Which means, in a nutshell, that something ain’t right.
I was getting breakfast this morning. I had called ahead maybe 15 minutes ahead of time to ensure that when I arrived (already a bit tardy for work), I could grab my bagel and get out of there. The woman at the front counter does not like me. This was established long ago, when, to her obvious chagrin, I spent an inordinate amount of time trying to choose a banana. (I like them pretty and very yellow. No brown spots, no imperfections. It’s the only thing I ask. A pretty banana. Come on.) Since the Banana Episode, her smile turns into a frown whenever I enter the deli. Anywho, I give my name and my order. She taps the computer. “I don’t see your order.” Then she taps the other computer with the same results. She looks at me with a shrug (and a smidge of delight, if you ask me) and says, “It’s not here. I don’t see it.”
Am I to leave? Say it’s Ok? Accept it and move on? No! I CALLED. I SPOKE TO A HUMAN BEING. So, there’s this awkward pause, where she’s looking at me with slightly evil delight (no bagel for you, ha ha!) and I’m looking at her blankly, hopefully indicating my unwillingness to move. I then look at her co-worker, a much nicer guy who smiles and actually gives good customer service, and mention that I spoke to him when placing my order. He comes over, taps the computer, then shows her where my name and order is. She kind of shrugs, like, whatever, then gives me the total. Yes, she was likely letdown that I would eat this morning. For good measure, I glance over at the banana dish, just to make her a little nervous.
Anyway, post-bagel, I wonder: was she telling the truth? Could she truly not find my bagel? How could he find it so easily? Did she simply press the wrong button? The questions abound. She clearly and obviously does not like me. Needless to say, the conspiracy theories continue to abound. If it happens again, where she can’t find my order? It will be confirmed.
In other news, it’s another Monday. Seriously? I’ve said it before and I will repeat: I don’t like Mondays. I don’t. Talk about something smelly in Smellville – why are Mondays so painful and hard to deal with? Sheesh!
Sigh. Breakdown City, here we may come.