Fairfax Cabaret was tonight!
The Cabaret is a talent show and is about as much fun as you can have at a school event that doesn't end until 10 o'clock at night like what are we a bunch of people without elementary-school-aged kids?
I was staffing the ticket table when an older woman walks up and even though she's clearly a grandma I can still tell she's less into baking cookies and more into being a real witch.
"This is a PTA event?" she asks suspiciously.
"Yes! We have $6 tickets and $10 tickets, which would you like?"
SIGH. "I've only got $18 so I guess we'll be getting $6 tickets."
I felt bad for a minute, like I should give her the extra $2, but there were lots of people there who were sitting in the $6 seats and honestly this lady didn't even have a good sob story. It's not like she was scrabbling for nickles in her threadbare change purse.
"Really? This is the Fairfax PTA?"
"Yes, yay for Fairfax!"
"This is the most sophisticated PTA even I've ever been to. And I don't mean that as a compliment."
Hahaha, yes, we've worked hard and a lot of people have donated time and . . . wait. What?
Oh-kay lady.
Number 1, you really need to work on your insults because that one is very confusing. I don't even know what you mean by that. They only reason I know it's not a compliment is that you specifically said it wasn't.
Number 2, don't be a jerk.
Friday, February 9, 2018
Saturday, February 3, 2018
Do you even Math, bro?
Chris and I bought a new car recently.
To be completely honest, we bought a new minivan.
The old one had leprosy, I think, because it was falling apart.
So we went to look at a Toyota Sienna at a nearby Mercedes-Benz dealer, where they had classical music playing, and coffee made from freshly ground beans, and the salespeople were almost too handsome to gaze upon, and one of them was even from Scotland, and his eyes looked into my soul. They printed out a piece of paper with the price break-down, and, when we said we had to go think about it, they wished us well.
But we didn't want that car.
So we drove up the street to a place that had a Town and Country we wanted to try out. We walked in the door and there were five skeevy guys, waiting to pounce on customers. Vlad got to us first, and while waiting for the car to be readied, he showed us pictures of his hairless cat, assault rifle cabinet, and knife collection. When we were discussing numbers, it was scribbles of unlabeled numbers in green marker on a blank piece of paper. When we said we had to go think about it, he called the manager over and tried to continue to negotiate.
But we did want that car.
So Chris and I talked and decided on a price we could live with. We went back in and told them the number, and the number of months we were willing to pay that number for, extrapolating from that the applicable amount that would be paid every month.
They go over to the corner and discuss. They come back with another green marker sheet.
"It is the number you wanted!" they say.
Oh, good!, I think. But then I see Chris tapping the sheet - right where the number of payment months is 12 more than we indicated we were willing to pay them.
"Yes, but see, that is for many more months," Chris points out.
"But it is the monthly payment you wanted!" they say.
So, but, here's the thing. We live in a glorious age of humankind. CALCULATORS. ON OUR PHONES, even.
"Okay, with those extra months, though, it is like a million more dollars than we told you we were willing to pay for the car."
And then I told them they could take their little green marker and stick it where the sun don't shine
Not really. Really, it was the end of the day, though, and these people clearly wanted to go home. They capitulated so quickly, coming back with a typed up sheet that they would have had no time to actually type up, that I realized they were just going through the motions. I suddenly understood that these people probably literally had a written protocol about how to con people into paying more. It likely includes focusing on the monthly payment instead of total, and making people believe you really want their trade in. I think the color of the marker is individual choice.
So, it felt a little gross, but we are now owners of a new-to-us minivan.
To be completely honest, we bought a new minivan.
The old one had leprosy, I think, because it was falling apart.
So we went to look at a Toyota Sienna at a nearby Mercedes-Benz dealer, where they had classical music playing, and coffee made from freshly ground beans, and the salespeople were almost too handsome to gaze upon, and one of them was even from Scotland, and his eyes looked into my soul. They printed out a piece of paper with the price break-down, and, when we said we had to go think about it, they wished us well.
But we didn't want that car.
So we drove up the street to a place that had a Town and Country we wanted to try out. We walked in the door and there were five skeevy guys, waiting to pounce on customers. Vlad got to us first, and while waiting for the car to be readied, he showed us pictures of his hairless cat, assault rifle cabinet, and knife collection. When we were discussing numbers, it was scribbles of unlabeled numbers in green marker on a blank piece of paper. When we said we had to go think about it, he called the manager over and tried to continue to negotiate.
But we did want that car.
So Chris and I talked and decided on a price we could live with. We went back in and told them the number, and the number of months we were willing to pay that number for, extrapolating from that the applicable amount that would be paid every month.
They go over to the corner and discuss. They come back with another green marker sheet.
"It is the number you wanted!" they say.
Oh, good!, I think. But then I see Chris tapping the sheet - right where the number of payment months is 12 more than we indicated we were willing to pay them.
"Yes, but see, that is for many more months," Chris points out.
"But it is the monthly payment you wanted!" they say.
So, but, here's the thing. We live in a glorious age of humankind. CALCULATORS. ON OUR PHONES, even.
"Okay, with those extra months, though, it is like a million more dollars than we told you we were willing to pay for the car."
And then I told them they could take their little green marker and stick it where the sun don't shine
Not really. Really, it was the end of the day, though, and these people clearly wanted to go home. They capitulated so quickly, coming back with a typed up sheet that they would have had no time to actually type up, that I realized they were just going through the motions. I suddenly understood that these people probably literally had a written protocol about how to con people into paying more. It likely includes focusing on the monthly payment instead of total, and making people believe you really want their trade in. I think the color of the marker is individual choice.
So, it felt a little gross, but we are now owners of a new-to-us minivan.
Fair Warning
Something died in our house.
And not just our willingness to ever go to school / work.
No, I suspect a small mammal also died. I don't know for sure, because we can't find it. But there are certain clues.
One day, I came home from work and there was a fly in the kitchen.
"That's weird," I said, "I didn't even know flies were alive in January."
Over the course of the next few days, I learned that whatever their usual season may be, flies can live - nay, THRIVE - in January.
There's really nothing like a sudden explosion of flies in your house to make you feel sophisticated and elegant.
Honestly, I don't care how fancy your living room is - the addition of a single fly and you are instantly, at best, a hardscrabble miner like Katniss Everdeen. Add two flies? You are living in an Appalachian outhouse. Three flies and I don't care how much your new couch cost, this is now the poorest of Indian slums.
So we looked in the basement. Couldn't smell anything, couldn't find anything. Without being able to tackle the source (definitely a Chris job) we had to start swatting flies (almost entirely a Beth job).
A few days later, we were making some decent progress, and the flies were dwindling, and hope was returning to our household.
Lilly invited the neighbor girl over and as she escorted her little friend into the house, I hear her saying, "I just want to warn you that there are a LOT of flies in our house."
Oh, Lilly. Sweet Lilly.
Can you please not confess to that? Can you please just let her figure it out? You know what this is like? This is like when you got a little bit of ringworm and I was like, don't show anybody, and you showed somebody, and then you got sent to the nurses office. This is like when you told everyone you saw a picture of your Dad wearing diaper, but really he was just lounging in some light blue boxers. And this is like when you tell every person you meet that your Dad was in a car accident.
Lilly regularly throws Chris right under the bus.
All kids have a problem with over sharing, but Lilly approaches it GLEEFULLY.
The flies are gone.
Mostly.
And not just our willingness to ever go to school / work.
No, I suspect a small mammal also died. I don't know for sure, because we can't find it. But there are certain clues.
One day, I came home from work and there was a fly in the kitchen.
"That's weird," I said, "I didn't even know flies were alive in January."
Over the course of the next few days, I learned that whatever their usual season may be, flies can live - nay, THRIVE - in January.
There's really nothing like a sudden explosion of flies in your house to make you feel sophisticated and elegant.
Honestly, I don't care how fancy your living room is - the addition of a single fly and you are instantly, at best, a hardscrabble miner like Katniss Everdeen. Add two flies? You are living in an Appalachian outhouse. Three flies and I don't care how much your new couch cost, this is now the poorest of Indian slums.
So we looked in the basement. Couldn't smell anything, couldn't find anything. Without being able to tackle the source (definitely a Chris job) we had to start swatting flies (almost entirely a Beth job).
A few days later, we were making some decent progress, and the flies were dwindling, and hope was returning to our household.
Lilly invited the neighbor girl over and as she escorted her little friend into the house, I hear her saying, "I just want to warn you that there are a LOT of flies in our house."
Oh, Lilly. Sweet Lilly.
Can you please not confess to that? Can you please just let her figure it out? You know what this is like? This is like when you got a little bit of ringworm and I was like, don't show anybody, and you showed somebody, and then you got sent to the nurses office. This is like when you told everyone you saw a picture of your Dad wearing diaper, but really he was just lounging in some light blue boxers. And this is like when you tell every person you meet that your Dad was in a car accident.
Lilly regularly throws Chris right under the bus.
All kids have a problem with over sharing, but Lilly approaches it GLEEFULLY.
The flies are gone.
Mostly.
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