Mixed Messages

Saturday was a waste of time and energy because, arriving at the designated location, at the designated time for the Moderna Booster, I was turned away.

The pharmacist said I was 17 days too soon.

I’m getting mixed messages.

Over and over and over I’ve heard on the news that boosters are available for the over 65. There was no mention of six months after your second dose, it was all booster booster booster but okay. If that’s the way it’s being handled, then that’s the way it’s being handled, BUT I was only 17 days away from qualifying, and I was there, so why not get ‘er done.

But nooooo. Come back in 17 days.

In the process of checking in, they’d taken my vaccination card, placed in a little basket.

"You’re keeping my card?" asked I.

It was to be returned to me after the shot.

"You’d better not lose it or it’ll cause me big trouble" said I.

When turned away a few minutes later by the pharmacist, I asked for my vaccination card back and had a moment of panic when there was a flurry behind the counter as the pharmacist and the clerk who took it began searching.

Once located, I saw the pharmacist bent over doing something.

Handing it back to me I could see clumpy strokes of whiteout.

The clerk had filled in an area indicating "booster" and "date booster taken". Since I was being turned away, the pharmacist had whited that out.

It looked sloppy, made me think others presented to would assume I’d tampered with, so I said, "Did you just invalidate my card?"

"No" said the pharmacist, "But if we did, we’ll make you a new one".

I should have requested a new one right then and there, but didn’t think of it until I was halfway home. At any rate, they’d better not give me grief over whiteout being on my card when I return, accuse ME of tampering.

Just in case, I’ll book the return date for a Saturday, when I’m likely to deal with the same faces. I’ll also ask for a brand-new card, so the doctored area won’t cause me grief down the road.

The day wasn’t a total loss because, inasmuch as I was out and about, I got that Starbucks card loaded for Trainer, had another loaded to give him at Christmas, and had a card loaded for the mail carrier.

My Holiday shopping is DONE!

I also stopped by the craft store, picked up transfer paper, and made a workout tank top that had the Eat the Rich graphics I’d mention a post or two or three ago — as seen on a jacket worn by a judge on Making the Cut.

While searching for the self-same graphics, I ran across a news item indicating Cher had been wearing an Eat the Rich top for over four decades. It was a favorite of hers, and she’d been distressed to find it had suddenly disappeared from her closet.

Because Cher is Cher, “when the professionals at Swarovski heard about the pop diva losing her favorite rhinestone embellished” tank top, they made her another.

I could have bedazzled mine as well but, other than my pandemic masks, rhinestones/glitter is not for me.

Did you happen to notice Cher and I have something other than matching Eat the Rich tank tops in common?

A possible Six degrees of separation situation?

Check out the matching cheekbones.

Abort Mission

I can’t decide who disgusts me most — This snot nosed guy ……

Or the obviously biased judge presiding over the case — who needs to not only be removed from the case, but from the bench as well.

I’ve been trying to avoid the subject of this upsetting trial — upsetting because the outcome seemed pre-determined from the start by the actions of that judge but, inasmuch as the two of them keep popping up on the screen of the TV and laptop, I just had to get THAT off my chest … the fact that both disgusts me.

Now on to today’s news.

Trainer was telling me that the bank has reopened and now has a security guard posted out front.

Oh sure, thought I. Someone comes in with a shotgun, robs the bank, they spring for a security guard. However, when one of our residents back in September of last year, who admittedly should have known better, walked out of the bank, cash in hand, counting it, and a young man ran up to her, grab the cash from her hands and took off running, no security guard was hired to protect customers.

At any rate, after this morning’s workout, I looked over and sure enough a security guard, and not just one but TWO.

It’s a little like locking the barn door after the horse has been stolen, but at least there is now security for both the bank and its customers.

Speaking of security guards ... At Wednesday’s session, Trainer said he’d gone to the deli in the market to pick up a sandwich for lunch and noticed the creepy security guard wasn’t there. That he’d been replaced by a female security guard and it was safe for me to shop that day.

Unfortunately, I’d not planned on grocery shopping that day, did not have cash with me, so Trainer said that inasmuch as he was also planning to hit the deli on Friday (today), he’d give me a heads-up.

Sure enough, I got a message from trainer this morning to “Abort Mission” which I knew meant not to plan for marketing today, because that creepy security guard was on duty. ROFLMAO!

Not able to do marketing after this morning’s workout, planning ahead, I instead drove to Starbucks to pick up a Thanksgiving Gift Card to give to Trainer before I head out of town on the 23rd.

The hurry for retailers to get to Christmas is getting to be a bit annoying, because Starbucks had bypassed general gift cards and Thanksgiving gift cards, replacing everything with Christmas gift cards.

Trainer will get a gift card for Christmas but, right now, I want something that has a general or Thanksgiving theme, so I walked out with nothing.

On the drive back home, wondering if I should check other Starbuck locations, I remembered that I had, in the past, been collecting Starbucks gift cards I thought pretty, with the idea of turning into a craft project.

I thought I remembered giving up on that project and tossing those cards the last time I decluttered the unit of things I did not use.

I wasn’t sure I’d tossed and, all the way home, kept saying to myself it would have been stupid to toss, asking myself to please tell me I kept those cards.

Lucky me.

I’d not tossed them during the last declutter. Instead, I’d collected from the drawers they’d been tossed into and placed into a baggie.

Who knew that habit of picking up pretty cards would come in handy one day, when Starbucks would blow through Thanksgiving, go straight to Christmas with its offerings.

At any rate, the green card in the upper right corner will work.

There Goes the Neighborhood

Construction of that Starbucks, going up within walking distance of the complex, is in full swing.

Hearing the faint sounds of construction all the way over to my quad, I felt for the neighbors nearest the wall between our complex and the construction site. The all-day beep beep beep of equipment backing up, the clanging and banging must be driving those residents nuts, but the end will be Nirvana, thought I ─ waking up to the smell of Starbuck’s coffee wafting over the wall, and interesting people watching while sitting on one’s patio during the day.

On the other hand, perhaps not Nirvana but Hell because, heading out Friday morning for an appointment at the nail salon, I noticed from my parking spot that the top of the structure was now visible and it did not look like the colors in a Starbucks logo (green, white, a circle with a mermaid).

On the way out of the area, I detoured through the market parking lot to get a closer look and, sure enough, it’s a 7-Eleven, which we definitely don’t need in this neighborhood as it attracts a different kind of clientele, and this one with a gas station even. We do need a gas station, but next door to the complex is not ideal.

We already have a 7-Eleven, end of the long block in the opposite direction and, judging by the characters hanging around outside, it’s a troubled area to be avoided. The thought of another 7-Eleven, right next door to the complex, seems to me to put us seniors in a vulnerable position.

Instead of smelling coffee and people watching, residents on that side will smell gas fumes and be witness to early morning/late evening robberies.

What happened?

Why did the plans change?

And the plans did change because I went online to research and whereas there previously appeared a giant Starbucks, now appears a “joint 7-Eleven”.

It would be great if “joint” meant also a Starbucks, and there is another long building indicated as “site”, but I can’t imagine Starbucks would build next to a 7-Eleven. I think “7 Eleven” is the gas station portion and “site” is the 7-Eleven building.

At any rate, as a result of the original plan, there was the Starbucks Effect ─ the rent went up. I don’t imagine it will happen, but would be fair if the increase gets rescinded.

Tomorrow is the Community Meeting, formerly titled “Residents/Management Meeting”. Because Community Managers kept getting fired or quitting, this will be the first such meeting we’ve had since June of 2018.

The meet is scheduled for 10:00, which gives me time to attend.

I don’t have any complaints and, hopefully, the meet will be non-contentious with other residents, over by 11:00 because, if things drag on, I’ll have to walk out by 11:20 at the latest to grab my gear and head for the pain cave.

As I’m typing this update, I’m noticing my new manicure is already chipping away. From my needlepoint work no doubt but, oddly enough, the young lady that usually does my nails ... the one I requested ... the one who does such good work that, regardless of needlepoint, the polish looks fresh for like forever, didn’t show up so, without telling me she wasn’t there, without asking me if I even wanted to keep the appointment, a girl I didn’t recognize came over to where I was seated and began working on my nails.

As this girl I don’t recall ever seeing before began, she asked, “You don’t want your cuticles cut, just pushed back, right?”

“Yes!” said I with surprise. Then inquired, “How did you know that?”

“I’ve done your nails three times before and I remember”.

Really? When did THAT happen? And did the polish immediately chip off those times as well?

Oh well, it’s only two fingers on my right hand, so I’ll stop by the drugstore after today’s workout and find a red deep enough to mask the chips.

The Starbucks Effect

It appears Corporate had advanced information about a Starbucks being built just steps from the property because, when I returned to the complex from yesterday’s workout, a notice had been posted to doors indicating an increase in rent.

Our rents haven’t increased in three years, so it’s a safe bet this increase is the result of The Starbucks Effect (Starbucks moves in, property values go up, building owners charge more).

It’s only an additional $49 per month which, after not having an increase in such a long time, is not going to kill anyone but, I’ll bet dollars to donuts this Starbucks Effect is going to cause increases to now be an annual thing.

With 178 apartment homes on the property, Corporate is going to gain big time without actually having to do any work or improvements on the property to justify the increase.

Looking at the paragraph that says “We hope you will continue to see the value of your apartment home and we look forward to your continued residency”, Corporate must be expecting some residents will not be happy with the increase and end up moving, because the increase is based solely on The Starbucks Effect, while management is failing to make improvements some have requested, i.e., new paint job, new carpet.

Corporate must also be thinking some residents will cause trouble by taking the issue to housing authorities, because of the wording in the paragraph which goes ... “Should you wish to discuss the rent increase or let us know of any concerns you may have, we urge you to reach out to us rather than the local City/County/State government agencies as they are not responsible for the rent increase”.

Interesting wording, is it not.

I’ve never in my life seen such words accompanying a rate increase.

At any rate, I’m good with the changes coming as a result of The Starbucks Effect, even if it means the owner of the property, where the Pain Cave is located, increases Trainer’s rent, which causes Trainer to eventually increase his rates. However, I will have an issue if the increases, here on the complex, come more frequently than annually ─  i.e., every six months as some properties have taken to doing.

On another note, there is an old guy living in that heretofore vacant lot.

He doesn’t have a tent, just lies in the field, on padding, with his belongings around him.

When I saw the area had been fenced in the other day, I thought old guy might be gone already. But, coming back from yesterday’s workout, I spotted him on the corner and realized the area where he lives is just outside the fenced in area.

He’s good for now, but eventually that area will also be taken up ─ maybe for parking.

8 Years Not a Slave

While at the market the other day, picking up waffle bowls, ice cream toppings and a birthday card for The Baker, I spied this at the card station.

I snapped a photo, posted to Facebook with the caption, “Something I’ll never have to celebrate again. Thank God!”

Got a lot of likes from friends still slaving away in the workforce, no end in sight.

Then I thought Oh, wait ... you retired a month before Boss Day, so you should be rolling up on another anniversary.

I double checked and sure enough ... today is the day!

I generally celebrate by purchasing the latest Starbucks Anniversary mug, because our anniversaries coincide and there is a new design every year. So though I need another coffee mug like I need a hole in the head, no need to buck the tradition. I’ll be popping into Starbucks today to add another mug to the collection.

I took off my cloak of invisibility yesterday and joined the seniors for Bingo, but only because Apache and I had planned that ice cream bar to celebrate The Baker’s birthday.

The Baker was all smiles and, to use her words, “Very much surprised”, so good job us.

The choice of ice cream started off with vanilla, because we had so many toppings ─ caramel, chocolate, strawberry, granulated peanuts and cherries.

A new guy has been consistently hanging with the regulars for a long time now -- I think he even received a mention or two in the blog as "new guy".  At any rate, he needs a name, but I can’t think of him in any way suitable other than he's fairly new and the fact he’s the third guy in the group. So let's call him Third Guy ... first being Apache, second being Shadow.

So anyway, Third Guy declined the ice cream saying, “Too much sugar”.

“Oh, are you diabetic?” asked I.

“The doctor said I needed to cut down”.

Perfectly understandable. But then, we ran out of vanilla and pulled out the very rich pecan praline.

Third Guy saw the praline and said, “I want some of that”.

My mouth ran away with me and blurted out, “Oh, I see. This one is not too much sugar for you?" Then to top it off, my mouth also added, " You are so sometimey”.

He looked sheepish, but fortunately laughed.

At any rate, the seniors LOVED the eatable waffle bowls.

I didn’t eat one but, while the seniors indulged in ice cream, I did use a waffle bowl as a cup for what I could eat — fruit.

Pizza Tuesday

Not having to return to the dealership this morning, because no word yet that the driver side mirror had been received, plan for today was to hang out with the folk in the Community Room, people watching this Pizza Tuesday.

First, however, I made a run, few cities over, to a market where I’d seen something the previous day that I should have bought but passed on.

It was just yesterday morning I had the thought, this is such a drag, while making morning coffee.

I’d gone from driving to Starbucks every morning for a cup, to purchasing a pound and making my own using the pour over method with my trusty little percolator.

Then, after running across an article about a coffee that was purported to be an aid in healing angry guts, PLUS detox toxins out of one’s system, enhance mental clarity AND lower blood pressure, I switched to making Bulletproof Coffee every morning, pour over method, with that same trusty little percolator.

I’ve not given up Starbucks completely, but now it’s more like an occasional treat, as Bulletproof is definitely living up to the hype. Along with clean eating, my previously dead metabolism is coming back to life, I’m losing weight without trying, feel better, have more energy and, best of all, haven’t had a gut episode since shortly after Thanksgiving when I survived the trifecta – ear infection, gut episode, influenza, all at the same time.

So anyway, yesterday morning I heard myself say to myself, “I am so tired of having to do this every morning. I think it’s time I looked at some of those machines that make coffee for you, preferable something with a timer”.

It just quickly flashed through my mind and, just as quickly, disappeared as I went on with my day, which included a run to the craft store for yet another needlepoint floss color I’d run out of, gassing up the car, and a stop by the only market with a 30-mile radius to carry tofu shirataki noodles, so I don’t have to always order online.

Leaving the checkout line, with tofu angel hair and fettuccini, I saw a wall of kitchen products, like crockpots, egg cookers, microwaves, coffee makers, and my eyes landed on a Hamilton Beach Flex Brew Single Serve Machine.

Hmmmmm?

The box indicated:

·       Takes K-Cups or grounds

·       Lets you brew into a coffee cup or 8" tall travel mug

It didn’t have an automatic timer but, at only $48, that would have been too much to expect.

Thinking this was just the Universe suggesting which coffee maker to purchase, and that I could beat that price at Walmart, plus it would be easy to return if I didn’t like it, I passed on the deal but, once back at the unit had second thoughts and decided to drive back this morning to opt for the one, which pretty much had been an instant manifestation.

I made sure I could get a refund if the coffee maker doesn't work out.

Once back at the complex, I checked into the Community Room and found a few folks nuking their pizzas, sitting around chitchatting.

It’s a good thing I checked in because I learned folks were beginning to worry … “I hope she’s alright” because no one had seen hide nor hair of me for some time.

I also received confirmation of a rumor that I’d heard in the Laundry Room just this past Sunday – that Assistant Maintenance Guy (AMG) had gotten into an argument with Head Maintenance Guy (HMG) about HMG putting all the work on him. At the end of the argument, AMG had gotten in his truck and left -- walked off the job.

Totally true, I’m told. And AMG had not only walked off the job once, but twice, stayed gone a long time, ultimately came back, but consensus is “Third time’s the charm – he’s looking for a new job and won’t come back next time”.

My buddy Apache wasn't in the Community Room, but earlier had sent me an email about his quest to catch the guy who'd danced naked in front of a resident's patio window. I'm unclear as to whether there's been a second sighting, but Apache said -- “I’ve been out at night trying to catch him. Wish I knew height and length make sure got the right guy.”

ROFLMAO! -- Not height and weight, but height and length.

If anyone does catch the guy, it’ll be Apache because he’s relentless and very protective of us ladies.

In fact, Apache is wanting me to attend a Lunar Eclipse viewing by the pool, 6:15 PM, Wednesday night and offered to be my escort just in case Naked Guy is around.

I said yes, but the Baker tells me 6:15 PM tomorrow night will be waaay too late. That if I want to view and take photos I’ll have to be outside Wednesday morning, not night, between the hours of 3:30 and 6:00 A.M.

I’m game, but I don’t know about anyone else. It might just be me, Apache and Naked Guy.

Bad Neighbor

Feeling guilty and very much the bad neighbor for receiving but not giving Christmas cards.

I’ve not been into sending out cards in more years than I can recall, and I’m accustomed to receiving only one – from one of my daughters.

This year, I was surprised to receive cards from three neighbors – and not even neighbors in my quad, but neighbors in other areas of the complex who thought of me, plus a card from a long-time friend now living in Minnesota.

I thought about rushing out and picking up cards for these nice folks but, at this late date, it seemed such a bother that didn’t do so and feel like a very bad neighbor/friend.

Oh well, it is what it is.

Heading to a different medical center location yesterday, to get that ear infection antibiotic prescription filled, I learned that location had also been struck with computer system failure on Friday.

Wondering if it had been a hack, I went to Google. Didn’t find any mention of hacking, only that the outage was system wide and due to “internal computer glitches”.

Hmmmmm.

At any rate, prescription filled, I read the side effects -- diarrhea, nausea, vomiting, upset stomach, oral thrush, yeast infection.

What the heck!

I thought the purpose of antibiotics was to help, not harm but, inasmuch as I already have gut issues, and this so-called cure is worse than the infection, there is absolutely no way I am going to use it.

So what to do about the ear infection?

It occurred to me to do what I should have done in the first place – research holistic cures.

I learned garlic oil works just as well as antibiotics, and there are no unpleasant side effects, so I made a batch. Only, instead of drops in the ear, I’m playing it safe by using Q-tips to swab the area.

Garlic oil came highly recommended by users on quite a few sites, and since I let the infection go on for such a long time, I imagine it will disappear into the ethers but take a few days.

So doctor out-of-the way, I was looking forward to getting the last thing taking me out of the apartment, out of the area off my list – my appointment with the locktician (beautician for braids), so I could just stay in my unit and veg out until the holidays are over.

So off I go this morning, driving 45 minutes, arriving for my appointment only to find the locktician not there.

“She’s at the hospital on baby watch”, I was told. “One of her sons (girlfriend/wife ???) had a baby yesterday, the other son (girlfriend/wife ???) is expecting a baby today. She said she texted clients scheduled for today to let them know she’d be rescheduling them”.

I’m sure she did as she’s very professional, but she probably texted my old telephone number.

Not in the least annoyed, I texted the locktician my new number (which I’m sure I’d texted her before) and headed back, with a stop by Starbucks as I’d decided against being petty by putting a lump of coal in Head Maintenance Guy’s stocking – which I very well could have done and found just the right lump on Amazon.

Instead, I decided to be petty by purchasing a Starbucks gift card to put in the stocking of all the other staffers, except his.

Judge me not because, two things I’ve learned in my journey is 1) Own your feelings, whether right or wrong and 2) Do not reward bad behavior. 

While at Starbucks, I ran across an ornament I’d not seen before, brought it home and added it to my collection.

It's a little french press

So cute.

Good Advice

Deciding to bake cookies for yesterday’s Cookie Swap after all, recalling the epic fail earlier in the year when I made cookies for the Cookie/Cocoa Social, which cookies came out burnt, I followed Dkzody’s advice, left as a comment on that January post,  and baked the cookies 10 minutes less than what the recipe called for.

Gingerbread Molasses Cookies came out perfect and were the first to go.

The Baker asked for the recipe, so I shared with her my secret.

The Cookie Swap was not well attended. I blame the timing – the fact there were too many activities lumped together on the same day. First was Pizza Delivery, followed by Bingo. By the time 2:00 rolled around for the Cookie Swap, residents were tired and back in their units.

I skipped pizza delivery, skipped bingo and went down to the Community Room specifically for the swap and to decorate ugly sweater cookies.

It wasn’t the ugly sweater cookies I’d expected, instead we decorated round sugar cookies provided by The Baker.

Had I known, I would have brought a couple ugly sweater cookie sets instead of baking, yet and still I gave the round cookies a shot.

The sugar cookies must have been pretty tasty, because others were eating them up as fast as they got decorations on. One late arrival didn’t bother to decorate. She dumped like a third of a cup of royal icing on one little cookie, ate it like that, then repeated the process several more times.

My sweet tooth seeming now to be a thing of the past, I wasn’t tempted to eat not one cookie. Nor did I bring the ones I decorated back to my unit. I left them on the counter and, as there are folks around here that will eat anything left out, I’m sure someone came in later and enjoyed them with a cup of coffee.

Later in my unit, I began tackling the Starbucks Gingerbread Café.

Last post, I did say I’ve never attempted a gingerbread house of any kind before and, working with a kit where everything was pre-made and provided, I posed the question “how difficult can it be for my inexperienced self?”

Answer is … a picture is worth a thousand words.

It was enormously difficult and, as you can see, I suck at using piping bags. I did, however, excel at innovation because, when my little gingerbread man broke at the waist, I turned him into a walking dead zombie.

The red part at the waist, which is where he broke, is blood and guts pouring out.

Disappointed that my first foray into gingerbread house decorating, came out looking like a child’s project, wanting to prove to myself I could do so much better, I purchased another kit.

It failed completely.

First kit, I ignored directions to decorate first then build. Instead, I built first. That went well until I was called upon to use my non-existent piping skills, and produced the above shaggy dog effect.

Second kit, I followed directions, decorated first then did the build. However, once the decorations were fully dry, they began breaking off during the build stage and the building would not hold, it collapsed.

I tried to save it by scraping off corner icing, removing some of the decorations and building again but, after a second and third collapse, into the trash it went.

Refusing to give up without a fight, I purchased a third and final kit this morning.

So far so better.

Ebb and Flow

Woke up yesterday morning totally exhausted because why?

How does that happen anyway that my energy ebbs and flows in such dramatic fashion? A few days ago, I was shampooing the carpet, cleaning, dusting then, all of a sudden, I’m tired, dizzy, so weak that I barely have the strength to move from room to room or hold the counted cross stitch needle in my hand.

Inasmuch as I’m an empath, it’s difficult to tell if what I sometimes feel is me or if I’m picking up what someone else in the family is experiencing – as other family members are generally who I pick up.

At any rate, yesterday was about staying indoors, relaxing, recovering from whatever that was.

Still a little weak not quite myself this morning, but better than yesterday, I decided I needed sunshine and instant energy, i.e., Starbucks. I also needed more Pokéballs and Starbucks has two PokéStops on the parking lot. 

Problem is, the stops didn’t go with the new drive-thru location. They’re still at the old location, which is being turned into a T-Mobile."

Killing two birds with one stone, I parked at the old location, gathered balls and walked to the new location, knowing that by the time I walked back to the car at the old location, the Pokéstop would have refreshed and I could hit it up a second time.

Inside Starbucks, waiting for my order to be processed, I spotted a familiar face -- Grumpy Neighbor, the woman upstairs across the quad.

She was wiping the table down, so I walked over and jokingly said, “Are you the cleaning lady?”

She laughed, and then got into a spiel about how “I can’t stand this that and the other” on a table.

I can’t fault her for that. If a table doesn’t look clean enough for me, I’ll choose another or wipe it down but she kept complaining about it. Turning it into a federal case.

Tired of listening, I cut her off by asking, “What are you doing here? I thought you always go to the Library”.

“I do, but today is Friday. Library is closed on Friday. What are you doing here?”

“I needed Pokéballs.”

“You needed what?”

Unless you’re in conversation with someone on the same wavelength, a lot of effort is required. Today was not the day for it. Inside my head was telling me, “I don’t want to work this hard”, so I changed the conversation.

“I like this new location. It’s roomy”, said I.

“I don’t like that the door doesn’t open properly and there’s this long wall of windows with no tables that have plug ins. All the plug-in stations are on that (indicating) wall and those (indicating) tables. Why couldn’t they have blocked off this (indicating) and yada yada yada.”

Tired, weak and suddenly feeling the beginning of a headache coming on, I excused myself saying, “Well nice seeing you. My order is about up”.

Next time I run into her, I’ll hide behind a pillar or something.

On another note, inside Starbucks, I saw a sign for Zombie Frappuccino.

I’ve never had a Frappuccino, don’t know what’s in one, but research says it’s green caramel apple powder, a drizzle of dark mocha powder, pinkish whip crème and can be made with non-fat milk.

Other than the fact it’s 54 grams of sugar, I don’t see anything on my not-safe list, so I may try it before the weekend is over, as it's limited-time only.

Pup Cup

Now I’ve seen everything.

Granddaughter messaged a photo of my great grandson -- her baby Patches, at Starbucks, enjoying a puppuccino.

No coffee. Just whipped cream.

Speaking of having seen everything … Looking in the rear view mirror yesterday afternoon, preparing to back out, head to the market, what did I see but Nurse Ratched driving through.

I figured she was here to see her mom, who remains a resident and is so nice it’s hard to believe Ratched is her real daughter. Tongue-in-cheek speculation is Ratched is adopted.

At any rate, instead of turning to exit the gate, curiosity led me to turn to follow. I saw her park, step out the truck and observed the resident’s daughter living here because she moved in to help her dad suffering with multiple sclerosis, among other ailments, rush up to talk to her.

Interesting, thought I.

Driving past the two of them, halfway to the exit gate, opposite side of the complex, I saw The Baker, pulled over and said, “Nurse Ratched is here”.

“She is? … Where? … If I run into her, I’m going to turn around and go in the other direction”.

“Not me”, said I. “I’m going to laugh in her ‘I always win’ face, but I hope she’s learned the lesson that there is an authority higher than herself.”

Our conversation then turned to tomorrow’s Hot Cocoa and Cookies Social.

Now that we have a few days of sunshine, I really need to head to the spa for a manicure/pedicure. I’d do it myself except, in preparation for nephew’s 40^th birthday party back in December, I’d gotten a gel so I could continue with the needlepoint project without messing up my nails.

If you’ve never had a gel, it’s amazing insofar as nails looking great no matter how much you use your hands. The downside is, I can’t remove the gel myself, it has to be done in the salon and it never stopped raining long enough for me to make the drive.

Tomorrow would have been a good day for the spa, the Hot Cocoa and Cookies Social is likely not to be well-attended or worth it, but I’d already decided to go, bringing fresh baked Trader Joe’s Gingerbread Molasses Cookies – the ones I bought around Christmas and surprisingly didn’t bake and eat all by myself, so the spa will have to wait until next week as their Saturdays are too busy.

After speaking with The Baker, instead of continuing on to the exit gate, something made me turn around and backtrack to the first exit gate, taking me past where Ratched had parked. She was loading up her mom, a couple other family members and luggage into the truck. That resident’s daughter was still talking to her and Ratched had a look on her face like she was angry, saying how she felt about something, but then looked up, saw me, smiled and waved.

I couldn’t believe it.

In all the years she ignored when I smiled and waved, turned her nose up in the air, except for that one time when she was trying to demonstrate to her visiting boss that she was friendly with residents, she had the gall to smile and wave at me.

I burst out laughing and shook my head in disbelief, all of which I’m sure she saw.

Minutes later, having made a stop at the ATM next to Starbucks, who did I see pull up into the parking lot as I was leaving but Nurse Ratched stopping for coffee. It’s a good thing I didn’t go inside, because I’d have been trapped face-to-face with her -- the Universe perhaps giving me a second chance to take the high road.

My reaction would still have been the same – the low road of laughing in her face and shaking my head.

I can’t be fake and Ratched deserves it.

Later, at the mailbox, I saw the resident’s daughter who’d spoken with Nurse Ratched. She said she told her, “I miss you”.

“You’re kidding?” said I.

“Well are things any better with her gone?”

“Yes” said I. “They are. All the unnecessary harassment, lies and intimidation are now gone.”

“Well, what about …” and she went on to bring up two incidents I’d heard nothing about, but both of which took place outside the gates, late at night, and have nothing to do with management or our complex, except a resident was involved, and I told her so. But it gave me an idea as to why Nurse Ratched had that look on her face. The resident’s daughter was probably feeding Ratched’s ego with her version of how bad things are with her gone, which allowed Ratched’s anger at being terminated after what she thinks was the great job she did at managing the place to rise to the surface.

So many deluded souls living a life of alternative facts.

No Harm in Looking?

Yesterday’s weather was pretty perfect.

Expecting it not to be, I headed out to the locktician (hairdresser for braids) in winter wear – leggings, long sleeve top, boots, jean jacket, and got so hot that I dispensed with the jacket and rolled the sleeves up.

Just in case it rained this morning, I had the inclination, after leaving the locktician yesterday, to stop at Starbucks for a cup and a pound, but passed because I wasn’t craving coffee.

I shoulda paid attention to that inclination, because I woke up to a cats and dogs downpour this morning. Along about noon, it slowed down and was off/on, so I bundled up, headed out and finally stocked up.

It’s been so long since I purchased beans that I couldn’t remember what grind to request, so I said “For a percolator” and, just like last time I went through a DIY period, the young barista didn’t know what a percolator was. I ended up requesting “Not as coarse as french press”, so we’ll see how it goes.

Just to make sure I don’t end up with grinds in the coffee, I’ll use the pour over method suggested by Dkzody’s husband.

At any rate, what I did instead of Starbucks yesterday was to stop by a market I probably shouldn’t mention by name, but which wasn’t Sprouts and it wasn’t Whole Foods, and observed something that’s been bothering me ever since because I failed to report it for fear I’d be perceived as over reacting.

The guy on his knees, stocking the eggs, was acting like an out of control pervert. Instead of focusing on his stacking, he was not so surreptitiously looking left and right and, when a female customer turned the corner, he’d stare at her lower extremity.

I don’t recall seeing anyone in a dress or skirt, so he wasn’t able to look up, but when a young girl walked through in shorts, the way he leered was unconscionable.

I know all guys check out females, but the way this guy was doing so, and where he was looking was disgusting. He struck me as the kind of guy to hide video equipment in the women’s bathroom.

In reaching for eggs and milk, I was positioned dangerously close to him and he turned and looked directly at my lower front extremity, so close that his face was almost in it and, when I began walking away, he turned to look at the back view.

A modest individual, when wearing leggings I usually have a sweat shirt tied around my waist. But because I’d dressed for winter, with that jean jacket, and then had taken the jean jacket off, and leggings hugging like a second skin, I felt fully exposed under his glare.

The guy was so creepy, and I so unnerved, that I actually put the milk back and walked away. I’d have put the eggs back as well, but didn’t want to give him another front view.

I so wanted to report what he was doing but, looking at all the guys behind the manager counter, I didn’t think they’d understand how inappropriate he was being and how uncomfortable it made me feel to not only experience it, but to see him doing it to unsuspecting others.

It’s been bothering me ever since that I did nothing and, after watching the courage of Meryl Streep as she schooled the orange guy, I will never let something like that go again. Should our paths cross again, and I hope they do so I can get this off my chest, you can be sure I’ll lodge a complaint because “There may be no harm in looking ... it may be that most guys do", but this guy was carrying it to the extreme when he should have been focusing on his duties. 

Or maybe I’ll just go for the jugular and shock the perpetrator out of it with, “What you’re doing is really creepy. You’re a pervert and need to get yourself some help”.