"We manufacture these!" I seethed, having poking at buttons and wiggling cables for the last two hours. "And we can't get them to work?" I glared at the offending device and crossed my arms, tapping my toe for agitated good measure. "You acquire data!" I ordered it. "You do it right now!"
Alas, it did not and with a final flip of my hair which I hope expressed my utter disgust with the situation, I returned to my desk and made my way through two useless conference calls and a hurried to a seminar I'd organized.
I mentally composed a grocery list after I offered a smiling introduction to our visitor and his topic and got bored somewhere between cream and flour. The questions were frequent and discussion lively so I counted myself pleased with the overall experience. (Plus, I got to talk to a very pretty boy who invited me to lunch sometime.)
Buoyed by the brief flirtation, I returned to additional conference calls and emails, slowly growing more frustrated again. Finally, with a muttered bad word, I tucked various items in my bag and left. Deciding only carrot cake could save the horrible day, I stopped at the store and deftly pulled into a very good parking spot.
I paused when an elderly woman called out, turning to move toward her.
"Are you going inside?" she asked, motioning to the store and nodded when I replied that I was. "Will you take my cart?" she continued and I smiled before reaching for the handle.
"It's no problem," I demurred when she thanked me very much. "Have a nice evening."
I thought of my aging phobia, acknowledging that I remained utterly terrified of the fact that I'm growing older. Baring an early death, I might someday stand outside a grocery store, tired after my shopping trip, and ask someone to take my cart inside. My hair would remain dark, I decided, thinking of Grandma, but would be liberally sprinkled with gray strands. I would likely wear slacks and blouses - that's what all the nice, old women of my acquaintance wear so I should follow suit.
Unable to find vegetables that appealed in the produce section, I paused to select cheese from the display case and paused before tossing it in the cart. My eyes widened as I looked in the basket and I gasped with utter horror.
"No, no, no, no, no..." I whispered, reaching for the item beside my cheese and scampering toward the door. In the foyer of the store, I peered out the window and whimpered when I saw that I was too late. She had already pulled out of the handicapped spot and driven away.
I looked down at my hands, clutched around it, and closed my eyes and sighed heavily. If lying in church hadn't already assured me of a spot in the fiery pits of Hell, this would certainly seal the deal, I decided.
I had stolen the sweet, old woman's cane.
I returned it to my cart and finished my shopping. I picked a whole carrot cake and some crackers to go with my cheese. I remembered flour and realized Sprout was low on kibble before moving toward the refrigerated case to fetch cream.
I returned the cane to the customer service counter at the front of the store. "I didn't notice it," I explained, twisting my hands. "I was thinking about other things. I'm sorry." I winced when they thanked me for returning it. "Tell her I'm sorry," I requested again. "It's just not my day."
Alas, it did not and with a final flip of my hair which I hope expressed my utter disgust with the situation, I returned to my desk and made my way through two useless conference calls and a hurried to a seminar I'd organized.
I mentally composed a grocery list after I offered a smiling introduction to our visitor and his topic and got bored somewhere between cream and flour. The questions were frequent and discussion lively so I counted myself pleased with the overall experience. (Plus, I got to talk to a very pretty boy who invited me to lunch sometime.)
Buoyed by the brief flirtation, I returned to additional conference calls and emails, slowly growing more frustrated again. Finally, with a muttered bad word, I tucked various items in my bag and left. Deciding only carrot cake could save the horrible day, I stopped at the store and deftly pulled into a very good parking spot.
I paused when an elderly woman called out, turning to move toward her.
"Are you going inside?" she asked, motioning to the store and nodded when I replied that I was. "Will you take my cart?" she continued and I smiled before reaching for the handle.
"It's no problem," I demurred when she thanked me very much. "Have a nice evening."
I thought of my aging phobia, acknowledging that I remained utterly terrified of the fact that I'm growing older. Baring an early death, I might someday stand outside a grocery store, tired after my shopping trip, and ask someone to take my cart inside. My hair would remain dark, I decided, thinking of Grandma, but would be liberally sprinkled with gray strands. I would likely wear slacks and blouses - that's what all the nice, old women of my acquaintance wear so I should follow suit.
Unable to find vegetables that appealed in the produce section, I paused to select cheese from the display case and paused before tossing it in the cart. My eyes widened as I looked in the basket and I gasped with utter horror.
"No, no, no, no, no..." I whispered, reaching for the item beside my cheese and scampering toward the door. In the foyer of the store, I peered out the window and whimpered when I saw that I was too late. She had already pulled out of the handicapped spot and driven away.
I looked down at my hands, clutched around it, and closed my eyes and sighed heavily. If lying in church hadn't already assured me of a spot in the fiery pits of Hell, this would certainly seal the deal, I decided.
I had stolen the sweet, old woman's cane.
I returned it to my cart and finished my shopping. I picked a whole carrot cake and some crackers to go with my cheese. I remembered flour and realized Sprout was low on kibble before moving toward the refrigerated case to fetch cream.
I returned the cane to the customer service counter at the front of the store. "I didn't notice it," I explained, twisting my hands. "I was thinking about other things. I'm sorry." I winced when they thanked me for returning it. "Tell her I'm sorry," I requested again. "It's just not my day."
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