verbal tipping

Everyone should be required to work as a server in a restaurant. It is one of the easiest jobs, most of the time, and sometimes I even think how crazy it is that someone gives me money for how little work I do. But here is the thing, people like to go out to eat and be waited on, and that service requires tipping. A standard has been set.

Unfortunately, a great number of people either don’t know this standard or choose to ignore it. Fifteen percent just doesn’t cut it anymore. And no, telling me how great of a job I did and that everything was wonderful does not mean you can skimp on the tip. Taking the time to fill out a comment card about how exceptional my service was also doesn’t qualify you for leaving less of a tip. Progress Energy and my landlord will not except those comment cards as forms of payment. If they did, I would be way ahead on those bills.

The federal government finally decided to give us servers a raise from $2.13 to $3.13 an hour. (This only took about 40 years) But that hourly wage generally goes completely to taxes, so I depend strictly on the tips my customers leave. You can probably see my frustration with those who think verbal tipping suffices for monetary tips. It doesn’t.

Just because I’m waiting on you does not mean that I am a complete idiot either. I understand what you mean when you ask for a half and half tea. I don’t need you very descriptive directions on how to do that for you. I do this almost every day and I really do know how it works. When I came to your table and you ordered a sweet tea did I not bring that to you? Yes. Yes I did. Therefore when I come to refill your drink I already know what you are drinking and you do not need to stop me from doing my job to ask me if I am bringing you the right thing. Don’t treat me like an idiot and then leave me a twelve percent tip thinking you are doing me some huge favor. I’d rather not get anything.

What are these customers thinking when they sit down at my table? I really wish I knew sometimes. I spend most of my time in the dining room taking orders and bringing drinks and making sure everyone has what they need at all times, so how in the world did I manage to get in the kitchen and prepare their salads, cook their steaks and salmon, all while making sure the needy chumps were happy while they waited? I didn’t have the time. I didn’t cook their food. I am a server not a cook, so don’t blame me when your food isn’t cooked the way you like it. The only thing I can do is take it back to the kitchen, ask them to fix it, bring it back to you and hope your picky ass likes it, and then get attitude from you for still not being satisfied. It still isn’t my fault. As long as I did what I could to fix the problem my tip should not be affected, but usually it is. And those kitchen guys who cooked the food wrong in the first place still get the same pay. It’s just not fair.

I honestly don't think this will ever change. All I can do is hope it and will. I just need to keep reminding myself that I've only got 91 days until I graduate and I'm done with the restaurant business.

That Damned Button-Fly

The road stretches endlessly ahead and the only witness of my descent into madness is the empty sky gazing lazily downward. Everything has become an enemy. Mile markers, once indicators of distance, now signify the vast chasm separating my mind from all reason. The car staggers down an interstate lined with trees, grass and plenty of fertile earth, yet I see a barren region and vultures swooping circles above my parched automobile. As my stomach tightens, squeezes, knots and the suffering seems far too unbearable to travel any further, great glowing letters slip into view: E-X-X-O-N.

I abandon the highway, leave my car unattended and hurry into the station to relieve myself of the anguish. I locate the bathroom hidden among rows of chips and soft drinks, the sense of approaching relief becoming sweeter with each step, and as I charge heroically toward the nearest urinal I can feel my heart thumping with delight. I reach for my zipper and prepare to bask in the ultimate liberation…but my hand finds no zipper and as panic returns to my fragile state, I recall with dismay that the jeans I wear today come fully equipped with that damned button-fly.

Although Jerry Seinfeld may have preferred the button-fly over the interlocking teeth of a zipper, when urgent situations arise very few things can be more brutally painful than an extra minute of unbuckling and unbuttoning. But as life, the grand-master of agonizing irony, would have it, most of the pairs of jeans I own come with that dreaded series of buttons. Why? I ask. Why would clothing companies construct their slacks with such a time-consuming device in such a crucial area?

Granted, there are verifiable reasons why one would support the button-fly. Perhaps it’s a greater stride toward freedom, feeling less constricted by a garment held together with a few buttons than two toothed tracks of metal coils. Possibly, some people were desperate to avoid hearing “XYZ” one more time. Or maybe some men were just too scarred by Ben Stiller’s hurried zipper accident in “There’s Something about Mary.”

As far as I am concerned the zipper is full of advantages. It is purely easier to use: grab the tab and pull versus find the slot, hold the button just right, insert the button through the slot, repeat five times. So why would anyone prefer button flies? Do they last longer? Are they less likely to come undone? Are they part of a larger trend toward 19th-century style? Is it involved in some sort of quest to prove your skill and ability under pressure?But whatever the motives, I just don’t buy it. I’ll button my shirts day after day with no complaint but my next pair of jeans better have a bloody zipper.

I Hate the Seven Dwarfs

I hate Disney’s Seven Dwarfs, but Snow White is fine by me. It’s not their creepily high pitched voices or their small hands (which I imagine to smell like cabbage). I hate them because of their four minute “Whistle While You Work” performance. I don’t know why or when my irritation with whistling began, but the sound irks me to no end.

Almost all whistling bothers me. I’m talking about the sound that someone makes with their mouth, not an actual whistle. When people whistle in public I feel they are invading my auditory space. As a female, the ever-so-flattering (note the heavy sarcasm) cat call is absurd. The worst of all are wolf-whistles, really drunk people do them at sporting events and concerts. The only whistling I can tolerate is when someone is calling their dog to come.

In high school, I competed in horse shows. It’s a physically demanding sport with 6 a.m. practices and fifteen hour days. During a horse show, my day would begin at 3:30 in the morning and I would be at the barn by 4:30. No matter how much coffee I drank, I would never fully wake before 9:30.

But every morning of every show, without fail, a parent of one of my team members would stroll into the barn with his topsiders and some happy-show-tune-esque whistle. Just imagine the beginning of a stressful day on seven hours of nervous sleep, and then hearing an annoying up-beat shrill sound to go with your greasy sausage and egg biscuit from the on-site caterer.

Just yesterday I was out to lunch with a friend. We were walking down Front Street, and a truck full of construction workers found it appropriate to whistle and holler at us. I react the same way each time I get a cat call, I take a stern tone (like you would take with a puppy that has just piddled in the house) and say “NO!” very loudly. If I am treated like a mindless animal that would react obediently to a whistle, the person whistling will be treated in the same way. It’s a situation that you can do something about, whereas the drunken person behind you at a concert screaming and whistling is a bit more difficult to deal with.

At a bluegrass festival over the summer, I was sandwiched between a couple that felt it unnecessary to wear deodorant and a frat boy that had pounded too many beers. This upstanding member of the university’s Greek community couldn’t help from showing his excitement with a string of “wooohooos” and extremely loud whistles. The whistle that requires you to put two fingers in your mouth and rupture the ear drums of those around you. Instead of chancing a run-in with ’07 Summer Beer Pong Champ, I shimmied my way to the other side of the stage and enjoyed the rest of the show.

Anywhere I am, the line at the grocery, checking someone out at work, or the beach, whistling makes me want to throw things. The actual sound is offensive to me. It could be worse. Hawking loogies and picking noses could be more socially acceptable.

Double Talkers & Interrupters

"How are you doing today?" This was how each day started that semester. She would ask me that question every day. This is not a hard question to respond to. Yet somehow every day when she asked me that question, I just couldn't reply. I knew the answer, but I just couldn't look at her and respond.

This bothered me to no end. I would obsess with the fact that I could never answer her. I mean, I'm in college! That alone should suggest that I have the capacity to reply to this cheerful person's query.

Then after about two weeks of this, I realized why I couldn't answer. One day before I entered the class, I watched her interaction with other classmates, and it was while watching those brief exchanges that I saw the problem. She was a double talker and an interrupter.

A double talker is someone who asks or says something, only to answer their own question or follow up with a question a few seconds later. And an interrupter is pretty self explaining.

Now one of these curses would be enough by itself, but this girl did them both. For example, on a Monday, she asked me what I thought about her new hair-cut, only to immediately follow that question with the statement “Oh I really don’t care what you think: then less than two seconds later she says “Yes I do, so tell me.” I couldn't answer her because she gave me no chance to say anything! I could now see in my head every single morning from the past two weeks, where during our chats, she would be launching herself into ditzy blonde rants. Rants in which her sentences and thoughts all seemed to be one long babbling ramble.

I could then see why I couldn't answer, but also why I should never answer. Amongst all of her double talk and interruptions, she wasn't all there! The best example of her not being all there would be the morning she showed up in a “See Through” sleeping top, as opposed to a regular top with her jeans. While that’s not at all crazy for some, it was however crazy to me and the entire class. She was quite possibly the first college idiot I had ever met. I realized then that answering meant she would then look to me for a conversation, or worse yet, she may view me as a friend, or oh god! her best friend.

It was at that moment I also realized that she caused a drastic mood shift, and not a positive mood shift at that. She, for some unexplained reason, invoked a great deal of frustration and a small amount of rage. So I realized that if I answered at any time, I would have to pull off an amazing amount of acting and lying to keep from saying to her something vicious or just rude.

I tell this story for two reasons. One being that I hate people that double talk and interrupt. And two, everyone doesn't handle these types of people with the same tact and grace I would. So when you decide to ask two questions or start another thought during a brief interaction; remember to pause and wait for the others to have time to respond. Do this and you may just wind up with a few more friends.

My Computer Wants to Play Hardball

Maybe I am stupid or something and just can't figure anything out. I am pretty well versed in technology, so I do not know why this has been such a problem. All I wanted to do was post my blog on movie etiquette but for some unknown reason it is not letting me do it. I cannot paste into this blog from my word document to save my life. So guess what, ladies and gentlemen. I have a brand new pet peeve that totally irks me more than people talking in movies. Not being able to operate frustrating technology, more specifically this exact posting problem I'm having, currently tops my list of pet peeves.

Now I know what you are asking. "You have a completely written and edited blog on people talking during movies which is just ready and waiting to be posted. So why not do it?" Well, to be honest it's a question of my own blood pressure right now. I am positive that I am the only one having this problem. I needed somewhere to vent because all of my roommates are asleep right now, at 6 p.m. in the afternoon. Yes, that is another pet peeve, but maybe I will save that for my third attempted post.

I do not blame anyone for this but myself and the computer I am sitting at right now. My pet peeve is that technology is not up to par with my thoughts. I am not trying to imply that I am of superior intelligence. I just want to be able for a computer, TV, phone, radio, mp3 player, car, dishwasher, washing machine, dryer to do exactly what I want it to do, precisely when I want it to. I want to speak directly to my computer and say, "Hey guy, why are you doing this to me? Please post my blog from Word. Give me the option to do that." Then he would simply say "O.K." in a robotic voice and do what I told it to.

Technology just isn't to speed with my needs and I have to pay the price for it. I want the ability to sit down in a car and tell it to drive me to a location and I could just sit back and watch it happen, or sleep depending on whether I was tired or not. I also would like for my broken washing machine to work properly after I kick it. The washing machine should have the mental capacity to reason out a thought that would sound like, "Hey, I'm getting kicked. I should probably get to work."

Simple things in technology should be easy for everyone, not just the skilled and professional. I hate the elitist feeling that you can do things with technology that others cannot. Everyone should be able to work equally with technology, even with a most basic understanding.

Can You Hear Me Now? [final]

The time is three minutes until one o’clock. As I sit at my desk, anxiously waiting for my professor to wrap up her lesson for the day, I notice the girl beside me has been pressing buttons on her cell phone after receiving about five or six text-messages. As the hour draws to a close and the class is dismissed, she fumbles through her belongings and heads for the door. Upon entering the hallway, her phone suddenly begins to light up, vibrate, and almost simultaneously play the theme song of the hit MTV show, “Laguna Beach.” I cannot help but to feel a little embarrassed for the girl, but as I continued walking towards my next class, I was surprised to find that I was completely outnumbered by the quantity of students who seemed to have their phones glued to their ears.

It is obvious to see that the tools people use to communicate have drastically changed over the years, but oftentimes; people fail to examine the consequences of new technology. The invention of the cellular telephone is no exception. Cell phones are hazardous because they are a distraction in many situations and oftentimes can lead to disastrous consequences.

According to the Insurance Information Institute, over 200 million Americans use cell phones today compared to 4.3 million in 1990 (“Cell Phones and Driving”). "This relatively new technology is becoming the societal norm for immediate, wireless communication” ("Cell Phones and Driving"). Even teenagers and children can present a valid argument for having the device incase of an emergency. The truth is that cell phones provide a distraction to such age groups, especially in schools. When students lose interest in the criteria being taught, their attention is quickly directed towards their cellular phone. With all of the new additions and gadgets added to these devices, the teachers have a difficult time competing for the attention of the student.

Today, cell phones are no longer just a wireless version of the modern telephone. Companies such as Alltel, Verizon, and AT&T have integrated devices into the cell phone that supposedly make life easier for the consumer. In some models, you can find a digital camera, video camcorder, calendar, calculator, Internet access, interchangeable ring tones, games and a tool that lets you compose simple text messages. These advancements in technology are great for the gadget guru, or businessperson on the go but they certainly don’t belong in a classroom.

Distractions play a tremendous role in the safety of drivers and their passengers in a vehicle. In fact, most distractions are unpredictable and occur both inside and outside of the car. In today’s society, drivers juggle with fast food, shuffle through music, and in some cases, even take care of personal hygiene while operating a moving vehicle. Many of these distracted drivers will argue that they have good control on everything in question and that they are simply multi-tasking. Their statements may hold some justification when one looks at their driving record. However, it becomes a whole new issue when the distraction takes complete control over the drivers thinking process.

Some members of congress have enacted laws banning the use of cell phones while driving in certain states. In 1991, New York was the first state to establish a law prohibiting drivers to use mobile phones (“Cell Phones and Driving”). Although it is nearly impossible to determine the number of accidents caused by cell phone use, the Insurance Institute for Highway Safety reports that “motorists who use cell phones while driving are four time as likely to get into crashes serious enough to injure themselves, according to a study of drivers in Perth, Australia” (“Cell Phones and Driving”). That statistic alone should be enough to motivate any driver not to communicate on the phone while operating a moving vehicle.

Cellular telephones require the user to devote visual attention to the screen and keypad as the ten digit number is punched, and then for the rest of the duration, requires a devoted amount of concentration to carry on a conversation with the person on the other end of the line (“Cell Phones and Driving”). This is extremely dangerous because it only takes a split second to flip a moving vehicle. If a driver takes his or her eyes off of the road, he or she could instantly be placed in a life or death situation. Cell phones in the hands of drivers also poses a great risk due to the amount of concentration needed to carry on the conversation. Many times, drivers can find themselves so absorbed in a conversation that their attention is quickly diverted away from the most important task at hand, driving.

On a final note, to those who continually walk around college campus’s with their cell phones attached to their ears, I urge you to hang up and begin real a interpersonal conversation with someone right next to you. It amazes me to see a small group of friends eating lunch together, for instance, carry on separate phone conversations with individuals in different regions. Relationships are suffering due to the lack of personal communication in today’s society, and devices such as the cell phone and technology like the Internet, for example, are to blame. Verbal language is only a small percentage of interpersonal communication. To carry on a real face-to-face conversation demands the analysis of body language, personal skills, and adjustments in an individual’s comfort level. As a final word of advice: hang up the phone and introduce yourself to a stranger.

Source:

"Cell Phones and Driving." Hot Topics & Issues Updates. Jan. 2007.
Insurance Information Institute, Inc. 27 Mar. 2006

Workin in Stupsville

I work at a bar called Tango du Chat, downtown Wilmington, NC, it’s on the corner of Second St. and Princess St. Every night we’re open, there are two types of customers concerning how they treat me and the bartenders. The first type is kind of person who comes in to have a few drinks and is really polite, they usually leave decent tips, and they don’t cause any problems. The second type of person is the kind who I love to throw out. My patience level is extremely low when it comes to these people, they seem to actually believe that they are owed something by everybody in the bar simply because they know one of the owners, or maybe a bartender. Hey genius, the owners are in the bar almost every night, all you have to do is walk up and introduce yourself—not such a prestigious honor when you really think about it. For our purposes, let’s just call these customers stups, because frankly, they’re stupid and ignorant.

Do you, as adult, think that being drunk qualifies as a valid excuse for acting like you own a bar that you have no ownership in? Really, do you think that when it is 2:25 in the morning, and I’ve been dealing with assholes like you all night, that I really care that you know one of the bartenders? If you come into the bar and have…say 4 drinks…and leave a big tip, that’s what, twenty dollars for the drinks and maybe ten dollars for tip? First of all, I’m never going to see any of your tip, and second even if I did, ten dollars isn’t nearly enough for me to put up with your nose-in-the-air, unwarranted pompous asshole attitude when I could just as easily break your arm—and enjoy it a lot more.

The worst part of my job is putting up with these stups. Tango is a nice bar, and I have a cake job. I don’t have to fight often at all, actually have to restrain myself more times than not, don’t have to throw many people out, we don’t get many underage people trying to drink, and the clean-up isn’t bad either. However, these customers who come into the bar thinking that own the place, acting like they have tons of money when they sometimes walk out on a tab are infuriating. I don’t care if you do have money, money is just that, green paper that you buy stuff with. Money won’t keep my from telling you to leave when you’re badgering the bartenders or throwing a fit like little child whose mommy wouldn’t give them ice cream for breakfast, and money definitely won’t keep me from introducing my elbow to your face when you get out of line or try to get in my face.

Don’t be a stup. Bars exist for people to have fun, relax, and enjoy each others company. When you come in and act like a little kid, don’t expect for me to enjoy your antics. I don’t take kindly when all you stups come in my bar and cause problems for everybody, because when you do that, people leave, and we make less money—oh yeah, I forgot to mention that might be little part of the reason we open up every night too.

Pedestrian 'Right' of Way

Picture it. It’s three sixteen on a Thursday afternoon. Your third class of the day just let out and you’re about to head across campus to your final class of the week. It’s rainy outside, you have no umbrella, and you have exactly fourteen minutes to make it to class on time. You leave the protection of the overhang and enter the crowded flow of students. It could be worse, you think, it could be a downpour. Up ahead there’s a group of five girls walking towards you. They walk side by side, spanning the entire width of the sidewalk. You step as far right on the sidewalk as you can, but as the group approaches, it’s obvious that they don’t plan to adjust their stance. You consider side stepping them and walking in the grass, but you’re wearing a new pair of shoes and the ground is a soggy mess. They’re an arms length away. You stop abruptly as you come face to face with the girl on the end. She looks at you. You look at her. Confused, she falls in behind her friends.

“Did you see that?” the girl asks her friends. “That was rude.”

You sigh. No one has a clue about pedestrian courtesy anymore.

This is especially true—or at least more obvious—in crowded areas like college campuses and shopping malls. From a very early age, we were taught how to walk in public. Kindergarteners everywhere can testify that you should always walk on the right side of the hallway. Not brain surgery, right? Five year olds understand this.

How is it then that grown men and women cannot grasp this concept? At what point in their lives did people begin to think it was acceptable to take up an entire span of walking space because they wanted to walk next to their friends and not behind them?

And that’s only one of the pedestrian courtesies people have started to ignore. How aggravating is it to be walking along and have someone in front of you stop suddenly to talk to a passerby? A casual wave is never enough. They have to stop—in the middle of the sidewalk—and have a fifteen minute conversation about what concert they went to last weekend and which one of their friends stayed out all night with so and so getting hammered. And apparently it’s too much of an inconvenience to step off the sidewalk (or at the very least, move to the edge of it) to have their vital conversation. Never mind that you just ruined your new pair of sneakers to avoid a collision.

It’s not as if it’s necessary to follow traffic rules every time we step outside of our houses. And we’d look ridiculous making hand signals every time we turned a corner. Most of these rules don’t even apply unless there’s a crowd of people all trying to walk in the same area.

It’s important that we have a little courtesy for our fellow pedestrians when we’re walking in a crowd. Conveyor belts haven’t caught on outside of airports, so we need to take it upon ourselves to walk on the right side of the hallway. It’s as fundamental as tying our shoes.

Parking's such a pain!

I drive a big truck. It’s a twelve-foot-long, white, F-250, super-duty, hard rocking, loud piece of awesome. I love it. It was a gift given to me by my grandfather when I graduated from military school. He gave it to me on two conditions: 1) I graduate from college doing what I love, and 2) I treat it like a Guttenberg bible. This is quite difficult for many a reason, the most common is that I simply don’t have time to wash it every weekend, but it’s okay for it to be a little dirty, I mean, it is a truck, but I’ve learned that keeping dirt off the truck is far easier then keeping dents out. My biggest pet peeve is the fact that no matter where I park my truck, I’m always a foot in the road.

I could go a couple of ways with this. I could claim conspiracy theory. There’s some sort of government conspiracy occurring against big trucks. How is this? Well, who puts the lines down on the streets, and various parking spots? The government does. So, is the government trying to get the world to downsize to more fuel efficient cars by only making spaces that a mo-ped can fit in? I’m thinking maybe so. It’s some sort of attack on the working middle class construction workers, because they usually vote with the union, and the union is politically aligned with conservatives.

The place I usually have the most problem parking is in school and public establishments. We all know that all university systems are breading grounds for liberal think tanks, as said by Rush Limbaugh. So, perhaps it is a liberal conspiracy to get me to drive some sissified electric do-ma-jiggy that gets fifty five miles to a gallon, and helps reduce emissions therefore saving our planet. Good one Mrs. Pelosi, I tip my hat to you in victory, but not respect.

The parking spots around Wilmington are so small that nearly thirty percent of my truck sticks out when I park. This almost guarantees that I’m going to get hit. Honestly, my rear bumper has been replaced three times already. And let me tell you, every time your car gets hit and you’re not there the little, “I’m sorry,” note on the windshield actually means, “I’m sorry…but you have to pay for my mistake.”

Yes, I know what you’re thinking, why don’t you just pull through and leave the bumper hanging over a foot or so in another parking spot and I’m one step ahead of you. Let’s say that Little Miss Sixteen year old is out driving daddy’s car and chatting away on her phone about the new lip gloss that she just spent ninety-five dollars on, and she haphazardly whips her daddy’s beamer into the spot where my truck is hanging over. Believe it or not, the cop doesn’t care that the only way you can park is to have your bumper hanging over in another parking spot. You’re still double parked, which ultimately means, you’re to blame.

Then there’s my lovely apartment building, and by lovely I mean usually the parking spots are covered with some sort of what I can only guess, and hope, is a day old burrito. There are very few spaces that my truck can actually fit in, and they are all situated right next to the dumpster. It’s like fate is telling me that my car is no better then discarded potato peels and old diapers that the dumpster holds. With the space being in such a prime area, you’d believe that I’d always have a place to park, but no. The space is always filled with various hatchbacks from the mid seventies to nice looking Toyota Camry’s. It’s tragic to see these cars, which are one third of the length of my truck, taking spaces that are so clearly indicated for bigger trucks when four spots over is a place specifically painted for them. And when you see this you have to drive all the way around the building and park in Outer Mongolia and proceed to have a twelve minute trek back to your apartment.

I’ve learned one thing though. I may not be able to park in all the same places as a majority of the people in Wilmington, or that I can’t go someplace without calling ahead to see if their parking can suit my needs. It’s not that if I back in I can reduce my risk of being hit. The one thing that I’ve learned is that when those people inevitably are driving on the road and they swerve to avoid getting lipstick on their teeth that when they hit me, I’ll still have that small dent, while their whole car is completely screwed up. So, why I may not be able to park anywhere, I’ll definitely win when it comes to a demolition derby.

I Am Not That Into The Beach

“How come you don’t like the beach?” I was facing a pair of wide-opened eyes with a “you must be from Mars” kind of expression. “Didn’t you come all the way from China and decide to live in Brunswick County so you can be closer to the beach? I can’t believe anyone doesn’t like beach... Megan, Shelly doesn’t like beach.” I knew I would get a comment like that after six years living in a beach town where almost everyone believes the only reason people come to the beach is because they love it. I don’t know much about “beach people” elsewhere, but I knew “beach people” in Brunswick County love their beaches and cannot believe anyone here who just might not care much about the beach.

My hometown, Suzhou, is hundreds miles away from any beaches, so one of my childhood dreams was to see the ocean once before I die. I got to fulfill that dream at the age of 23, way before I die I hope. I enjoyed the trip and liked the ocean, but I didn’t fall in love with it like many other people do. For one thing, I didn’t like the beach. Just think the crowd on Sunset Beach… or Wrightsville Beach, and then double that–that was what I saw on the beaches at Putuoshan Island. Too many people--that was my first impression. My friends who went with me didn’t like it very much, either. Growing up around Taihu Lake, we enjoyed the tranquil of the lake surroundings. The ocean, or the environment of the beach, is a bit noisy to us.

When my husband and I talked about moving to United States, however, I did not oppose the idea of moving to Sunset Beach -- the town he grew up and still has a business. I thought that as people often say, “Never say never,” I might be able to discover the real quality of the beach life if I lived there for a while.

After six years living in the area where beach and golf are part of life, I am still not in love with the beach, just as I am not crazy about golf. I love the weather here (exclude the hurricanes), the not-so-crowded traffic, and the people I met. Most people are kind, polite, and interestingly black-and-white (I have had people ask me that since I am not a Christian, where I would go after I die). However, I am still not in love with the beach although I go there once a while. Most people in South Brunswick Island have this dream about owning a house, a cottage, a trailer, a motor home, or whatever is allow, on the beach. I can’t image having a house right on the beach (my husband likes my idea also because beach houses are expensive). The salty air usually ruins furniture, light fixtures, and even the house itself very quickly, and sand is basically everywhere. I think it is just not a lifestyle I am into.On the other side, I understand that there are people who love the coastal life just as I want to give mountain life a try. There is nothing wrong with that. The thing I don’t understand is when people who can’t believe I, someone has lived in Brunswick County for six years, do not like the beach.

Since I heard this comment so many times, it becomes like an exercise to me – whenever I met a beach “fanatic,” I will tell them I don’t like the beach. Many of them will give me those familiar comments accompanied by that “I cannot believe...” look.

I know most people come to this area because they love the ocean, the beach, or something related to it. On the other hand, I feel sure there are people who came here because of the climate, job opportunity, family reasons, or something other than the beach or ocean. To many people I knew, that idea is just impossible and they will give you that “I cannot believe anyone doesn’t like beach” look.

I am glad the ones who love the beach are living where their passions are. And please let me be one less person on the beach, so the beach would be less crowded for the real lovers to enjoy.

Shhhh, I'm Trying to Study

Imagine that you have a big test tomorrow and must do well on it to get an A in the class. Furthermore, it is Thursday night and your roommates do not have Friday classes. You could be the party pooper and ask them to be calm, or you could use what the university has provided, the library. (As we all know the library is supposedly a quiet place where studying is a top priority.) You get there, sit down, and start in for a long night of studying. Suddenly, your silent haven is interrupted by ringing cell phones, loud conversations, and groups studying in the middle of the carrels instead of in study rooms. What was thought to be a place of refuge from a loud, distracting apartment or dorm has become even worse.

Talking in the library goes against social standards and is inconsiderate. I first must mention that everyone, even I, am at fault for this. However, it is the people who are not aware of their wicked behaviors who are the problem. In the UNCW library there are areas that everyone knows are going to be louder than others, places where talking is accepted. These include the coffee shop, computers, front lobby, stair cases, and group study rooms and tables. It has been preached since elementary school that the library is a quiet place where whispers and silence are the only acceptable voices. Accordingly, on a busy night, lots of people talking quietly are going to cause the library to be louder than normal. Yet, when there is an average crowd and room for people to spread out, the ‘silence is golden’ rule must apply.

The worst abusers of this are the cell phoners. They do not use silent or vibrate, and are often found away from their desk while their phone rings and rings. Of course no one is going to touch it, we all must sit there and take it. If they do answer you can bet they will not get up or say, “I’m in the library, let me call you right back.” NO NO. This group will, at regular volume, carry on a conversation about who knows what. At this point it would be easy to stereotype, but men are just as guilty as women.

Then there are the ones who carry on normal conversations in the middle of a group of desks as if no one is trying to study. It would be easy for them to walk to one of the aforementioned areas or simply whisper. I know that when I see a friend I say hi, but I make my best effort to be considerate of other studiers. By all means, please have a brief conversation in the library, but there is no reason to speak like you’re at a rock concert.

The thing about studying is that you get into a groove, and when the loud people come along it interrupts your thought process or forces you to change locations. Either way, your overall production declines. Some may counter with the presence of a silent room, which is great except for when it’s full. Essentially, why do people think that because they are no longer in grammar school that the international law of silence in the library does not apply? When I studied in Fiji they enforced this rule to the extent of fining students for loud voices and ringing cell phones. UNCW is better than this, and it seems inordinate that out of all the nuisances in the world this one bothers me the most.

do you have a large?

"Hi, how are you? Have you tried our Erin Skinny Jeans?" Yes, I get paid minimum wage to say this to every customer that walks in the door. Surprisingly , I love my job but not so much the customers. It's shocking to me how inconsiderate and unintelligent some are while shopping. They honestly get under my skin until I want to throw the jeans at them and tell them to help themselves.

Lets start with the people who show no sign of thinking in what they do. If you are shopping please know the size you wear. That's right, there are actually people who don't. I recently had such a customer. How does this woman buy clothes not knowing what size to get? Thank God her boyfriend was there to guess what size the pants on her body were. That same day I had a woman want "large" pants. Guess what? She didn't want large pants, she wanted long pants and she didn't know the difference. I guess one of my job qualifications is to be a mind reader now. Imagine how long it took me to explain to her they were in the stockroom and I could get her a different color. The store I work at is not the only place that suffers from these types of people. I even witnessed it while I was at the store White House Black Market (pay attention to the name). Simple clues tell you this store probably has all black and white clothes, if the clothes aren't enough to give this away. Believe it or not, while I was shopping, I heard a woman ask if the shirt she was holding in her hand was navy or black? I bet you can even guess which it is.

Other people are just inconsiderate. They are probably worse because you can't laugh at them behind closed doors. You are so frustrated there is nothing to laugh at them about. They are the ones that watch you fold the jeans and take them out of the wall as soon as you are putting them in. When I ask them if they need help, of course they say no. My face is saying, "enjoy shopping" while my head is saying "then what are you looking for if it's not your size?" These customers are the worst because it happens at least 5,678,098,090,192.23 times a day. It's almost like they get enjoyment of watching me not yell at them. Like they grow horns and have an evil laugh while they are tearing up a stack of shirts that took you twenty minutes to finally get straight. These are the customers behind my idea that I desperately want put up in our store and would probably make a big hit across the nation. It would be right when you walk in and it would say, "we are not your mother and we definitely don't get paid enough to be your maid so clean up after yourself."

Then there are the half days or vacation days where parents drop their kids off at the "free babysitters," a.k.a the mall. With the new shoe “heelies,” kids don’t just run, they roll, right into your store and weave between customers and racks. These "customers" try everything on in the store, in every color and size only to buy nothing with their Daddy's money and leave it for us to clean up. Don't get me wrong, there are customers that are great, the ones that are genuinely nice and take your help instead of "doing it themselves.” The people that can carry on a conversation with you and not make you feel like dirt. Mostly, it is the ones that are patient and considerate and most likely have worked in retail before. Technically all these customers are great because they provide entertainment for me. Getting to mock and laugh at the ignorant customers makes saying that lousy line for minimum wage worth my while.

Dirty Hands

It is a beautiful day outside, the sun is shining and the birds are flying high. The day is hump Wednesday and Melinda’s work week is almost over. During her lunch break, Melinda and a close acquaintance decide to meet each other at a nice midtown bistro. Melinda’s friend excuses herself for a bathroom break to wash her hands before the food arrives. When Melinda's friend return to the table she begins to tell her about something she just witnessed in the bathroom.
She says “the most annoying thing in the world is when people do not wash there hands after they use the bathroom." The friend believes that when people don't do this it is very appalling and that there is no excuse for it. Surprisingly, Melinda and her friend are in agreement as the friend soon finds out.Melinda tells her that she feels the same way about this and believes that people should learn to wash there hands after using the bathroom.A waitress overhears the conversation and asks the friend what was it that she saw? The customer tells her that a woman used the bathroom and did not wash her hands. I feel the same as melinda and her friend when it comes to people washing there hands. What if the person who didn’t wash there hands was a restaurant employee who worked in the kitchen? It is possible that they are about to spread their germs to you or someone else’s food. If I ever encounter that situation the first thing I would do is ask to speak to the restaurant manager and report the employee.

On Wall Street and in other business settings people may shake hands with one another at least fifty times a day. If each time those individuals had just returned from the bathroom and didn’t wash their hands, there would be a significant amount of ambulant germs in the air. Ambulant germs can cause a small metropolitan area of the nation to experience an epidemic that could spread across the entire United States. As a nation we could avoid viruses of such proportion by starting with the simple notion of washing our hands after using the bathroom. Dirty hands go far beyond Wall Street; I see it and even smell it on a daily basis each time I enter a public restroom. Some of the things that I have seen in the Women’s restroom are appalling. Women are supposed to be the most intelligent of Homo sapiens. I don’t understand why it is so hard for them to wash their hands. I believe that some people need a reminder lesson in ethics and manners. If everyone washed their hands after they used the bathroom it would help to make the world a cleaner place.

What is your...?

What is your favorite color? What is your favorite number? Who is your favorite band? Coke or Pepsi? They can go on and on, and it’s questions like these that are one of my biggest pet-peeves. They are one-answer inquisitions, meant to capture the essence of a person by way of a very general and, in my opinion, superficial statement. What if I said that my favorite color was blue? What would you think of me? I have often been asked that question, and I have at one point or another claimed every single color in the rainbow to be my favorite. When it was a beautiful sunny day, I would have chosen yellow; after spending a day hiking in the forest, I would have answered green; in a bad mood, purple, and when I've been happy, then pink, and so on. Okay, so maybe this means that I’m schizophrenic. The point is, we humans are way too complex to be categorized by these mundane little questions.

On the oh-so-popular myspace.com website, I see new bulletins every day from my "friends" letting me know "more about themselves" through surveys with these type of questions asking about the most random things, like “What song are you listening to right now?” and “Do you secretly pick your boogers?” I recently discovered that a long-time friend of mine’s favorite food is peanut-butter ice-cream and Doritos (together, no less), and let me tell you I was floored—it was like I didn't even recognize her anymore! I was also shocked to discover that her hair-brush is black, she doesn't like big dogs, and her favorite name is Angie. What the heck? Why do I care about this stuff? And what makes her think that we know or like her any better now? From this I gather...that she will be fat one day, she probably likes cats and she might get one someday and name it Angie, and that she brushes her hair sometimes. Wow.

I wish people would stop thinking that filling out those personal pages with arbitrary little tid-bits really allows your acquaintances to know you any better. Do the facts that you watch Friends religiously and you dig Nirvana let others to see into the depths of your soul? And if I happen to hate Friends, does that mean that we can’t be friends? If you want to get to know me, send me a message, or, you know, say something simple to me in the hallway like, “Hello!” rather than sneakily looking for useless information about me, wondering what my favorite cereal might be, and if my cereal and your scrambled eggs would clash. (My “about me” section is blank, by the way, so if you were even inclined, don’t waste your time.)

As for the particular question that the point of this blog is supposed to be about, I must say that I don't have one major pet-peeve; there are many other things that annoy me much more than what I’ve just rambled about. For example, I can't stand it that when I walk out of the library door for fresh air, I am usually met with a cloud of smoke created by the ten or so fiends huddling right next to the ashtray, which was ever-so-smartly placed right in front of the entrance. I don't like to see people litter, as it takes away my faith that all is good in the world and shows me instead that people can be narcissistic and ignorant little pricks. You know what I really can't stand? Crocs. When I see someone walking around campus in those god-awful shoes, I have to force myself to look away at something pretty, like a cloud or a tree, and I tell myself "Just breathe, Nicolette, just breathe--they will soon pass and everything will be all right once more." Who invented those things anyway? Sigh…alas, there is nothing I can do about Crocs, it is a free country.

So: 1. Don’t ask me what my favorite color is, or I will probably scream. 2. Crocs are not fashionable, nor are they cool, or sweet, or any adjective that is positive. 3. Remember folks, don’t litter, it’s bad for the environment.

"I need my pixture took!"

"I need my pixture took!" This statement, accompanied by a serious face, brought my happily operating world to a halt, prompting the response, "I'm sorry, what?" Since the statement had completely confused me, this was the only response I could provide to the individual standing in the doorway. The fellow repeated his statement in a polite tone, saying instead, "I need my pixture taken." I smiled politely and explained, before politely escorting him to the passport camera, that the crinkling of my nose was the need to sneeze.

As if communicating with people isn't complicated enough, the invention of new words continues to astound me. On a daily basis I am assaulted by words I have never heard before, such as pixture, prolly, teef, pellow, yeller, winder, biz-ness and of course the mutilation of my hometown's name, Widesville, aka Whiteville. All of these inventive pronunciations make work more interesting than normal conversation ever could.

How hard is it to pronounce words correctly or use them in the appropriate context? I cannot count the number of times I have heard this statement, "I have a great pitcher of you at the house."... Pitcher...of what? Tea? Lemonade? Fruit Punch? As I utter these comments under my breath I politely smile and thank the offending person for the picture they are trying to provide me with.

Being an aspiring reporter, I have questioned several individuals on their use of these terms and have discovered that there are two responses I receive. The first response is honest confusion followed by the statement, "I didn't know I pronounced it wrong." To which my silent response is...."Well according to Webster and the rest of the population....you are." The second response is usually anger, because I have "dared" to question the way an individual speaks. This response has lead to loud, one sided, conversations accompanied by failing arms and screeching that I still can't ascribe a meaning to. After the screeching has stopped and my ears have quit ringing, I apologize for offending the person and move on. At least now they have an interesting story to tell about a crazy girl, who said they couldn't talk (which is not what I said).

This mutilation of language annoys me to a greater extent now, than it did before. I blame this in part on becoming an intern at a local newspaper. After all, if I included these words the way they are pronounced and used by the majority of the population - and by some act of God made it past my editors; the individuals I had quoted would be extremely upset, and my boss would receive countless complaints concerning my inadequacy as a reporter.

I understand that the majority of the population does not speak like this (at least I hope they don't) and I admit that there are some words I mutilate as well, such as saying "scuse me," for excuse me. However, I believe that to impress individuals one should speak plainly and correctly, especially when the individual is conducting an interview and will print quoted material in the newspaper. However, if an individual speaks in this fashion, I think reporters should be able to print words and phrases exactly as they are pronounced and used. After all, it is a direct quote.

Yes! I just absolutely love doing your laundry!

With a silent prayer, “Dear Lord PLEASE let my roommates get the hint with this costume” and a swing of the dressing room door, I shout “TA DA!” “Hayley, you’re wearing a maid costume! How fitting, you’re always cleaning, haha, its hilarious!” The words are sputtered out of my roommate's mouth as she gasps for air between huge belts of laughter. I try to smile, knowing that I, of course, won’t be a French maid for Halloween and think to myself, "Of course this costume is fitting, since I seem to be the cleaning lady of our household!” I should have expected the costume would get this reaction; why would I think that seeing me in the get-up would make the light bulb above my roommates’ heads turn on? Obviously subliminal messages don’t work on these two girls, but honestly WHY can’t they learn to clean after themselves?

This summer my father bought me my first house. I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Nineteen and already had a place of my own. I remember my dad telling me, “Now Hayley, this is a huge responsibility, I want you to take care of this house because it's yours." Well my father should be beaming since the house is always spotless, no thanks to my roommates of course.

Each of my two roommates falls into one specific category.

Roommate number one, Miss "LoveDust," should be closely examined. Yes, I certainly appreciate the fact that your father bought us a Dyson X25534 Supercharged Industrial Strength vacuum, but does that exempt you from ever using it? The carpet in the house was brand new when my roommates and I moved in. Note: if you get new carpet be aware that little balls of fuzz and lint will quickly take over your entire house, since the material isn't used to being stepped on. However, Miss LoveDust doesn't seem to notice the golf ball sized lint sitting outside her door. I, armed with the vacuum and a fierce look, attempt to tackle the spiderweb of dust and lint outside her door. The hallway to her room, having accumulated so much lint, clogs the vacuum, and who shall clean it? Why, ME of course! I have begun to wonder if maybe the dust accumulation is comforting to her, sort of like a dirty blanket a toddler carries around constantly. Or, is it possible she just thinks the dust magically disappears? I guess either explanation will have to work, until Miss LoveDust realizes that the fairies she thinks clean her room are actually moi.

Roommate number 2, Miss "Oh MY! Did I leave that in the washing machine?" A long name, yes, but completely fitting. I will admit that I don't do laundry every day, but the once or twice a week chore is not that bothersome to me. However, it does become obnoxious when I carry a huge load of dirty clothes across the house to the laundry room and the washer or dryer is filled with clothes that, guess what, aren't mine. How Miss "Oh MY!" can put clothes in the washing machine and completely forget about them for days at a time is beyond me. In the beginning I would move the clothes into the dryer, set it, and just huff to myself. Now, I find great pleasure in plopping the damp, musty clothes on her lovely down comforter. Then, when she returns home she utters the phrase for which she is named, "Oh MY! Did I leave that in the washing machine?"

I know I should confront my roommates, however, it just seems useless because I know that for a possible two weeks the chores will get done, then it's back to the norm. I presume I shall continue waking up daily to put on my invisible apron and nametag and waltz around like I'm a cleaning lady at the Hilton.

Really, Is It So Difficult?

Over the course of three years, I have not formulated an answer as to why roommates, my roommates, will let their dishes accumulate in the sink and dishwasher and never comprehend they need to be washed until there isn't a clean plate, fork, or spoon left in the cabinets. These dishes literally have food still intact causing sour and rotten scents to diffuse throughout the kitchen. Who lives like that? The entire college demographic cannot possibly fall into this category of logical acceptance; however, my roommates do!

Imagine Roommate One who eats a bowl of cereal every morning. Fine. Logically, you would think the trash would be the answer to pour out the last bit of cereal left in the bowl. Apparently the new trend is to dump it into a sink (that does not have a disposal), swish water around in the bowl, and leave it in the sink for days. It takes 2.5 seconds to add a little soap to (the now, milk & water concoction) with a sponge and hot water and.....voilà, a clean bowl and spoon.

Maybe there really is a rush for Roommate One to leave the house quickly but when I hear, "I'll wash the dishes when I get back" or actually hear that roommate complain about the dishes piled in the sink, blaming the boys, and pretending they never contributed the slightest, I tend to think...this household believes we have a cleaning fairy that is going to make all the mess disappear and the best part of it all, I didn't have to lift a finger!

Cereal eater has nothing on Roommate Two...

"Hi, my name is ____ and I eat twenty times a day because, I love food! Not only do I leave my dishes in the sink, I leave filthy pots and pans on the stove until I realize the girls of the house aren't going to clean them for me. Even when I leave for a weekend, I'll leave them and might even say before I walk out the door, 'Those dishes are mine, I'll clean them when I get back', and don’t actually clean them for a week. I may actually try to pin-point another roommate for causing the mess and laugh.”

It really isn't funny. See my face, not the slightest smirk! Not only is the pile unsightly, it's embarrassing for me when I have guests, it attracts undesirable bugs, and is simply unfair to those who feel they can't eat in their own house because of the disgusting ambiance the pile creates!

I do often remind myself that we are all raised differently and could give reason to my three roommates' belief that the above is indeed, normal… acceptable. Still, I don’t understand why they do not feel the need to clean up after themselves just to ensure the house itself remains intact! How could you even want to cook when the sour pile of dishes in the sink is the first thing you see when you walk into the kitchen? Truly, the clockwork of eating, washing your dishes, letting them dry, and stocking the cabinets back until the next use doesn’t take that much effort or time out of ones daily life. I will continue to live with the situation knowing if it hasn't changed in two years, there is no reason it will now.

There's More Room With Less People

Most people wait while an elevator empties of what people are getting off at that floor before they shove their way into the elevator. It only makes sense.

Let’s say you want to get on the elevator. You decide you don’t care that other people have to get off the elevator and you’re just going to step into the box. Those who wish to get out must now push around you to get onto their floor. You’ve blocked someone, they’ve pushed around you. No one is happy. Someone is probably ticked off, someone probably very much like me.

Logic says that if people are allowed to get off the elevator before others get on, there will be more room for everyone. No one gets angry and no one gets pushed.

This is not rocket science. It is not only common sense but common courtesy. But then parking on campus has taught me that if it was not for insurance companies and police, most wouldn’t wait for the previous car to leave the parking spot. They would just park on top of the initial vehicle.

When you go to Wal-Mart try to actually use the entrance when you get there. This seems elementary, but this simple rule spelled out is often ignored and often someone gets run over by the cart of person who is just trying to leave the wretched place. Then the person who has entered through the wrong doors has the audacity to flip off the person who is just trying to leave through the proper exit.

This doesn't just apply to elevators, there are other times this logic should apply. The other day I was riding the Seahawk Shuttle. It was a fairly cold day for Wilmington, but those of us standing outside Morton waited for people to on the shuttle to step off. I live in the Seahawk Village and it’s only a few minutes from Morton to the stop outside my apartment. When the bus stopped I stood up to get off and started to make my way towards the exit with four or five other people trying to get. We were stopped though, when two girls who were standing at the stop pushed their way onto the bus before any of us had a chance to get off.

I understand that it was cold that day at least for those who have lived in warm areas all their lives, but that is no excuse and it’s not like this behavior is at all limited to when the weather is adverse. In kindergarten we were taught to wait our turn. This shouldn't be difficult and would make life easier on everyone.