Saturday, December 28, 2002

I think I could live in a wheelie chair. I really do. The kind that twist round, so you could paddle yourself along on your feet, and turn round whenever you need to, and go along. Stairs would be a problem. You'd have to install elevators in your house, and that could get expensive, or maybe you could just live in a trailer. One with halls wide enough to accomodate a wheelie chair. People would look at you funny, but you'd get used to it. You could even claim to be a minority and get tax benefits of some sort.

Just so everyone knows, I mean the office kind of chair. I mean no disrespect to people in wheelchairs. I actually didn't even think when I wrote all that. So please know that I meant no harm to people living with disabilities. Not that the high traffic on my website (ha HA) is really going to give me hell for it. And my comments aren't working these days, so there you go!

This is just my reaction to working an 8 and 1/2 hour shift on my feet at Shakespeare's Pies, and coming home and checking emails in the office where there is, indeed, a wheelie chair.

It snowed more today. The village is full of it, all the roads are slushy and messy and I honestly saw someone walking around in sandals and 3/4 length pants. If I wasn't trying to get to work on time I would have stopped and asked them, "Excuse me, but are you nuts?" and walked on. The village is just packed with people, wandering about its Alpen-esque streets, wondering, complaining. I had some pretty moronic customers today, who would not leave me alone--they wanted a pie that wasn't baked, so I had to bake them up a new one. And they wanted all these other things, then finally when I thought they were done and was ready to serve the next person--"Excuse me, but can I have a bag?" These are not crimes, I realize. But you don't go to a fast food joint and stand at the front of the line for 20 minutes, perusing the board, asking dumb questions, choosing and rechoosing which kind of pop you want. Letting your kid crawl all over the counter, inspecting the tip dish, putting fingermarks on the dessert case glass.

One thing I've learned, after moving 3000k from home, is that American tourists are dumb no matter where they go. Enough ranting, though. Time to get some sleep. I have to face them all again tomorrow. Same bat time, same bat channel.

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