I ventured out for a bit o' Christmas shopping late this afternoon. It was safe because all the Black Friday people were gone. I have made a list, and checked it twice. I went to a Menard's store, which falls somewhere between a Home Depot, a hardware store, a lumber yard, and the expanse (but not obnoxiousness of) a Wal Mart. (And people are not waddling about in their jammies.)
While there, I ambled over to the kitchen tile and linoleum area, because I can see that task coming in 2014. There was, of course, Christmas music piped in throughout the store.
"I'll be Home for Christmas" has been been a favorite of mine for 28 years, since my first year living away from home - far, far away, in Cairo -, and I got to go home for Christmas.
Today's rendition was horrid. Positively painful to listen to. I wanted to cry, the female singer was so slow, and couldn't hold a pitch, even in these computerized times, and...oh, I could go on and on and criticize ad infinitum, but... instead of complaining now, I'll tell you what I did in the Menard's. The college girl who was working in the kitchen tile area asked me if I needed assistance.
I only replied, "I really, REALLY hate this song."
Honestly. I am beginning to act like a mental case.
After perusing the kitchen tile area, I meandered outside to the garden area. There was a young woman working near the exit to the garden, and she did not look up or turn to me or face me in any way, shape, or form, but she said, "Hi, welcome to Menard's".
Maybe she was talking to a mouse.
I have a rule. (I have lots of rules.) My rule is, if you would like to communicate with me, please face me when speaking to me, and look me in the eye, or close by. (What if I lip read, for Pete's sake?) So, the retail people who do as this woman did do not get a reply from me. (Because what if I am deaf and do not know they are addressing me?) Heck, that's just bad manners.
That said, I will admit that having three kids who have all worked retail has given me some empathetic reasoning. Some. But not much. (I feel three pairs of eyes rolling as they read this.)
It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas...