This week I actually got to play an away-game. Well, it was an interview with a company that actually spent money to fly me from San Antonio to DC to take part in a 2-hour interview. I have no idea how that turned out, but I did learn a little something along the way – specifically, I like saying the word “manicure,” but not “pedicure” so much, and I think “mani-pedi” sounds ridiculous and is probably one of the last things in the world I would engage myself in.
I came this revelation, as has happened so often during my Texas exile, because Shadow suggested that before I go to the interview I get my nails done. If you’ve been paying the slightest bit of attention here for the last 20 months you should have registered by now that Shadow is often correct about these things and so I’ve grown to grudgingly accept that I should just try whatever it is and hope for the best.
As Shadow is acting as my job-search consultant these days and doing a tremendous job I might add, I found myself sitting awkwardly in front of an elderly Asian woman who spoke almost no words of English that I could understand. And while she made disgusted-sounding gurgling noises like she wanted to be ill at the site of my hands that have been untouched by trained professionals for more than 4 decades, I was left to smile that strange little “I-don’t-know-what-you’re-saying-but-I’ll-keep-smiling-anyway” smile and looking around the mostly vacant establishment.
My worst fear was realized when she brought out what looked like an orange juicer filled with sudsy water and made gestures toward it that indicated I should put my hand in. I recited in my head the following litany, “Please, God, don’t let this water be warm…”
As I did this she grabbed my other hand with roughly the patience you have with a four-year old who has repeatedly grabbed and used things at the same time that they are not supposed to grab and use at the same time – like honey, syrup and glitter.
So, with my arm twisted at precisely the angle that doctors use to purposely dislocate joints, she proceeded and I discovered that the nice thing about a manicure is that where you are likely not ambidextrous with those tiny little scissors, someone else does not have to be. And so for the first time ever, my nails were clean, trimmed, filed and buffed without the slightest trace of blood or the need for adhesive bandages or peroxide.
I was able to sit there and engage with the TV which was conveniently on a sports station. As the … I’m not sure what to call this woman, a nailer, I guess - had no direct communication link to me other than jerking my arm one way or another, I didn’t feel obligated to carry on the conversations that normally happen at barbers. She didn’t ask me how I’d like my nails (pointy like a talon); or if I wanted block or taper (like I give a damn what the back of my head looks like – I can’t see it!). She did her thing and I did mine.
And the lady sitting behind us, she did hers. Namely, she started to giggle.
My grand-matronly Asian friend looked up from my nails and I looked down from my TV and we both wordlessly said to each other with our eyes, “what the fu…” and we turned as one to the woman in the chair. She was getting a pedicure, which seemed mostly to involve her grimacing in an oddly blue-film kind of way at the young man giving her feet the kind of attention normally reserved for adolescent boys their first time out with a double clasp bra strap. And she just kept giggling. It was a far cry from the “When Harry Met Sally” scene in the restaurant, but she seemed to be enjoying herself immensely when she noticed us staring, and simply said, “it tickles.”
And so I sat, 10 minutes later, with my feet in a small pool of water getting the barnacles scrubbed off my heels and thinking, “mani-pedi” is still the stupidest word ever.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Monday, March 12, 2012
Homemakers Earn How Much?
Today, on Facebook, a friend of mine (whom I’ve actually met) posted a story where someone did a survey and figured out that a stay-at-home parent (homemaker) is worth about $96,000 a year.
I bring this up because I was sharing this with Shadow on Skype when the background noise (the children) markedly increased and was of the sort that starts as a playful laugh, followed by tussling and almost always ends up in a fit of tears.
So, how did Shadow handle this? Simply put, she didn’t.
You see, Shadow is a highly paid executive who ‘makes’ $96,000 a year. People who make that much money don’t worry about petty squabbling amongst the worker drones. They worry about big-issue things – like when vomit or bleeding is involved or the audible snapping of bones can be heard. Tears before bedtime, especially the type that are self-induced, she feels, just makes the peasants go to sleep faster.
“The 96 thousand,” she said, “is a good number because we need that money to pay for the therapy we will need in the not too distant future.”
The she took a small sip from her second (half) beer and contemplated for a minute, and said, “and our alcohol rehabilitation.”
And this is why technology is wonderful. Ten years ago I would have had to deal with the odd phone call where the noise in the background just would have been annoying. Thanks to Skype – which is by nature, hands free – we as a couple, can both share in the mayhem that our offspring are producing – while hanging on to a beer in such a fashion as to ensure it will not be spilled by a clumsy act of pre-pubescence.
There have been times on Skype that I have even been able to witness acts of juvenile terrorism that one will perpetrate against the other – all while thinking that no one is watching.
You’d think this would lead to children who learn rather more rapidly that cameras are everywhere. You’d be wrong. Even from 2,000 miles away I’ve had the parental privilege of this conversation, “Dad, can I do (fill in whatever word you want that would elicit and immediate ‘hells, no’)?”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said no.”
...Heavy sigh….
Despite this I wouldn’t even want to imagine living in an age when unintentional bachelors would be able to correspond only by mail with the occasional very expensive long distance phone call (remember those – when you had to use an operator and you often called collect?).
Somehow waiting two weeks to read about how child-A whacked child-B with a spoon after child-B kicked child-A in the shin while at dinner…at a neighbor’s house…during a holiday of peace and joy, just doesn’t have the same realism or, what to call it…verve, I guess, that seeing it all live does.
Being able to witness a child’s wanton jackassery is really one of the things that make live video feeds special. And if by doing so you get to see something that makes you want to use the word ‘tussle,’ well then, that’s just the bonus Shadow will get on top of the 96 grand she’s already making.
I bring this up because I was sharing this with Shadow on Skype when the background noise (the children) markedly increased and was of the sort that starts as a playful laugh, followed by tussling and almost always ends up in a fit of tears.
So, how did Shadow handle this? Simply put, she didn’t.
You see, Shadow is a highly paid executive who ‘makes’ $96,000 a year. People who make that much money don’t worry about petty squabbling amongst the worker drones. They worry about big-issue things – like when vomit or bleeding is involved or the audible snapping of bones can be heard. Tears before bedtime, especially the type that are self-induced, she feels, just makes the peasants go to sleep faster.
“The 96 thousand,” she said, “is a good number because we need that money to pay for the therapy we will need in the not too distant future.”
The she took a small sip from her second (half) beer and contemplated for a minute, and said, “and our alcohol rehabilitation.”
And this is why technology is wonderful. Ten years ago I would have had to deal with the odd phone call where the noise in the background just would have been annoying. Thanks to Skype – which is by nature, hands free – we as a couple, can both share in the mayhem that our offspring are producing – while hanging on to a beer in such a fashion as to ensure it will not be spilled by a clumsy act of pre-pubescence.
There have been times on Skype that I have even been able to witness acts of juvenile terrorism that one will perpetrate against the other – all while thinking that no one is watching.
You’d think this would lead to children who learn rather more rapidly that cameras are everywhere. You’d be wrong. Even from 2,000 miles away I’ve had the parental privilege of this conversation, “Dad, can I do (fill in whatever word you want that would elicit and immediate ‘hells, no’)?”
“What did your mother say?”
“She said no.”
...Heavy sigh….
Despite this I wouldn’t even want to imagine living in an age when unintentional bachelors would be able to correspond only by mail with the occasional very expensive long distance phone call (remember those – when you had to use an operator and you often called collect?).
Somehow waiting two weeks to read about how child-A whacked child-B with a spoon after child-B kicked child-A in the shin while at dinner…at a neighbor’s house…during a holiday of peace and joy, just doesn’t have the same realism or, what to call it…verve, I guess, that seeing it all live does.
Being able to witness a child’s wanton jackassery is really one of the things that make live video feeds special. And if by doing so you get to see something that makes you want to use the word ‘tussle,’ well then, that’s just the bonus Shadow will get on top of the 96 grand she’s already making.
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