The first time we moved here, anytime someone found out we weren’t from around here, they asked, “Aren’t people around here friendly?” The speaker was invariably a local native.
Isn’t this like saying, “Don’t these jeans make my ass look great!”
When we moved back, no one said that. Instead, they just upped the intensity of their “sparkle”. We got free stuff, faster service and better help. We must have picked up the accent. Maybe we look a little hopeless around the eyes. No one guesses we aren’t from around here, anymore. There is no sparkle. Nobody gives a fig if we are pleased with our service or if we think we have moved to a nice place.
I’ve tried to figure out how to get better service. I had been thinking of wearing a sympathy belly to Target, but when the checker at Kroger gave me the senior discount, I realized that I was living in a dream world.
I shouldn’t have to do that, anyway. I was taught, when I started out in retail, that the customer matters and we want them to come back. They are always right and we treat everyone like the president of the company in disguise. Everyone should get the “sparkle”.
Last week, we ordered a pizza and got something different than we ordered. We called them and they said they would write us in the book and give us a free one that we actually ordered.
Why do they have a book? I understand the need to give yourself margin, but a book? You are after all only human, but…a book? Enough mistakes to fill a book can only mean you are putting people on the job who aren’t trained or you don’t care or you aren’t able. There. Did I say that diplomatically?
Okay, well. Whatever.
I’m not done.
We are trying to put on this play. I am the classroom assistant to my friend who encouraged me to join the Monday Co-op group. Parents have mad faces. Children are hateful and mean. Up until Thursday last week, lines weren’t even nailed down. The reality is, folks are mad because the students are expected to keep the commitments they have made. We signed a paper in September that had the rehearsal schedule on it, and those with conflicts (one student is taking dual enrollment college courses, and has finals this week. She also happens to have her lines memorized.) had the opportunity to make arrangements.
They are going to do well. They have worked hard and the casting is brilliant. The teacher did a wonderful job. The first play is a comedy and it is really well suited to the group. The second, done by two upperclass
men women, is not so funny and the ending brings me to tears. Every time.
There is talk of a bunch of parents taking their children out of class at the semester break. Why?
Because it isn’t fun.
My mom used to say
as she quoted someone else, “Everything in life is sent either to educate or entertain me; if I am not having a good time, I must be learning something.”
We spent all day at rehearsals and then I went to get our pizza. All I could think about both things is: am I teaching my kids that doing something right is worth a little discomfort?
Am I setting the example?
What ever happened to excellence?
I was never anyone’s overachiever. But am I holding back on life because I am unwilling to be inconvenienced?
Am I teaching my kids that fun means slacking off?
Or am I teaching them that it is fun to stretch and grow?
You know what, I am Sharing My Awesome With Jennifer @ Momma Made It Look Easy. You can, too.