Sorry for going so long without a post. Last week was hectic in multiple ways. First, I started work last week. Only four hours a day, and only four days last week (Easter Monday is a bank holiday here in England), which was fine--and more hours than I'll often have--and the hours weren't too bad at 10am-2pm, but it was a bit of a struggle trying to find a schedule for Adam and I. To add to the hecticness however, was having Kellie here from Tuesday afternoon until midmorning Friday. It was lovely to see her and I'm so glad she came, but houseguests always add to hectic (I need a thesaurus by this point). Sadly, we couldn't really even do anything with her, since I had to work every day. But she got to see our place, and a bit of the area (ie Linthwaite, which is essentially contained on two roads, and Huddersfield, which is a pit), drink some beer with us, eat some food, and just generally chill. And beat both of us--twice--at Settlers of Catan. She's not allowed to play Settlers with us anymore.
Really, I'd like to say exciting things happened, but as they didn't, I won't lie. Otherwise, on the work front, I learned that washing your hands is highly overrated when wearing food prep gloves: you try getting non-powdered (because of food) plastic gloves on your hands when they're damp. And don't tell me to better dry my hands, because there is no way I could do a better job. Also, the water is ice cold (only one sink tap). Unless using the electric heater hose/tap thing, which is about the temperature of the water in your dishwasher. There is no middle ground. But yes, I/we/the shop is sanitary and clean and such, but those gloves are evil incarnate unless your hands are bone dry.
I've also learned that cutting rolls is easier when the bread is slightly stale, and it's also easier to butter slightly stale rolls. However, that's not really something I have control over, as fresh rolls come in every day. Additionally, I've learned that people are either deaf, stupid, or don't listen. While it's not beyond the realm of comprehension that they have problems with my accent (note: people are also nosy assholes about that), I did ask Carmel (woman I work with/shop manager, no idea if that's how she spells her name) if my accent is really that hard to understand, and she says it's not. She also thinks people are dickheads (her word). We have a standard list of questions for people when they want a sandwich: white or brown; butter or not, etc. Every time I ask "do you want butter on that?" they reapeat their order. Yeah, dumbass, I heard you. I've also repeated it back to you already, so why the fuck are you telling me again? Adam says I should speak to them like they're blind (you know, raise your voice and talk really slow, because that helps the blind), and point at things in an exaggerated manner. I'm starting to agree with him.
When the shop is busy, I don't have to worry very much about people asking about the accent, where I'm from, and generally being nosy. But when it's not so busy, or everyone in the shop knows each other, I get that shit all the time. Because we have loads of regulars, that should begin to die down soon, but it's incredibly frustrating, and much of the time, really rude. There are friendly, nice ways you can ask about where I'm from, but most people manage to find snotty, rude ways. I think they think they're being funny. I think I've mostly stopped telling them. Adam says that I should tell them I'm from Marsden (village about 4 miles away). I've tried Leicester, but that didn't work. One guy was really awesome though, and not only knew West Coast vs. East Coast (seriously people, West and East don't change when you move countries, West is on the left, East on the right), but knew where Oregon was, and had even been there. To a place I hadn't heard of! He said it was "trailer trash" where his sister(?) lived. I liked him.
The single rudest thing I've gotten (short of the people who are doing random other things on their phones instead of placing, confirming, and paying for their order) was the couple of cows who said "oh, well you're not from around here" and then went on to talk about how "funny and weird" my accent was in loud voices in front of me. I never cease to be amazed at how rude people can be, and I think it hits doubly hard here because the Brits have always prided themselves on two things: their politeness and their ability to queue up for anything (which is a function of politeness). But at least around here, I've heard the rudest, nastiest things cloaked in a false shroud of courtesy and honesty. "Not to be rude, but..." followed by the rudest thing imaginable. One of Adam's godmothers, or maybe her husband, actually told me that "we used to hate Americans and think they were awful, but then we went on a cruise and were forced to be around them, and we discovered that they weren't so bad after all." What the fuck am I supposed to say to that?! Thank you for sharing your prejudices with me? Thank you for not hating me based on my passport? I wish I could remember exactly what they said, because when I write that out, it sounds like I'm exaggerating or being overly sensitive, but it really was that rude. But cloaked with a smile and a sense of "well, we've learned better, so it's not rude" but it really was horrible.
This, in part, is why I fear this weekend. You probably know by now that I wanted to elope. I'm cheap, lazy, and, well, cheap and lazy, so eloping sounded like a good plan. You also probably know that didn't work, and we had a wedding reception two days before we got married in December. Well, we're doing it again. Saturday is supposed to be a joint 60th birthday celebration for Tony, my father-in-law, and a second wedding reception for Adam and I, and all the people who couldn't make it to the states (which, as far as I'm concerned, is their problem, not ours, but...). I feel, however, that this is going to be more of a wedding reception. I am not thrilled by this for many reasons, one of which being that I will know only a handful of people (and like a few less). Turnabout is fair play, as Adam was in that boat before, but he's not really going to know that many more than me, and this is becoming more and more about us, not Tony. We fear, but are not certain, that there will be toasts (note: I didn't want to be toasted at my actual wedding reception, but Pam and Tony insisted, DESPITE the fact that I didn't want it AND we weren't actually married at that point), and a fear that there will be a requisite first dance (that absolutely WILL NOT happen). Tony also wants me to wear my wedding dress again, but says that the dress code is dress-casual, and he won't be wearing his suit. He also claims that I won't be overdressed in it. I would be, and while yes, I bought a dress to wear again, I bought it to wear again on my terms, not those of other people. So I'll be wearing my red and white summery halter dress that's been to two weddings and a summer party. It's very Stepford. I might be wearing my wedding shoes, though, as black heels don't really match it, flip flops aren't appropriate, and black flats probably aren't a good idea either. The red doesn't quite match, but that's ok. Those are smokin' hot red shoes, and I love them, so should everyone else :D
Now that I have blogged, I must return to the important duties of the day. These include--in my opinion--work for the
Girl Museum, some cleaning, some exercise, some writing, and making tomorrow's tea. In Adam's opinion, that includes making him cookies and tomorrow's tea. Superwoman that I am (not), I'll endeavor to get it all done.
