A major misunderstanding

When I got to work today the gardeners were there. They were ripping up the gorgeous sod and putting in Astroturf. I swear to God. Also, there are plasterers on the other side of the building – the side where my office window is located.

As soon as I turned on my office light the workers noticed. One of them pounded on my window and then they all waved. At me. I don’t know why either, but this went on for a bit. I had my boobs safely inside my shirt so I can’t imagine what they were looking at.

I lamented to our receptionist how I always get hit on by busboys, laborers, baristas….that type, much to the continued delight of Ava who has witnessed this phenomenon on several occasions.

“Why can’t I ever get hit on by the rich guys?” I asked her and the security guard. They didn’t have any satisfactory answers. No one ever does. It’s not like I”m looking to get hit on, for crying out loud, I’m very happily married to My Honey but just once in a while if it was a guy in a Jaguar instead of a beatup Ford…

So my day continued….

The dogs were out of food this morning so at lunch I had to go to Petsmart Pet Food and Loan Company. You have to get a loan when the good stuff costs $45.00 a bag. That’s ridiculous. Nevertheless, I went because I can’t have my babies starving.

I went by myself. This is significant because I hardly ever go anywhere alone during the work day. Ava is always with me. This time she was getting her hair done. That is horrible because that meant we were both alone, out bothering people separately.

So I muscled the 75 pound bag of food into the cart and stood in line to pay. The checker was a nice looking younger man. By “younger” I mean younger than me, so that put him around mid to late twenties. I was giving him a hard time because that’s what I do. Good naturedly, of course. I’m not mean, but you should be prepared to be teased and harassed if you have the good luck to be assisting me. It’s not any better if you get Kelli or Ava with me either. The three of us feed off of each other. That’s probably why so many people in the service industry quit after helping the Sisters.

“Can I help you carry this out to the car?” Nice Young Man asked me.

“Only if you’re also going to come home with me and carry it into the house,” I replied.

He promptly turned an alarming shade of pink and started stammering. I stood there blinking at him in wonder. What the hell was his problem? His manager apparently overheard the exchange and came over.

“He’s very nice but we don’t let him leave the parking lot,” she told me.

What? What the hell are these people talking about?

OK. I’m thinking to myself that the trip from the store to the car is a piece of cake. I can take the cart all the way to the trunk. It’s home where the work begins. I have to carry it all the way across the yard, into the house and all the way to the back of the house to the laundry room. That, my friends, is where I need help. They shouldn’t offer assistance if they don’t mean it, that’s what I think.

That bag of food is very heavy.

“Alrighty then,” I waved at them with the keys in my hand and turned away towards the door but not before I saw the manager pat the guy on the arm in a supportive gesture.

It wasn’t until after I got the bag in the car and headed out of the parking lot that I realized they thought I was hitting on that guy.

Oh dear god. Now he’s wondering why he always gets hit on by the chubby old ladies.