they were out of pillows

I’ve created a rule for myself when experiencing frustration during air travel:
Commiserate with the other passengers; joke with the airline staff.

My flight this evening was delayed, apparently due to weather. Then I missed my connecting flight, called to rebook another flight for tomorrow morning, and joined a long line of people with similar plights. We exchanged the usual gripes about flying. You know, nothing too bitter. Just enough to let each other know we’re in the same boat and to feel justified in our annoyance. As I neared the service desk, I changed my tune to fit a new audience…

I approach the Delta desk with my friendliest smile, which is not reciprocated.

me: Hi, how are you doing?
Delta Guy: Fine.
me: I just rebooked my flight over the phone, so I only need to print my new boarding pass.
Delta Guy: Okay.
me: Aaaand see what you can do about overnight accommodations.

Delta Guy begins to shake his head with an air of weariness. He has said this many times tonight.

Delta Guy: We do not provide hotels for ATC.
me: Why not?
Delta Guy: Air traffic control. It was caused by weather, so Delta does not provide hotel accommodations.
me: So, what are we all supposed to do?
Delta Guy: You can go out and get a hotel on your own. Or you can stay here.
me: …Okay. That’s a bad policy. I mean, I know you didn’t make it. But it’s a bad policy.
Delta Guy: It’s from the federal government.
me: How about meals?
Delta Guy: Meals we can do.
me: Alright. Is everything closed by now?
Delta Guy: Well, there’s a 24 hour Dunkin Donuts in Terminal 3. It’s a bit of a walk, but not bad.
me: That’s okay…I’ve got time.

A close-lipped smile spreads across Delta guy’s face as he looks down at his computer, typing in the magical codes that will produce free food for me.

Delta Guy: Here you go.
me: Thanks.

I take the vouchers and turn to leave. After a pause, I turn back around.

me: Oh, I see. Are those the overnight accommodations right there?

I point to a pile of plastic-wrapped blankets on the floor next to the service desk. Delta Guy smiles once again, seemingly against his better judgment, and hands me a blanket.

Delta Guy: Here, have another.

Two blankets. Ooooooh yeaaaah.

Who knew I was so charming?

don't forget to watch the movie

I went to a movie today. The girl next to us kept narrating it. I'm not talking about making comments here and there. She was describing verbatim what was happening on the screen. "She's pouring peas on herself!" I thought maybe she had a blind friend next to her or something, and she was simply providing a service to make the film comprehesible and enjoyable. But no.

Then, maybe when her fingers got tired from texting, she took a phone call. "I'm at the movies. Yeah, I've gotta go." Don't worry, I gave her the stink eye. Okay, I also leaned over and quietly said, "That's really rude." A step too far? Oh well, it was true.

As if that all weren't enough, at the end of the scene where we meet who will turn out to be the main character's love interest, she goes, "Oh, he's cute. Maybe they'll end up together." Seriously? How many chick flicks does one have to ingest before recognizing the male lead when he shows up? This is not a Shyamalanian twist here; this is formulaic. Formulaic!

And then I realized...this girl must have never been to a movie before. Clearly, it was her first time, which shed some light on everything. She must have been experiencing sensory overload and missed all the pre-movie etiquette reminders. It wasn't her fault. Anyway, I hope she really enjoyed herself. Bridesmaids was a good choice.

we used the elastic to make necklaces at my non-real career, and it was awesome

"That's an interesting Homarus americanus."

I had asked her for help finding elastic thread for making necklaces, and after directing me without a smile towards the appropriate aisle, she made that comment.

"Excuse me?" I replied.

She gestured toward my arm without saying anything else.

"Oh," I said, "the lobster?"

"Yes, Homarus americanus."

Clearly, she was not trying to admire the artwork of my tattoo or connect with me over a shared affinity for lobsters. She didn't ask me about it. She didn't say she liked it. It was just the perfect opportunity for her to broadcast her knowledge of the genus species name of a certain animal.

"Okay, I didn't know that was the technical name."

"Yeah, I used to sit through lectures on them all the time. Back when I had a real career as a marine biologist."

Her condescending tone made me cringe a little and hope that none of the other employees could hear her. I took it this woman was bitter to be working at Michael's craft store, and I could only imagine how she made her coworkers feel, as if she were above them and only stocking shelves and dealing with customers because she had been somehow ripped away from her rightful place at lobster lectures.

As sometimes happens in my brain, a portrait of this woman and snapshots of her daily life at Michael's began to take shape...

She never explains what ended her glory days as a marine biologist, and no one asks. They want to talk about their weekend plans and commiserate about how the ends of their respective shifts can't come soon enough. They don't want to hear about how they're "almost out of Hippocampus erectus stickers on aisle 7." She's not even assigned to aisle 7. It's not even time for inventory. She's just trying to show off to people who don't care. They duck around corners when they see her coming, because they know she just wants to try to alienate them with a tirade about how the seasonal display is impossible, because Amphiprion ocellaris and Oncorhynchus mykiss would never share the same habitat. Doesn't she realize she's only alienating herself?

She must not realize it, because she continues to talk down to the people around her. They continue to avoid her, leaving her to feel more isolated, more misunderstood, more set apart from these people she's forced to work with, meaningless day in and meaningless day out. Yes, she's a martyr here at Michael's,a lonely victim, a Carassius auratus out of H20.