Shopping the Patriarchy

~ in which our hero pops into her new friendly neighborhood hardware store to find a very specific type of lightbulb ~

Me: (standing in aisle, contemplating lightbulbs. sees what are decorative globes called vanity lights. softly to self) Grrrr.
Counter Guy: (comes down the aisle with a lightly put upon air. sighs.) Alright, what are we looking for?
Me: (pauses. shrugs.) A decorative globe LED.
Counter Guy: Yeah, we don't have any of those I don't think.
Me: Yeah, I just see the incandescents.
Counter Guy: Yeah, it's taking a while to get...moved over...everything into LEDs.
Me: Ok, thanks.
(Counter Guy leaves. I move one foot further down the aisle and find a decorative globe LED.)
VICTORY!

Flying Monsters

I don't think I'll ever really get over the notion that reclining my seat 2.5 inches on an airplane makes me a monster, but someone can bring their tiny uncontrollable screaming meat sack along for the ride and that's supposedly just fine and dandy.

(Nor the fact that we all pay hundreds upon hundreds of dollars to be squished into a metal zoom tube together so close that "familiarity breeds contempt" becomes an inevitability, but that's another issue.)

As Awkward As An Englishman

Had myself a real life Arthur Dent moment after an audition today.

I walked off the stage back to where I had left my (beige tote) bag to find the bag the other lady in my audition group had brought sitting on top of it. I thought this was lightly odd, but not a huge deal, so I picked up her purse by its strap and handed it to her.

Then I reached for my bag.
And she reached for my bag.
I stopped. She didn't.
Then I looked over to the next aisle back to behold another beige tote bag sitting alone in a chair.
That one was mine.

Unlike Arther Dent, I went ahead and acknowledged the situation, so the lady probably doesn't think I'm a total flake. Probably.

But hey, the audition was for a British themed show, so it's all very apropos.