Professionalism

I worked at a bookstore for a few years on a part-time basis. For the most part, it was a great place to work. I worked with some great people, had fun while I worked, and got to interact with some very nice customers. One of the skills we were encouraged to develop was non-reaction. Our job was to help the customers, not judge them.

In early January 2008, a male customer, probably in his late 40's/early 50's approached my register with a specific calendar question. "Miss," (he called me Miss which was kinda nice because the Ma'ams had started coming more frequently since the birth of my daughter), "do you have any penis calendars?" Without blinking an eye or a change in facial expression I replied, "Well sir, I'm not quite sure if I've seen any of those on the shelves, but let's head over to the calendars and see what we can find." I was pretty sure we didn't carry penis calendars but was thinking we might find something in the "One-A-Day" calendars that might work. Maybe a cartoon or something.

We searched throughout the section without any luck. As most of the calendar stock was sold prior to the holidays, the available styles had dwindled down to the more unpopular subjects - golf jokes, country cottages, the highly confusing "Busy Mom's Home Organizer", pigs in tutus, etc. I apologized to the customer and told him if he'd like to order one to please let me know and I'd be happy to help. He thanked me for my assistance and went to another part of the store to shop and I went back to my register.

About a half hour later, the man approached my register and asked if we could try to order the calendar. I pulled up the appropriate screen on my computer and asked, "Now, you were looking for a penis calendar, right?" There was no response. I looked up to a very red-faced man who began to stutter, "No, no, no, no. No. I said Peanuts calendar. Like, Snoopy." And without blinking an eye or a change in facial expression I replied, "Well, that's a very different calendar. Peanuts, let's see what we have. I think we may have a few of those left on the shelves."

Speak up, I'm kinda stupid

Everyday I mishear something. Not misunderstand, mishear. It's gotten to the point that when people inquire, "What do you think I said?" it's asked with some glee because they know it's gonna be a good one. And sometimes, it is. I'm not sure why this happens to me. Is it because I'm not really paying attention? Because I probably have the beginnings of an ear infection? Or is it because I hear what I want to hear, and sometimes I want to hear the bizarre?

Here is the most classic example of one of my mishearings. In 1997, I was asked by a guy I liked, "If I were to pass you a note in theatre history that asked if you'd go out with me, would you check Yes, No, or Maybe?" I replied, "I guess I'd choose Monkey?" Because that is what I heard him say. I heard him ask me if I'd choose "Yes, No, or Monkey". IN MY DEFENSE, I was in a lift, about 20 feet in the air attempting to repair a lighting instrument that wasn't behaving properly. But why, oh why, oh why would I have thought Monkey would have ever been an option? (By the way, we did eventually go and get some coffee. It wasn't a love match, but I remember having a nice time.)

The result of my mishearing was a lot of laughter from those present at the time and a story that I still hear from time to time. Or I hear someone just randomly tell me, "I'd choose Monkey." And it makes me laugh.

Do other people do this, too? Please share your best example of mishearing and you'd better make it funny! I'm in a bleh mood and need some cheering.

Words, Words, Words

NSFPOBC (Not Safe for People Offended by Cursing)

Yesterday morning the word, "Holy!" floated out of the kitchen and into the living room where Hannah and I were sharing some breakfast. Hannah gazed towards the kitchen as if she was seeing the word flutter by and announced, "Crap!" The 12-year-old in me wanted to giggle. The mom in me wanted to gasp. I went with something in the middle and ignored it, completely.

Despite 2 1/2 years of work, Bryan and I still have "potty mouths". I have significantly toned things down. If something falls out of the freezer and onto my toe, I am more likely to yell, "Fudgesickle" these days. But when I hit my thumb with a hammer, or I walk in dog pee in the kitchen, you know what doesn't make me feel better? Shoot, darn, dang it, and Oh No! These words don't work. Creatively stringing together curse words makes me feel better. Sometimes, I am so creative that I cheer myself right up and forget about the thing that made me curse in the first place. And you know what? I don't feel guilty. I don't feel as if I've sinned, as I was led to believe I'd done when I was younger. I feel calmer, like I've purged some demons.

I know not to curse in public or around children that aren't my own (and I'm getting so much better around my own). I know that people judge others on the words that come out of their mouths and opportunities may be lost. I know that too much cursing makes you sound like an uneducated moron. And as I will be paying for the REST OF MY LIFE for my Master's degree, that is exactly how I don't wish to sound. But behind closed doors, in my car, and around friends, I will take that filter off and express myself however the hell I want. I spent my teenage years and a good chunk of my 20's cursing out loud, in public, whenever, whereever I wanted. But I needed to do that, to get it out of my system, to rebel against all the rules I grew up with. All the unexplained, just don't do it, just don't question it rules I grew up with. All the rules I know were for my own good, but without back-up, meant nothing and were things to ignore, test, and question. Yep, I learned the Why.

The fact is, I enjoy cursing. It's fun, it's freeing, and it's just a set of words that some people consider to be offensive, which is why it's fun and why it's freeing (Oooh, look! A big circle!). But now there's a Honey-Nut Cheerio eating parrot in our house. And there's nothing quite like hearing the little person you are responsible for repeat, "Fuck!" which, in all fairness you yelled right after you'd set the oven on fire with a damn croissant (see, the word damn adds a little something, somehow shifts the blame from me to the baked good that fell onto the heating coil at the bottom of the oven). Your blood runs cold and you freeze. Your mind races to find an appropriate response. And you wonder how you're going to convice a 2-year old not to repeat this new found expression at daycare the next day. Because no matter how okay you may be with cursing, it is still a forbidden word and you still don't want to be called into the daycare center's office to have a chat with the principal.

I know in a few years, we'll be able to explain to Hannah that there are words that aren't appropriate in all situations. Or around Nana. At all. Ever. We will explain the appropriate times, we will give her permission to use these words, if necessary, without fear of punishment (Ha ha! We'll take away the power of the words). We will explain to her the Why behind the rules. And then we will watch her find the Why on her own. But for now, we have to be careful how much power we give these words. To freak out and start yelling will let Hannah know she has a word that can get an adult's attention in a split second. Yes, for now we will (mostly) ignore the bad words she parrots back to us and we will be more dilligent in watching what we say within ear shot. But, we will continue to be ourselves in our home, in our cars, and with our friends. And if you've got a problem with it, I'm pretty sure you can figure out what to go do with yourself.

What's in a name?

Hannah loves Angus. Don't be fooled by his turned head, Angus loves Hannah, too. He loves her so much he was overly protective of me while I was pregnant. He loves her so much he was our dirty diaper detector for the first few months of Hannah's life, until his overly sensitive nose couldn't handle that job anymore. He loves her so much he lets her pull on his ears and when she was younger, the extra skin above his eyes. He loves her so much he gained 4 pounds when she started eating solid food. Oh, but does Hannah love Angus. Hannah loves to hug Angus, she loves to kiss him goodbye when she leaves for daycare in the mornings, and she loves to see him when she gets home in the afternoon. Hannah loves to share her breakfast and dinner with Angus. Hannah loves to say, "Angus, come!" when she wants to see him. Hannah loves to say, "Angus, No!" when he tries to smooch her from chin to forehead in one giant slurp. Hannah loves to say, "Where's Angus?" when she forgets where he is. When we pull up in front of the house, Hannah loves to inform me that we are in front of "Angus House". Sometimes, she loves to sing his name over and over again, "Angus, Angus, Angus, Angus, Angus." Hannah does not pronounce the "G" in Angus' name.