I'm in nesting mode, getting the BOY's room ready for his Thanksgiving visit...
The windows on the Mommymobile are frosted over for the first time this year, but the sky is that incredible shade of autumnal blue, and I am making my lists and checking them twice.....
On my Artists Date yesterday I went back to the music store and played the Holy Grail for an hour. I didn't REALIZE it had been an hour until the manager tapped on the glass and pointed to his watch....sigh. It was heavenly to be in a soundproof womb of a room, alone with a guitar. No cell phone reception, nobody asking me "Do you know where the (fill in the item du jour) is?" and then of course the follow up question after they can't find it, even though it is usually just where I said to look...."It's not here,can you get me the (BLANK!)?" sigh. Anyway, I was happily playing, loving the way the neck of this particular guitar seems to feel so RIGHT in my hand....and this guy walks IN to the soundproof studio, talking (supposedly) on his cellphone. ACK! Go away, I'm having this incredibly intimate.....
NOW he does the thing I hate the most. He begins to speak much louder about things he THINK will impress me. He sees the guitar I am playing and asks me if it is MINE. I plot my escape route. I say icily that I am TRYING to play it but it is awfully hard to HEAR when someone is yelling on their cellphone to the head office...do you MIND? Clueless, he continues to talk, and does not leave the room. I turn my back and try to play. He does NOT get the hint and continues to do his schtick....grrrrrrrr.
I slide the guitar back into the case and LOCK it while he has his back turned momentarily. He walks out into the showroom to try and impress the young woman who is working at the counter. He asks for a particular brand of expensive reeds...she arches her eyebrows when he mentions the WRONG instrument
in conjunction with said reeds. She gives me the *gag me with a back hoe* look as I slip out the back door behind the sheet music, jump in the Mommymobile and check my rearview mirror for trailing slime.
Ewwwwwww. Here's the worst part. I KNOW this guy. He didn't recognize me....and he was entirely out of his element in a small music store in a rural part of the South....but I came home and checked the pictures from the trip to Australia....YEP. I never forget a face. Okay, that's hyperbole. I have an uncanny recollection for faces, and the auditory equivalent of a photographic memory. As soon as I heard his voice in the showroom, my internal five alarm alert was raised. He was dressed in sailing clothes in the middle of the day on a Tuesday during hours when the Market is open...code red alert.
I have no idea why this upsets me so much. Aside from the total lack of tact, I mean, which ruffles my feathers on any given occasion, this was just plain WEIRD.
Guess the Turkey Day parade started a little early this year....
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