This really happened at a DVD store called FYE (For Your Entertainment-- and no, despite dubious-sounding name, they do not sell porn, more like Disney-Pixar classics) when I went to the register to buy a DVD.
Cashier (bubbling over with customer service enthusiasm) : Hi, there, how are you today?! Did you find everything ok today?!
Me: Yes, thanks.
C: Can I interest you in a subscription to our special new DVD and video game release magazine? It has the latest insider information on all the hottest new entertainment!
Me: No, thanks.
C: Would you like to join our frequent buyer program and get 10% off your purchase today?!
Me: Um, no thanks, that's ok, I don't live around here.
C: Would you be willing to donate a dollar to the children's literacy program we support? It's strictly optional, but the proceeds all go directly to underfunded public schools!
Me (unable to keep from laughing): Wow, do you have to ask everyone all those questions every time they buy something? You must be exhausted at the end of the day.
C (acknowledging that his series of questions is, indeed, ridiculous): God, I know, you must be like, get outta my face, I just wanna buy my movie! How would you like to pay for this today?!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Time flies when your airline doesn't...
I've been spending lots of lack-of-quality time in airports recently, having just flown across the world in a record 5 million hours. Ok, it was maybe 10 hours of actually being in a plane, but really an entire day of transit. Actually, more than that. It only fit into one day because the US is 6 hours behind chez moi. I had the logical flight pattern of going Paris-Chicago-Baltimore. Chicago is approximately 1,500 miles out of the way.
When I left Paris, not only had the airport bus fare gone up, but terminal one suddenly seemed like it was in no longer located in Ile-de-France, but in Metz. I feel like I have never inspired so much suspicion in airport security staff people. It seems that leaving France on a British passport to visit your family in the US is now the equivalent of announcing your intent to blow up the entire world, one airplane at a time. They also suspiciously examined the macaroons I was bringing as presents in my carry-on. No doubt to verify that they did not contain bombs cleverly concealed by fluffy meringue. They even asked before I boarded the plane what I'd bought in the one cafe waiting room after I passed through security.
If Paris Roissy was an ordeal, I really hate Chicago O'Hare.
For the rest of my life, I will only associate Chicago with overpriced airport food, endless gate changes, terrorist threat alert Orange (some good old eye roll-inspiring Patriot Act paranoia to try to strip Americans of the few civil rights we've still got...), nearly bankrupt airlines who would probably charge you per individual pretzel, if they could and delayed flights. Without fail, I always have a connecting flight here and it's always delayed, except for the times that it's cancelled. Since I always have plenty of time to wait at O'Hare, until they announce the lastest gate change, I went to some airport bar (not one of the Starbucks that they have roughly every 12 feet) where they carded me (um, I'm about a decade over 21) and charged me $8 for a glass of red wine made entirely of sulfite.
Welcome back to the US.
It's so humid here that I started doing hot yoga because then the outside temperature seems bearable by comparison, and at least, once outside, you no longer have to hold warrior pose.
The airport fun doesn't stop. Off to California this Friday for an overnight flight that arrives in Oakland at 1 am and to BWI tonight to pick up a friend of mine, but at least the parking towers and skywalks are fresh in my mind. And at least it's not O'Hare.
When I left Paris, not only had the airport bus fare gone up, but terminal one suddenly seemed like it was in no longer located in Ile-de-France, but in Metz. I feel like I have never inspired so much suspicion in airport security staff people. It seems that leaving France on a British passport to visit your family in the US is now the equivalent of announcing your intent to blow up the entire world, one airplane at a time. They also suspiciously examined the macaroons I was bringing as presents in my carry-on. No doubt to verify that they did not contain bombs cleverly concealed by fluffy meringue. They even asked before I boarded the plane what I'd bought in the one cafe waiting room after I passed through security.
If Paris Roissy was an ordeal, I really hate Chicago O'Hare.
For the rest of my life, I will only associate Chicago with overpriced airport food, endless gate changes, terrorist threat alert Orange (some good old eye roll-inspiring Patriot Act paranoia to try to strip Americans of the few civil rights we've still got...), nearly bankrupt airlines who would probably charge you per individual pretzel, if they could and delayed flights. Without fail, I always have a connecting flight here and it's always delayed, except for the times that it's cancelled. Since I always have plenty of time to wait at O'Hare, until they announce the lastest gate change, I went to some airport bar (not one of the Starbucks that they have roughly every 12 feet) where they carded me (um, I'm about a decade over 21) and charged me $8 for a glass of red wine made entirely of sulfite.
Welcome back to the US.
It's so humid here that I started doing hot yoga because then the outside temperature seems bearable by comparison, and at least, once outside, you no longer have to hold warrior pose.
The airport fun doesn't stop. Off to California this Friday for an overnight flight that arrives in Oakland at 1 am and to BWI tonight to pick up a friend of mine, but at least the parking towers and skywalks are fresh in my mind. And at least it's not O'Hare.
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