself.  I don’t need a giant circle of people to validate me or my actions.  Here I am….love me or not….it’s not my problem.

Yes, I have a small circle of friends, around this globe and they are what matters.  I don’t need a huge friend base of 200 people to make me feel valued or accomplished.  I’ve been doing this since I was 8 years old and I’m proud to say I’m quite independent.

So when people are astonished I can do this life in Miami, by myself, I am perplexed because to me, this is a huge adventure.  I may take myself on a 3 mile walk and enjoy my thoughts or music as I go.  Maybe I will drive to Barnes & Noble and get lost for a few hours in the shelves of books.  There’s a great movie out….maybe I will treat myself to snacks and a glass of wine then hit the movie.  I have signed up for Conversational Spanish at the college and have a GroupOn for pole dancing lessons – all on my own.  No big deal.

I go to the gym at work during the week – first thing in the morning.  Do my work, on the third floor of the 1080 building until 6:30 or 7:00 at night and head home.  At home I cook a nice healthy meal, watch some tv or read….play Words with Friends and then off off to bed.  Rewind and repeat the next day.

The complex I’m in has a pool, if I should choose to jump in, but that’s not for me yet.

Yes, there are massages and nail appointments.  My new hair stylist Greta is great!  I have been to the beach once in all my time here….go figure.  But have enjoyed my balcony and potted plants just as much.  I have my usual weekly chores and food shopping to get through.  Snore.

It all comes from how you were raised.  My mom made me a strong and very independent person – which I am proud to be in this world.  Yet there are times when I think, “what the hell?”  Those moments come from not having experienced this life style before and just having to get used to the flow of things.

When I moved to Alaska I had no clue what Xtra Tuffs were – and I have my second pair with me now.  My co-workers are often teaching me about local customs and flavors, which is fantastic.  “OH, you have to try this Cuban dessert.”

I truly enjoy my coworkers sharing their local knowledge – especially the Cuban side of things.  As it turns out, my great-great- great grandparents were from Cuba.  They owned a tobacco plantation.

So see, I’m not so foreign in this land after all!

Pissing Me Off

I am having one of those days.

I’m pissed off at nothing and everything.

For now, just stay out of my way.

Please.

Which gives me good motivation to write about things that piss me off, no matter if I’m having a good day or not.  For some, fingernails going down a black board can send you to insanity.  That doesn’t bother me, but this does…..I started to pull together thoughts for this blog yesterday when we were at Home Depot.

I needed to purchase a new toilet seat and wanted to get in and out of the store.  Heading in I start towards the bathroom fixture area.  Down the aisle I go and I hear following me:

smack

smack

smack

smack.

I turn my head just enough to get a good peripheral look at the target.  Just shoot me. If you don’t know how to properly wear your shoes, I suggest duct taping them on.  (Can you get any lazier? Only if paired with your pajama pants.)  We’re in Home Depot, they have an entire aisle devoted to adhesives, certainly I could find something to help keep your damn shoes on your feet.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

Smack.

They were slip on shoes, worn like fucking flip flops.  If I don’t get away from you, I am going to beat you with your shoe.  She was walking around like some dazed and confused twenty something….wondering where the designer jean aisle was located.   Wrong store, you have to go to Seattle to find that aisle.  In the meanwhile she was dazzled by all the chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and certainly wondering to herself where the DJ was located.

Needless to say I hurried along, leaving my better half behind.  I don’t have time for this today.  Which leads me to when men don’t tie their hiking boots.  A completely different sound:

clomp

clomp

clomp

clomp.

Note: If you’re wearing the hiking boots for ankle support you are missing the mark.  In high school it may have been cool to wear those yellow construction boots with the laces undone, but that was the past.

Hey!

Welcome to the present!

You are impressing nobody but yourself.

The other thing that does me in every time I hear it are the shufflers.  You know what I’m talking about.  At least the smackers and clompers are some what picking up their feet.  Although, as history has proven, this is not always the case.  The shufflers aren’t doing anything but just that…shuffling.  Dragging their feet across the ground.

Oh, they’re so heavy, these feet of mine.

If you can’t keep the flip flops or slip on shoes on your feet and walk like a proper homo-sapien, I suggest you purchase different shoes.  Let me guess, when they showed you how to tie shoes in kindergarten you were out sick….well guess what?  Velcro.  Buy shoes with Velcro straps and do us all a favor.

The only thing worse than a flip flop shuffler is one wearing those idiotic Nike flip flops that look like shower shoes while wearing socks.  It’s snowing outside, invest in some boots or sneakers (with Velcro).  If it’s summer and you’re wearing socks with your flip flops, then I suggest you go see your doctor as it’s obvious you have a circulation issue in your extremities.

If there was any way for feet to look stupid….all of the above would be it.

After Home Depot, I had to exchange some glue at JoAnn’s Fabric.  One cashier working and about six people in line.  Sigh.  Another cashier comes up and says she can help the next person in line at the register to the left.

Done.

A third cashier comes up and walks up to me and says she can assist the next person (that would be ME) at the register to the right. Wouldn’t you know it the woman behind me thought she meant HER?!

Okay, I admit it…. I am short.  On a good day, I can stretch out to a 5’2.  Don’t think my height disadvantage means you are going to walk on me.  I will hip check you into the magazine rack.  Not to mention my sharp, pointy elbows can be weapons.  When necessary, I will bite your ankles, no doubt about it.

I immediately blocked Ms. I’m Next with my full featherweight division self and proceeded to exchange my glue.

Ms. I’m Next is a gum chewer.

Like a cow chewing it’s cud.

Or Mrs. Pickles licking her coochie.

It’s still there and I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.  Keep it to yourself.  I am not a willing participant.  Christ.

Chew with your mouth closed.  I don’t care what you’re eating.  Nor do I need to see it.  My better half chews gum like he’s a lion with peanut butter stuck to the roof of his mouth.  Every time he starts I look at him and say the same thing:

“You’re killing me with the gum.”

Needless to say he knows to get rid of it.  Immediately.

Smart boy.

Last, but not least,  one thing that has baffled me for years….

My office has been in a building with public restroom on the same floor as our office.  It’s a restroom that quite a few tourists visit during the summer season.  The women’s room has three stalls.

I can understand if you have had to pee so bad your back teeth are floating.  When you finally hit the pot you let out a “whhhhewwwww.”  What a relief.  A near miss of an accident.  I’ve been there myself.  With a bladder the size of a lima bean, you can’t help but have to visit the Water Closet on a regular basis.  So I completely understand that concept.

What kills me is the obvious problem women are having with pulling pants up or down, tearing off toilet paper, wiping butts and putting on coats.  The sounds associated with those activities are unbelievable.  You would think they’re at the gym and told to do ten sets of leg presses with 200 pound weights.  Or they just missed seeing a baby in a stroller go by on the sidewalk.  Better yet they were told to hold their breath for as long as they could and it’s now coming out like a burst balloon.

You get a woman in each of those stalls and it’s like a 3 part harmony.  Good grief.

Once the summer season returns, I don’t even bother with the restroom on our floor, I go up one flight of stairs and use that one.  Not only is it quiet but thankfully…there’s never a paper towel stuck to the door handle, water left running in the sink or trash on the floor.

People, you’re exhausting me.  I think this could be a form of torture.

With that being said, I need to return the toilet seat to Home Depot – heaven help the poor soul who has to assist me.  Just let me do the exchange and be on my way.  After that, I’m stopping at Costco.  If I want two of those cheese samples today, you best just hand them over lady.

Trust me.

Back away from the cheese samples…and nobody will get hurt.