I’m So Sorry…

Lessons in Apologies

Sometimes I can have a single thought and I have a post. Other times (like now) it might be something that I thought of , noted myself to “get on that soon”, and then eventually get around to doing.

This whole thing got started a few weeks ago. I was at my convenience store getting my drink on the way home. (Have you noticed the fountain drink station at QuikTrip is like an epiphany for me?) Another woman arrived at the station just before I did. A perfectly pleasant-looking woman. She got her ice, and started filling up with DietCoke.  I feel at this point, I should point out that she had done nothing that I took issue with. She used the right ice, she was filling up with the right beverage, and she had not dawdled in any fashion. Nor did she smell or look bad; there was simply nothing amiss.

I was standing back enough that there was no personal space invasion and I can state this emphatically because I actually thought of this: nothing in my body language displayed the slightest offense about anything. About 2/3 through her fill-up, she glanced behind her at me and “I’m sorry’ed” me.

I have no idea in the world why. Was she apologizing to me for keeping me waiting ? Was she apologizing for taking the choicest molecules of DietCoke? Or was it the simple fact of her existence?  I’ve thought of this momentary encounter over and over. I have even discussed it a time or two. Odd, since I normally will not share my “I want to blog thoughts” before I write them. Since that moment, I’ve paid attention to my own behaviour, and from time to time, I am also guilty of “crimeless apologies.”

I see this as more of a trait of women than men. I’m not making any generalizations about manners in men. In fact, some of the most thoughtful caring people I know are men.  I almost want to conjecture that it is, in fact, an apology for our existence when we apologize for nothing.  Perhaps men just tend to be more secure in their entitlement to take care of their business. A man just isn’t going to apologize to me for getting a DietCoke if he was clearly and fairly there first. That I have to wait is just the way it goes.

When I got home that first afternoon, I surfed around on a google search of “apology.” I found the link “How to Apologize.” Apologies for real hurts to people who matter was not  exactly where I started, but what the hell?  I am fighting very hard with myself to refrain from quoting the Chicago song. And I think with effort…I may have won.  It is hard, though. I get it, trust me.  But this page is unbelievable. I think it is meant as serious.  And it astounds me, frankly.

Eleven steps. A video. Tips on body language. Are you fucking kidding me? Every time I think of the “crazy drink lady” apologizing to me, I wonder who has actually used this page. And furthermore, it seems to me that if they *need* this page, why would they bother trying to apologize anyway?  As far as I’m concerned, it should be as easy as “I care about ____. I have/may have caused some discomfort in their world and I want to acknowledge/fix it.”

Like I said, I understand that sometimes it’s just not that easy in the *doing*. I am not even going to go into the reasons why it’s much harder. WE ALL KNOW.  But the motivation should be just that easy. If  it’s not, I’m not sure why you would bother apologizing anyway. And perhaps I should spend more time considering the reasons to apologize before I offer one for paying for my drink with 5 quarters instead of currency ?

 

 

 

 

 

Most Hardcore Performance. Ever.

Decomposing Woman Found In Bodybag

Did woman in bushland body bag commit suicide?

Perhaps I’m missing something in my analysis of this story. I’ve read several stories from several sources. and I’m so desperately confused.

So a dude out walking his dog along a wooded path that’s inaccessible by cars finds a bag containing a body. First we’re told (by him) decapitated and hands removed. Evidently he had a look inside. Then we’re told “um. no.” Leaves me believing that must have been a powerful lot of decomposition. And that is very possible, given the time frame.

Then we’re told it *might* be a suicide. Ok. Lorraine Eves was an artist. Was she a performance artist? Was this her most powerful (albeit one time only) performance?  Or was she just a generic suicide and somehow her body was ….misplaced?

Several things do not make sense here. Firstly how the body arrived where it was found. A car can’t reach it. I don’t understand the layout of the terrain so I won’t conjecture on that.

They believe it may have washed on to the fire trail in the Garigal National Park at Killarney Heights through a nearby storm water drain.

Ok. that’s great. I can accept that. But I can’t stop wondering how it got in the damn storm drain to begin with. The tone of the articles I’m seeing all seem to be calm and collected in that they know who she was. They seem convinced that it was a suicide. Did the EMT’s ….lose her? why wasn’t that a story?

Also, the woman seemed to be an officially registered “Missing Person.” To me, that means someone realized she was not around. I don’t buy the suicide thing. Unless we have 2 different things going on.  Perhaps she offed herself and then someone stole her body? It seems very clear to me that bodies should not be lying around to rot in national parks.

This was not stellar journalism.

DECOMPOSED corpse found in a body bag in a Sydney national park has been identified as missing woman Lorraine Eves, with investigators saying her death may not be suspicious.

Perhaps not,  but her post-mortem appearance on the hiking trail damn sure is!

from sick to straightjacket?

It’s almost a cliche` the way we talk about men who turn into babies when they get the slightest ailment.  I am not going to argue that point, mostly because I often find it to be true.  However, I think women ( and by ”women,” I mean “myself”) often enable the behaviour.  We coo sympathetically. We do whatever they want, etc. 

I don’t get sick like a man. I don’t turn into a baby. I simply lose all emotional control. I’ve been told that *many* times. But it’s only recentlystarting to really sink in.

I can remember picking the most inane arguments. Things, that in the cold light of day, a week later leave me scratching my head going “WHAT?????” feeling incredibly stupid.  Yes, I was very nearly in tears over the lack of zombie fashion this morning.  For a split second, I just felt so bad for them.  And for me.  I get it.  “Nutso.”

I don’t need help recognizing the crazy in that moment. Got it, thanks.  I do, however, wonder if the moment I’m going to share is MY crazy or my mother’s and I just reacted strongly to it.

Sets the scene for you:  

I left work early and get home about noon. I’m sleeping.  My mother calls me. Ok, she’s sick too this week. There’s a very good possibility I got this from her. BUT I digress..

I answer. Honestly, only because she is sick and I wondered if she needed anything. So it’s basically like  “hi. hello. what’s going on?” and then she proceeds to tell me “I can’t hear you.”  I pitch it louder. “Hello! What’s Going On?”  “I can’t hear you.”  Ok, by this point, I’m full on irritated. Cuz really? I  am not too much giving a shit at this point. We’ve established that it’s basically social.  So at this point, I’m thinking in all capital letters:  “ME BEING HEARD IS NOT CRUCIAL SINCE *YOU* CALLED ME!!!!! SO SAY IT SAY IT SAY IT!!!” Instead I just howl into the phone “WHAT DO YOU NEED? I’M SICK! I”M SLEEPING!! I WANT TO BE AGAIN!!!”

“Nothing” “Ok, bye!” *click*

So here I am pondering. Am I the Wicked Bitch of the West? Or is it just one more manifestation of “EMOTIONAL”?  I will be well soon, so bear with me. The other night when I got needy and whimpery? Now we know why!

Not So Helpful Lessons

So this latest personal anecdote comes to you by way of work and not so much in the car. Honestly, I deal with a lot more clownacy there than I ever do in my car.

This afternoon, I was at work and  in a perfectly lovely mood. I was going to lunch in a second, no one was bothering me, it’s Friday, and I was sort of coasting along at a nice clip. This old ghetto-y looking woman came into present an offer for an agent. And because of said lovely mood, she got a genuine smile and a “Hi! Can I help you?”

So as she was handing me the offer, she was like “Yes, you MAY help me….you MAY…..yes, you MAY!”

I was sitting there staring at her, my mouth literally hanging open. I got the power of speech back just as she left the office. And I swear to everything that is holy, I damn near pitched the paperwork at her retreating back.

However, blessed are those who know when not to throw things in the workplace, but as soon as the  sound proof door latched closed, I was not so blessed that I didnt shout at the door:

“I SAID EXACTLY WHAT I MEANT TO SAY!!! DON’T YOU DARE CORRECT MY GRAMMAR WHEN IT WAS PERFECTLY RIGHT”

Unfortunately, insult usually follows injury. Injury in this case was clothed in the form of my boss. Sticking his head around the corner to see what the commotion is. Me: pissed off and offended. Him: quizzically staring at me wondering if my little tirade was going to continue.

“um. Layla? Is there a problem?”

“YES! SHE CORRECTED MY GRAMMAR……” *his laughter cutting off any further explanation I might be going to deliver*

I am not, by any means, trying to say that I never make mistakes in grammar.  It might even be a bigger transgression for me, in that I almost always know what would have been the correct phrasing.  I am even guilty from time to time *of* saying “can I?” when “may I?” is the correct question.  I found myself having to sit down for a moment and think this one through to make sure I was, in fact, correct. 

I was.  I was not asking “Can I leave early?” or “can I have one of your Diet Cokes?” which of course, I am absolutely able to do both of  these things. But, I would be needing to ask permission.  Which, of course, I wasn’t asking the stupid twat for permission to help her. I was still trying to assess if I COULD, in fact, help her.

Correcting someone’s grammar often makes one look like a pretentious, rude fuck. Erroneously correcting grammar makes one look pretentious, rude, AND stupid. 

Ok. I feel a little better after this rant. We’ll just pretend that it did not take me a week to complete it. Just, old bitch, for me? pretty please with sugar on it: stop. Next time, I will throw something at you.

Bumper Stickers Suck.

Today there was a big huge wreck as I was driving home from work. That’s not terribly news worthy at all, actually. But I was looking around in between channel surfing on the radio and thinking my thoughts and one thing I can never help but notice is bumper stickers.

Let me just put it out there right now: I hate them. It’s like there are two different groups of people in this world: those that have them and those that do not. And we, the latter group, are just better.

As most people that know me are full aware, I have my thoughts and opinions on most anything. I’m not generally shy about sharing them, either. But I do not feel the need to foist my opinion of a topic on someone absolutely unsolicited.  It’s actually worse than that. It’s a version of eye rape.  It’s kind of the same reason why when I’m in a grocery store, I don’t turn to the person behind me, shake their hand and say, “Hi. I’m Layla and I believe very firmly in capital punishment.”

The person in the car in front of me telling me “Choose Life. Your Mother Did” isn’t even someone I’m meeting. We are not even interacting. So it astounds me how the person in that car would feel I gave even a little rat’s ass about how they feel on the abortion topic.

I also fail to understand what could be good about defacing a nice automobile with them. Hello? Isn’t it something like a 28 percent devaluation of the car just by driving it off the showroom floor? and then to mar the finish with a ..bumper sticker just cuz you want to make sure everyone knows you are “Still Mad at Yoko” or that you voted for Kerry in ‘04.

And while occasionally, I do see an amusing one, you are not exempt either. Because truthfully, the ones that amuse me are the ones in all probability were not meant to be funny. Yes, Loser, I laugh at you being STUCK with your permanent reminder of another loser. Kinda like the schadenfreude glee I get when some nimrod tattoo’s his girlfriend’s name on him and then the whore goes and sleeps with his best friend.

The thing is, it’s so overbearing of some people to force their views on the world when no one asked them for their 2 cents.  I do not need your help to form my relationship with Jesus and I would not be bragging about my life philosophies if I were you  when “Mean People Suck” is the best I could come up with.