Thursday, November 16, 2006

On to the Cube Farm!

The Canadian government finally deemed me worthy of taking a job away from an able-bodied Canadian. So my days as a lesbian ex-pat haus frau are numbered. Actually, I will always be a lesbian and will presumably remain an ex-pat so I guess my days as a haus frau are the only ones that are truly numbered. As such, this is my farewell posting - for now. I'm am sure once I get a cubicle job there will be many more stories to tell...

Thank you all for reading. I’ve really appreciated your snarky comments and your fascination with my mundane existence.

I will keep the blog up indefinitely so if you are feeling like a chuckle check out some of my all-time favorite incidents:

My Third Mistake....
A bookstore with a complex
Canadian Cultural Imperialism?
Loonie Tunes
Socialized Laundry
Maxi Pads, Sleigh Rides, and Snowboarders
Just Bras...
Wacky Canadian Customs
Frodo sure does look smaller in person

Friday, November 03, 2006

I take my hair very seriously

Yesterday at the naturopath I got a haircut. Mind you, the naturopath ranks right up there with Great Cuts and the Hair Cuttery in terms of hair styling, but I had no choice. He ordered the haircut so that his lab could perform some heavy metal tests on my hair.

For most people this haircut would be a minor endeavor and the few hairs cut off would likely not be noticed. But for me, someone with extremely short hair, cutting enough hair off my head to perform these tests required cutting in MANY spots. So, after ten minutes and twenty snips the naturopathic barber finished her butchery. But, unlike my usual hairdresser, she did not give me a mirror to examine the back. So I walked out into the world ignorant to how my head looked to those behind me. That is, until I met TW for lunch.

TW took one look at my head and started giggling. She tried to help defuse the situation by matting my hair down and giving me a poor-man’s version of the comb over but nothing worked. My glaringly white scalp shone through in a series of loonie-sized patches. So in an effort to minimize the spectacle of my head, I spent the bulk of the rest of the day walking backwards down the street like a tour guide pointing out landmarks.

This tactic worked until I ran into an elderly woman ambling down the street with her walker in tow. Since she was heading in the same direction as me - just at a slower pace and face forward - my elbow rammed into her back when I overtook her at my brisk pace. She yelped in pain.

But as soon as she turned around and caught sight of the back of my head she began laughing heartily. I started to laugh too but then I stopped when I remembered we were laughing at my own hair. I take my hair very seriously.

Thursday, November 02, 2006

I winked, she stared.

Yesterday I went to the grocery store. Not the meat and potatoes grocery store that I frequented long before my naturopath got his hands on my diet but the grocery store that sells only overpriced organic produce. The grocery store that requires a two bus commute. And the grocery store that charges me extra money whenever I ask for a bag because I never bring a reusable one.

It is at this grocery store that the cashiers make me feel like I am the cause of global warming and every other natural disaster that is befalling our planet. Actually, it is one cashier in particular whose indifferent smirk, aloof stare, and total disregard for my witty banter that makes me feel this way. She does not smile, she does not laugh, nor does she talk to me. Rather, she talks over me to the customers behind me who are almost always holding bicycle helmets and reusable shopping bags.

I try to avoid these encounters but I almost always duped by bad timing. Whenever I unload my produce onto the conveyor belt waiting for a more kindly cashier to fondle my purchases they are always relieved of their duty – just before I am to be rung up – by my cashiering nemesis. I silently beg them to stay with my puppy dog eyes but they do not.

So my items are left in the hands of my nemesis. She looks at each item with the careful scrutiny of a research scientist. And even though she does not make her thoughts known to me I can see in her eyes that she is judging my selections. Pears – too big for one serving; apples – bruised and too much sugar – even though it is natural sugar; celery – not worth the effort and no nutritional value, and roasted cashews – salt induced heart attack waiting to happen. I dread these encounters.

But yesterday I believed we had a breakthrough. Even though my cashiering nemesis smirked indifferently, spoke to the man behind me – holding his own bicycle helmet and those of his three kids, all under the age of five, and scrutinized my produce, we had a moment. She, without speaking directly to me, acknolwedged her admiration by giving me a 10 percent discount on my bill.

When I looked at the screen and discovered this discount I smiled broadly content in the knowledge that this cashier liked me. She really, really liked me. So before I left with my grcoeries I winked at her in an effort to silently acknowledge the favor she was doing for me. She just stared.

Then on my way out the door I glanced at the sign promoting a ten percent discount for all customers on that day - customer appreciation day. Needless to say, I can never go back.

site stats