Smiling at Strangers

I've been in rehearsals because - tada! - I'm in a show coming up! Which is great. Which also means I've been taking the bus to the rehearsal hall because S. is working at Heritage Park again and he is using the car. Why am I not also at a typical job? That's another blog post.

This blog post is about smiling. Or strangers. Or random encounters with strangers. I'm not sure yet.

I was waiting for the bus and a man walked down the sidewalk with a huge smile on his face. That isn't necessarily strange, although it isn't often that you see someone smiling that broadly in public. Which is really sad when you think about it. But what made it odd was that he was actively seeking out eye contact with the people he met. And he was well dressed - not a homeless bum whom you could assume was hopped up on something, but a business man or some sort of professional. And most people looked away! And his smile didn't dim! I smiled back. I almost didn't. But then I did and it made me feel better.

So then I began to actively people watch. I don't think I was smiling but I was actively alert, watching, interested in the world around me. I usually car watch while I wait for the bus - you know, check out the various vehicles and wonder what it's like to drive that Jag or Beamer or Benz or beat up Oldsmobile. Now I switched my attention to the drivers. Most of whom were wearing sunglasses and either frowning or chatting on cell phones and frowning. People in the city are grumpy looking drivers. Or perhaps that's the 'I'm occupied' expression of humanity. I don't know. I continued once I got on the bus, looking down at the drivers around me.

I made eye contact with a woman who was driving a shiny grey-green car, don't remember what kind. She smiled at me, a real genuine smile! A smile that said, I see you people watching! I do that too! And I smiled back. Later I saw her join the cell phone chatting masses but for a moment she was a real person, with a real smile, someone I wouldn't trip if zombies were chasing me.

The next day I was waiting for the bus again. On my way down the street a somewhat disheveled gent asked me for a light. I don't smoke, so I don't carry a lighter. Which is what I said as I continued to walk. He kept going also. He ended up at the same bus stop. Asked me again for a light. Once again I said no. He asked someone else and then settled down at the bus stop and looked me up and down and asked if he could help me out. I never know what to do when random disheveled strangers start talking to me. I said I didn't need any help (as I said it I smiled to myself - you never know what kind of help you need until someone offers help flashed through my head) and then he asked me if I wanted to buy a bus transfer. I said I had a ticket, and as my mouth moved my heart sank as I realized I had left my book of tickets at home. And the bus was too close for me to run home, grab them, and get back in time. He offered them for a dollar. For fifty cents. I didn't have any money on me so I had to decline, even though I needed one. And then he got grumpy, asking me what kind of world was this where nobody had a light or carried any money.

I got a bit alarmed at this point. Not going to lie. I said, Sorry, I don't smoke and I don't carry cash, now will you please leave me alone.

He gave me a transfer anyway and then walked off and promptly vanished. I don't mean I saw him dematerialize, but I have no idea where he went so quickly.

I was very grateful for the transfer even though I felt like I was defrauding the system. And I mentally apologized multiple times for panicking and being rude.

I found the bus tickets in my backpack once I arrived at the rehearsal hall. I had them all along but didn't know it.

I hope he found his light.

Insular

I've been sick with - well, with something, for four days. I never know what to call these things. I'm pretty sure anything with aches and fever is a flu, but I rarely get sick to my stomach. Probably because I just lose my appetite altogether. Anyway. It's settled down to a chest cough so hopefully that means it's on it's way out.

It did mean that I had to miss a friend's show. That made me sad. I love the play she was in, and I've never gotten to see it up on its feet. A coughing audience member, particularly a contagious one, isn't well loved however, so I chose to miss out and hope that I'll get another chance to see it someday.

The dog has been a little angel through all of the aches and lethargy and coughing. S. went to his hometown for his brother's bachelor party (which was an epic weekend, from the stories I've been getting) so I've been home alone with the pooch. Which has been fine. I haven't had the energy to do anything, and she's been most accommodating instead of turning into an under-exercized demon. Right now she's sleeping on the floor, sucking in air like it's going out of style - she has nursing dreams that seem quite intense. She'll be a farting machine later.

So I've watched a lot of television and I've done a lot of sleeping. I finished reading a book and I've checked up on a lot of blogs.

Not much of anything else. I tried to write but my brain hasn't been cooperating. I tried to memorize a monologue for an audition coming up - also not much success, but at least I've got some of it down. I hope I have a singing voice by then since I need to sing for it too. I also tried to do some Arbonne stuff but when every sentence is punctuated by a wracking cough it's a little hard to speak. Plus people are too worried about your health to believe that you can improve theirs.

A friend came over yesterday which was nice. No, it was great. I haven't seen her all summer and I've missed her. We had such a great conversation. We're kind of in a similar place, with our semi-jobless states and both dating non-religious men; it was nice to chat about our lives. I'm glad to have at least a few friends in the city.

S. and I have talked about the disconnect we feel sometimes living in the city when a lot of our friends live in a small town nearby. Nearby meaning about 90 minutes away by car. We try to make an effort to go out and see people. A few of those friends make an effort to come in and see us. A lot of them don't. It's tough for me not to internalize that and assume that they don't actually want to be my friends anymore - I have to remind myself that life in a small town - and that small town in particular - gets insular and it's almost impossible to avoid it and see beyond the valley walls.

Almost impossible, a small voice says. Because some people manage just fine. And those are the people I get to see more often.

Ah well. That's life, they say in France.

It's not that different from my life the last few days, after all. I've been living in a self-imposed insular state for half a week. If my friend hadn't made an effort to come over I wouldn't have seen another human being in that entire time. And those outside my walls wouldn't necessarily know why.

So I guess there might be other aspects to the lives of others that I don't see either.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to try to walk the dog. That is, if I don't cough up a lung first.

Social Skilz

I wish I had them.

I mean, I think I have some. I do have friends. I seem to participate in social events without making S. want to crawl under a rock. I appear to be capable of making a good impression on people.

But in some situations, the natural thing to do doesn't occur to me.

I just took the dog for a walk. We met an adorable little black pug. I have learned that when two dog walkers intersect, if they stop to let their dogs visit, only the dogs get introduced. It's a strange little phenomenon but it's just how it is.

We also met two people who were dogless. They were standing outside their houses, chatting. They introduced themselves, I introduced myself. And the dog. And then didn't really ask them any other questions. Half way down the block, after we'd left, I realized I should have inquired as to their jobs and lives, since they were obviously willing to chat with me and I felt that initial interested spark that indicates possible friendship. And since I'm trying to meet people right now since I haven't got many friends in Calgary, that would have been good to follow up on.

But I didn't. And now I may never see them again and have missed an opportunity to make new friends.

Sigh.

Maybe that wasn't an abnormal thing not to think of though.

Or maybe I've been spending too much time with the dog.

It's A Beautiful Day In The Neighbourhood

All the crazies come out in the summer.

The landlord is fixing the screen door, finally. Or trying to. I'm not sure how much success he's having.

He is simultaneously interrogating the neighbour, asking if he's the one who left the couch in the dumpster. It's a little awkward for me, even though I'm inside trying to ignore them.

"Did you leave the couch in the dumpster?"

"I'm not answering that. I pay the rent." Blah blah blah.

"Yes, but you do live in my property."

I try to tune it out.

By the way, the neighbour totally did leave the couch there. Is it against the law? I don't know, but he's not owning up to it and damned if I'm going to get involved in the craziness that lives next door. They argue outside by our parking spot a few times a month. They ask us for drugs that we don't have. They've asked us for money. In general I think they're not dangerous, but I don't feel comfortable with them either. They spent the whole weekend drinking - not unusual, and it doesn't bother me until they start getting in arguments and smashing glass jars in our parking spot. The dog took offence and barked at them.

At least the soberest one of them cleaned up the glass before S. got home.

***

The screen is fixed and I can hear the landlord destroying said couch with a hammer. I hear a saw now too.

The dog doesn't know what to make of this permeable barrier keeping her from enjoying the plants on the balcony. By enjoying I mean eating. I'm glad to finally have a functional screen. It's much cooler in here with a breeze flowing through.

Even if it's tinted with cigarette smoke. I think smoking is disgusting. I know, and love, some people who smoke. Smokers aren't disgusting. But smoking? So, so gross. Ick.

The other neighbours are nice people. They have two little kids and the dog likes to play with them. They're from Sri Lanka, and they've never had a dog of their own, so they like to play with her too. Their mother lent me two books when she found out I like to read, and she gave me some lettuce that she'd been growing. When the sweet peas are blooming I'll bring her a bouquet.

Provided the plants haven't been eaten by the dog, or choked out from the smoke.

Let It Snow...

It's snowing outside. Or rather, drizzling. It's not committing to either season out there, just a general mix of unpleasant, chilly precipitation.

S. is outside somewhere, rehearsing scenes for his job as a historical interpreter/actor this summer.

I'm inside, my feet cold and my lap full of warm computer, sipping tea and watching my sweet peas grow the best they can in the half-light that makes it through the clouds. My knee hurts like it always does when the weather's like this, damp and cold. Between that and my ankle full of twinges (and my sore wrists, and does anyone else notice that their hip joints kind of click when they do sit ups? No? Just me, then?) I could be an old lady.

Joints are apparently not my friends.

Which means that when I'm an old lady I may not be as independent as I would wish to be.

Which sucks.

But that's in the future, the very distant future, and I'm very good at not thinking about possible unpleasant futures if I can be persuaded to think about things like how to kill the darkspawn in Soldier's Peak or what life would be like in a zombie apocalypse or how to build a tree house in medieval Europe.

Or what I should make for supper when my sure-to-be cold man gets home.

Which reminds me, I should be in the kitchen. ;)

Well, That Answered That Question

I have a connective tissue disorder called Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Type III. Genetics. Gotta love 'em.

Most of the time it has no impact on my life. No, let me reword that. Most of the time I forget that not everyone experiences pain on a regular basis when they're simply going about their daily routine. I injured my wrists by clapping at a performing arts summer school; the repetitive motion of clapping stretched out the connective tissue in my wrists and now the bones grind and pinch nerves. I usually feel it when I do things like lift a kettle full of water or even just when I carry a plate sometimes, but I tend to ignore it because I need to in order to function. You don't realize how much you need your wrists until they hurt all the time; so that's the main thing that reminds me that my DNA isn't completely on my side.

The geneticist told me that the same injury in my wrists could repeat in my other joints, specifically my ankles. He also said as I aged the natural tightening would help the bones stay in place, but that I'd likely have arthritis in them by then so they'd keep on hurting for other reasons. Oh joy.

Well, my ankles have been bothering me for the last 2 weeks. So, keeping in mind what the good doctor said, I have been wrapping them in tensor bandages whenever I've had to do a lot of walking (such as door to door sales) or high-impact movements (which I don't usually do but I've been doing a cardio exercise regime that includes jumping jacks because I don't want to have a heart attack when I'm 40. The good thing about hereditary ailments is that you can try to prevent some of them).

This morning, after I wrote my post about how unhappy I was with this new job opportunity, I walked to the bus. Rather, I got half-way to the bus and my ankle crapped out. I kept going. I'm very stubborn. But then I realized that if I ignored my body and continued walking, I would likely wreck my ankle the way I wrecked my wrist.

If your ankles don't work, you can't walk.

If you can't walk, you're kind of useless. For anything.

So I phoned my trainer and said I wouldn't be in today, turned around and limped slowly home. I've been home for a few hours, following the RICE thing for injuries, and it still hurts like a - like a painful thing.

$*&#$%#@$!*#%!!!!!

I was going to say that God didn't have to hit me up the side of the head to answer my doubts about this job, but then I thought about it. Didn't I feel uneasy about doing this, and didn't I ignore my soul speaking and keep going?

I did.

Sigh.

Apparently I needed some pain to make me stop and listen.

I'd like to say lesson learned but I know that's probably not the case. All I can hope is that the learning curve won't always this painful.

Have You Switched to Shaw?

Hello! My name is Rebecca and I'm here on behalf of Shaw! I'm in the neighbourhood trying to save people money by bundling their services! What do you currently have with Shaw?

God. Shoot me now.

I just got offered a job working as a door to door salesperson. I've done one training day and I already hate it.

That's probably not a good sign.

The whole atmosphere in the office is that it's all about the dolla dolla bills, yo. I can't. I just can't. I faked interest and enthusiasm yesterday. I'm not sure I can fake it again.

It's a straight up sales job, all commission. The money can be great. My trainer pulled in $275.00 yesterday. She's very persistent.

She also doesn't listen well.

One gentleman told us that he's with Telus and he's not happy with the service, but he wants his word to be good; he signed a contract and he won't break it because he has to look at himself in the mirror every day and that's worth more to him than saving twenty bucks a month. My trainer told him she broke people out of contracts all the time. He responded that he didn't care. His word was his word and he wasn't going back on that. She repeated that she could save him money. Like saving money is what life is about.

Fuck.

I respect that man. His viewpoint is a rare one. He is a trustworthy gent, and that is honourable.

My trainer has no use for that honour. I got a semi-dirty look when I told the man I thought he was respectable. She never told me off for saying anything, but as we walked away she dismissed him as 'old school'.

And the thing is, if you don't sell you don't make any money.

So my question is, do I want to devote any more time to this?

And my dilemma is that I have no other job. I have no other prospects either. I feel guilty even thinking about turning down a potential opportunity in favour of sitting at home on EI. I should take this job because no-one else is interested in hiring me. Right?

At least until I find something.

But what if I never do?

Is this a test of faith, or is this an answer to prayer?

It sure doesn't feel like an answer. How can if be if I feel so strongly about this after one day? I can't buy into the mindset of sales. The game. The chase. The 'kill'. That's what they fucking call it. A sale is a kill. Like we're a 'wolf pack' and we bring down gazelles.

Not interested!

But also poor!

Fuck.

I also can't believe that I will find success and be able to follow my dreams if I pursue a high paying job for a couple of years.

I feel like I'm whoring out my soul.

I guess that's my answer right there, isn't it?

Happy Hallowe'en!

My Hallowe'en?

Bram Stoker's Dracula and The Blair Witch Project.

Handing out candy dressed as a priest, with S. as my special nun friend and another friend dressed as a skier (basically because he wanted to wear his new ski boots).

We got 34 kids (well, 32 kids, one adult and one adult who may have been a crack head)! We were expecting 12. Maybe 15.

I'm glad we didn't run out of treats until after the crack head was gone. Although we didn't really have to worry. The treats were lined out as if they were a shrine, only missing the candles. It was great...over two dozen small bags of chips, over a dozen cans of Pepsi and 16 big chocolate bars, plus a couple dozen teeny chocolate bars. At the end we were down to 4 bags of chips, 2 cans of pop, 1 big bar and 4 little ones.

We were also told we had the best pumpkins in the city of Calgary which either means that everyone else carved lame ass pumpkins or ours were really awesome - one was an evil tree and the other a hissing cat, and then an evil clown face.

Job well done I think.

Yesterday we went to Scream Fest and I screamed multiple times. It was great! A guy with a chainsaw chasing people, a clown in a car who drove at you and stopped just before he hit you, air guns blasting air in your face, four amazing haunted houses and one that was all outside. Someone was dressed as the Joker and he was pretty scary too.

Tomorrow I start National Novel Writing Month for the second year in a row so I may not write here much as I frantically write a 50,000 word novel before December...but I'll try to throw a note up here every week at least.

Again, Happy Hallowe'en, until next year!

Snapshot

I look over and see him lean over and kiss her on top of her head. It's such a tender moment I feel like I'm spying but it makes me smile and warms my heart.

I like moments like that. Especially at work.

Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Home Again, Home Again, Jiggity Jig

We're home.

It's so nice to wake up and not be cold! And to have a shower with water pressure! And to have carpet, and internet at my fingertips, and my friends close by!

It's just nice to be home.

Another Pet Peeve

I hate it when people interrupt me while I'm helping one customer in order to ask for help themselves.

What am I supposed to do? I'm already busy. Legitimately helping someone, doing my job - I wish I could point out how rude they're being but I can't. Although today I came really close. Some guy, who had already interrupted me once - when I was mid sentence, I kid you not - then proceded to yell at me from across the store, asking "Is there anyone who will help me with this?" He was very impatient. And rude. And I was the only one he could see, and we were all busy with other people.

So I said, as he turned away, "Can you not see I'm busy with someone?" and felt bad instantly only because my customer was so nice and I hated to expose my frustration in front of her. Oh well. Guess what, I'm human too, customer. And idiots annoy me.

At least there were no Children of the Exorcism today.

I Love the Smell of Commerce in the Morning

Today a small child screamed like she was possessed by the devil. Like "Exorcism" screaming, all gravelly. It was impressive. Over and over - "My book! My book!" were the only discernable words. Her mother was trying to buy the book for her but she wouldn't let go long enough for it to be scanned at the till. So her mother took her out of the store, and then when it became apparent she wasn't going to stop, her mother took her away. Her screams eventually stopped - but only because she was out of earshot. After they left, we clerks were the only ones in the store, so we chatted about Devil Girl and her mother, and our childhoods and our parents.

Later a man barged into the 'staff only' area, made a beeline for our bathroom and started using it without shutting the door first. How did he even know there was a bathroom back there? It's not advertised and we don't tell customers about it, much less let them use it. We quickly realized he wasn't quite all there, so at least he wasn't a creep who wanted to expose himself to the Coles girls. But still. It was...surreal. And then he left the store without saying a word.

Just to round things out, the fire alarm in the mall went off twice. It's loud. We have an alarm in our ceiling and it flashes a blue light as it beeps. Beeps is too kind a word. As it shrieks on par with Devil Girl it blinks a calm blue light. If that's for deaf people they get the better end of the deal. Except if I were deaf, I wouldn't realize that meant fire. It's too calm and blue.

That's been my day. The things I would tell S. about if he were here. Sigh.

Good Fences

"Good fences make good neighbours."

Our upstairs neighbour is not a quiet man. He's either blowing his nose or he has a baby elephant up there. (Maybe that's what happened to the baby elephant at the zoo.) He gets up and stomps around at 5 in the morning on a regular basis. (I've even been woken up by a string of swear words, cause unknown. Not the best way to face the world in the early morn.) He spends his weekends listening to truly terrible music late into the night, as though unaware that there are other people who have to work on weekends (every weekend, thanks boss...) and need to get to sleep at a reasonable hour - not one in the morning. And he cheers for the Flames. Which is bad enough on its own. And he cheers loudly. With a lot of swear words.

The guy downstairs is either dying of lung cancer...or he's just got a really terrible cough.

I wonder if they secretly want to stomp on the floor to shut us up, but I really doubt it. We're pretty quiet people, S. and I.

Good fences?

I think good walls make good neighbours.