Thursday, February 2, 2012

Don't You Just Hate It When That Happens?

Of course the Park Police would patrol the parking lot on the day I forget to take my park pass out of the glove box and hang it on the rear view mirror.  It’s easily 4”x10” and creates a distraction for driving, not to mention an aesthetic crime.  So I pack it away and pull it out every time I go to walk in the park.  Well, almost every time. 

I paid $90 to park on the premises for my daily hour and a half trek, when I could park on the street all day, for free.  But I felt duty bound to support the parks.  Could have paid the $6 daily fee, but that’s more expensive, and I felt proud of my official advocacy.  Now with this check, paying the fine for failure to display my parking pass, I’ll be backing them again to the tune of $71.  Gosh I feel good. 

Few things are more exasperating than a parking ticket.  Once, I inadvertently gave a parking attendant an $11 tip.  I thought I was giving him two ones.  Turns out it was a ten and a one.  I remember thinking he had an odd smile when I handed him the bills.  He knew.  I didn’t find out until later when I reached for the ten and it wasn’t there.  Then I was the one who had the odd look.  I wouldn’t call it a smile though.   

I ran into a former student working at Sport Mart once.  She had grown up so much in the few years since I’d seen her!  We chatted over the cushioned insoles I needed for those aforementioned walks in the park.  She seemed very knowledgeable about the products on display and I left the store with a pricey pair of inserts, happy, anticipating cushy comfort on my next perambulation.   

I crossed the bridge, dashed into the house, and went directly to my walking shoes to put my new hi-tech insoles in place, only to find they were tiny.  I thought they were the one-size-fits-all/trim-to-fit-the-masses type of shoe insert.  But my size 9.5 clodhoppers engulfed those petite pillows.  I could hang ten.  I made a detailed search of the packaging and a squinty-eyed second scan before I found the sizing information printed on the upper right-hand corner in a font suitable for the head of a pin.   

Why my sweet, smart former student hadn’t thought to mention sizing to me remains a mystery, unless I take into account her pronounced scatter-brainedness from our past association.  That was irritating. 

A while ago my friend and I went to the indie theatre to see a 2:30pm showing of the quirky and acclaimed film “Garden State,” only to find that it had started at 2:05pm.  The teenager in the ticket booth shrugged, “Oh, sorry, the paper must have been wrong.”  We watched “Jane Eyre” instead, a dark and brooding period piece of unrequited love.  It was so true to the book. 

A recurring aggravation is the trend at supermarkets to shuffle the locations of their groceries.  It felt like I was in the Hunt for Red October recently, desperately seeking my favorite granola.  I can think of no defensible reason why the cereal aisle should be moved from the back-right of the store to front-left.  What’s the logic in putting the Cheerios next to the cheese?  Unless of course you’re into alliteration.   

Come to think of it, alphabetizing would be more helpful than the obscure marketing schemes that put the color red on virtually every package and the good stuff either too high to reach without exposing your belly, or too low to stoop for without showing your behind. 

My dentist convinced me that my teeth had become beige, instead of the bathtub porcelain white so exceedingly desirable these days.  So I bought the molded trays and peroxide gel.  But after a couple of sessions I saw patches of white on my teeth that did not blend with the ecru to which I’d become accustomed.  I didn’t want to display a patchwork of earth tones, so I quit using the stuff. 

Next time in his office, six months later, I mentioned it.  “Oh,” he said, “that’s normal.  The patches are just dry spots that come up.  But they blend in quickly.  No need to worry.  It all evens out.”  Thanks.  That’s good information to have.  Today. 

Seems that writing the check for this parking ticket brings up such maddening memories!  It’s not my habit to dwell on such things, but it appears that I have.  How exasperating! 

Don’t you just hate it when that happens?!