....Dreams Stay With You....Like A Lover's Voice...'Cross the Mountain Side....
If you perused my Facebook page today, you will see that I have the Chinese national anthem stuck in my head. I can explain this. It all started with In A Big Country, which I admit I listen to more than I should on the old private iPod, and there's a certain bagpipe riff that sounds like one particularly catchy line from the Chinese national anthem. No, no, not from the Olympics do I know this, but rather from a lighter with Mao's picture did I purchase in Shanghai that plays that freaking song every time you open it did I catch this catchiness....and it just morphed from Big Country to whomever that genius was that developed that catchiness...anyway...please help me, because I am stuck in Scotch-Chino purgatory and I can't get out! HALP!
Maybe I am particularly crazy because we are at the tail-end of The Flower Show. FS is THE convention at The Circus. It is the largest convention that comes to Philly by far (and the largest indoor flower convention in the world, for what it's worth). All this means eight days of middle-aged Mainline women asking for "just plain tea" and their brownies cut in four- all day long. Cat sweater/turtleneck combos like.you.have.never.seen. Imagine the toll this takes on my people, my friends.
I have to say, however, that the crazy quotient hasn't been as high as past years. The worst was (and we are keeping a list, mind you) a woman who was flossing her teeth while ordering cupcakes. This is petty, almost unmentionable shit compared to some of the daily dealings with the bus stop psychotics with which we deal. Nothin'. Small potatoes, ladies. Bring it on, Flossie! Just Purell before you hand me your two-dollar bill, k?
In any event, I am damn tired. These women are needy and exhausting. The constant flux of people- and having to explain- over and over again- what is a San Francisco brownie* Or what is my favorite cupcake. Or when was that pot of coffee brewed. Or do I have a salt packet. Or soy sauce. Or where can one get baklava. Or do I have ice. Or soy sauce. Or a spoon. Or what kind of pizza am I cutting. Or where are the napkins. Or can one get a wet cloth with which to wipe the counter. Or weren't we on FoodTv, no they are sure we were. Or what kind of cupcakes do we have. Or what is the lavender cupcake like.
Lord, please grant me the serenity not to punch someone in the face. Because I am making a boatload of money right now. And punching someone in the face probably wouldn't make me more money.
Please god, I beg you, never let me grow mom-hair or pleated, tapered chinos.
I swear no one in Sweden wears pleated, tapered chinos. They must be illegal there. Or at least so socially frowned upon, no one has the desire and everyone is esthetically responsible and shops at H&M. Maybe I will retire in Sweden.
*People clearly do not have the desire to read signs.