Yep. I Did That.

Today I very responsibly took back the DVDs I had rented from Hastings and went on about my day. Later, I opened the CD tray on my computer and lo, there was one of the movies I had rented. Then, Shayne opened the DVD tray on our TV's player, and there was the other one. Yeah. I had taken two empty DVD cases back to the store.

In other news, I'm seriously considering going back for a second bachelor's in pre-veterinary medicine so as to eventually become a vet. I would get a lot of the studying done here, and then it would take me back to Washington to study at WSU. And then, since nearly everyone in the Seattle area has pets, I would simply drag Shayne back there. And it would get me more money than, say, working at call centers.

Sorry, I Don't Work Here.

I didn't know it was unusual to be hit up to do things or find things at stores where I don't work until I mentioned it in passing to Shayne and saw his response. I mean, I understood that it might be a little unusual for old ladies in Walmart to ask me to reach things down off the high shelves, but then, not everybody is as tall as I am. I'm really ridiculously tall, and I'm used to being put to work in this way. Fetching things from high places is part of my service to humanity.

Shayne thought it was crazy, not only that people ask this of me, but that I just take it in stride. He thought it was very weird. Why didn't this happen to him, as he is taller than I? I've hypothesized that maybe the old ladies find me more sympathetic because I am female. Whatever the reason is, I feel that someone else must have this experience sometimes. It can't just be me.

But besides this, I feel that I get to be mistaken for an employee at whatever store I happen to be shopping in far more often than is my due. Once, when sopping in the Redmond, WA Fred Meyer, I discovered a display of cute little ruffled aprons. I selected a red one with black polka-dots and cupcake applicees, and put it on just to see how it felt and how long it was on my tall frame. It that moment, another customer appeared at the end of the aisle and began explaining in detail some item she wanted, that I had never heard of. Had I know where to find the item I would have just told her, but instead I had to cause us both embarrassment by letting her know I didn't work there and I had just been trying on the apron. She snorted her derision and stalked off with an expression of disgust on her face. I wanted to ask her if she really thought a Fred Meyer employee would be caught dead wearing such a kitchy apron, but the answer was obvious. The fact that it was an apron at all meant I was an employee.

Just a couple of days ago, I was pushing my cart through the kitchen tools aisle at Walmart and I had just placed an item in my cart that I wished to buy when a lady came up beside me and told me she had a random question and she was getting ready to go to Home Depot for the item she wanted. It was one of those plastic refrigerator soda can dispensers where the sodas roll down and you grab them at the bottom...you know. My parents have one, (my mom has one, now that my dad is gone) but I never had a use for one. I suggested the sodas section of the store, or maybe the hardware section. She had already looked in those places, and she said she would just go to Home Depot. She thanked me politely and left.

After I left the store, I realized she must have thought I was an employee. I carefully considered my outfit: light blue jeans and a navy blue grandpa cardigan that was unbuttoned to reveal a yellow-green shirt beneath. Had she thought I was an employee just because I had on a blue cardigan? Had she missed the large, red patent-leather purse in my cart, or the stylish yellow-green shirt with the subtle yet striking bronzy metal studs?

Anyway. It seems like this happens to me all the time. Shayne wears his actual blue and khaki walmart uniform to walmart in his off hours and doesn't get asked questions. He says it's because he's not wearing his name tag. Go figure. I, on the other hand, wear something that gestures vaguely toward an employee uniform and people assume I work there.

And another thing -- why do people only ask, "Do you work here?" when the person obviously does? They don't ask me if I work there. It's weird.

Dear Disgruntled MacDonald's Breakfast Enthusiasts

Dear Disgruntled MacDonald's Breakfast Enthusiasts:

I understand how much you love some MacDonald's goodness in the morning. No, really. I do. Maybe you promise yourself that if you just get out of bed, you can have breakfast at MacDonald's. Maybe you come in with your mouth watering, yearning for your sausage or bacon or yummy, yummy hotcakes. I get it.

I want to assure you that when we switch over to the lunch menu at 10:30 am on weekdays and 11:00 am on weekends, the purpose is not to ruin your day and deprive you of what is rightfully yours. I agree that it's an outdated custom. It used to be de rigeur for diners and restaurants of all kinds to put away their breakfast ingredients and serve an entirely different menu for each meal of the day. Nowadays, with places like Denny's , IHOP, and Jack In The Box serving breakfast all day, the old way seems antiquated in the extreme.

But really, are you honestly surprised? It's always been this way at MacDonald's. When you toddled into MacDonald's, holding onto your mom's finger, and sat in a high chair to destroy parts of an egg MacMuffin, MacDonalds' menu changed over at 10:30. When you were a college student and never got to eat breakfast at MacDonald's because you couldn't get up early enough, this was still the case. Even now, when you come in at noon and ask for your food without looking at the menu, you're still too late.

I'd like to let you know that MacDonald's employees are not particularly intimidated by your anger. In fact, we rather enjoy it. It's amusing to us when you plead your case ("I really had my heart set on a MacGriddle!"), receive your firm refusal, indulge in your tantrum and then storm out in a huff. When our coworkers call us to the back of the kitchen to describe the scene you made, we will recreate your histrionics in detail, complete with hand gestures. We will mock you. We will laugh at you and comment on your stupidity, getting yourself all worked up over a MacMuffin.

If you simply cannot remember the ironclad deadline of 10:30 am, I recommend a reminder of some sort. A post it on the dashboard, or a cell phone alarm to let you know that you are too late and must go to IHOP. If you choose to come to MacDonald's any way to insult the minimum-wage-earner behind the counter and register your disapproval of our outmoded custom... well, that's your prerogative. But I want to let you know it will do no good, and to be honest? You look really funny when you're mad. Sorry, but you do. And once you're done venting your frustration, we will amuse ourselves by predicting your death by premature heart disease, brought about by a combination of your short temper and your fast food diet.

Thank you for your understanding.

Bwahahahahaha!