The Best Moments In Life

I participated in Philadelphia's restaurant week last night. I'd like to share my experiences about that later because what happened after dinner is more interesting to me. I was out of hosiery yesterday morning. I suppose the reasons for this are unimportant but since I have you captive, you will read every damn word I have typed. I've been splitting my time between two homes recently because of the nature of a new assignment I have taken on for the United States government and because honestly, I am enjoying the overwhelming burden of life that includes two positions, graduate school, civic organization memberships, single gal life, and daily living tasks. (This might explain the vast gaps in blogging during the past few months. Well, might.)

So there I am yesterday morning trying to rush off for an early meeting and I have no suntan hosiery left in the drawer. I have black, brown, and winter white which has brown feet from my leather shoes that dyed them the last time they were worn. I opt for the winter white and hope nobody will notice and that I get to conference before it starts. Remembering this experience last night after dinner, I suggested to my dining companion that since I am a large hypocrite these days and tall on discretionary funds but short on time -- we need to visit the Trash-Mart on the way home. Please, hold your judgements for later.

We arrived approximately 20 minutes before closing. Trying to suppress my hypocrisy and guilt, I ask the greeter as we enter, "Are your employees unionzed because I think you should be?" A question that rarely goes over well and is frequently chased with a curt, "No." I travel to the hosiery section and grab two boxes of eight since I am not interested in returning to this scene anytime soon. I also spot two pairs of discounted tights in the process and toss them in the basket. What's a few more dollars to the evil corporation, right?

My friend is in the market for a plasma TV, so we visit the electronics department. After some unsolicited English lessons for the young customer's lack of language skills, which is compromised of yelling across the store to each other and ending sentences in prepositions, we narrow down the possible candidates for future purchases elsewhere. Since our work is done there, we then turn the corner in pursuit of the 'Guns and Knives Section'. Otherwise known in more liberal stores that understand we are not at domestic war; the 'Camping Section'.

My friend is seeking lamp oil, which is used for starting wood stove fires. As I examine the vast array of products, I find blue goop from 'Liquid Gold' on my fingers and running down my sleeve. My partner grabs a roll of paper towels, opens it, and begins to wipe my hands. Without success, I suggest we move towards the washrooms. On our way, we spot a bottle of Purell, which is also opened, and successfully removes the smurf dye from my fingertips. Nothing like the removal of goop at the expense of antibiotic resistance.

After we pay for my hosiery and nothing more and in doing so by signing the credit card display with ' I <3 Labor Unions', we are headed for the exit. As we approach the doors, a middle aged blond woman begins to occupy real estate in our path towards freedom. As we move in formation within arms length of each other, she speaks aloud. "I need to examine your receipt." To which my friend replies, "No you don't." We smoothly proceed through the doors towards my car and leave the store parking lot. Having heard this from Brandeis and reading this today, I am unlike the folks of Massachusetts and I voted for change with my actions.