Have a nice day - but really, I mean it

Today, I was buying a few bits and pieces at the supermarket with my mum - right now, you're probably thinking 'Where is Sarah taking this exactly? Why am I reading a post about supermarket shopping?' Don't you worry, friends, I'm getting there.

We got to the cash register, and the lady started to scan through our items, and as I stepped up to the register she politely said hello and I asked her how she was. Not only did I ask her how she was, but, when we went to leave the supermarket, I told her I hoped she'd have a nice day.

My mother commented on this after on our way to the car, telling me what a nice girl I am. Confused, I asked what she meant, and she seemed to think it was particularly kind of me to wish the lady at the register a nice day.


Has it become strange to hear a customer wish a shop employee a nice day?


The more I think about it, it definitely seems to be the case.

Working in retail, I have become much, much more aware of the way in which customers treat the employees of different shops; it actually makes my day when a customer appears to appreciate the effort I take to help them, and thanks me. I am so often faced with rude, inconsiderate, and ungrateful customers who immediately view me and my fellow employees as a number, faceless, branded by the polo tee-shirt I was given on my first day on the job. Yes, I am wearing a tee-shirt that associates me with this shop, but do not let it fool you into thinking that it gives me an entire new identity; I am still a human being, and I am on my feet for nine hours assisting you in your search for different books, some that I've never heard of and that have been out of print since the 80s.

And, whilst I'm on a tangent about this, no, telling me that the cover is distinctly brown does not help me in the slightest; unfortunately, my search options do not include 'colour of book cover'.

But, to continue with my rant and get to my point.

It saddens me to think that simply being a nice person to the lady at the cash register at the supermarket is out of the ordinary. Although working in retail has increased my awareness of the way in which employees are treated by customers, and allowed me to reconsider my own treatment of said employees, it should not take working in retail for anyone to be able to feel some sort of sympathy and understanding for the employee of any shop.

Come on, people; it doesn't take much.

P.S For a rant on a similar topic, you may wish to take a look at this blog post written by a dear friend if you feel you would like to continue along the journey of ungrateful customers and channel your inner rage as we both have.

Que sera sera

Today/tonight/this morning (I can't decide what to choose - it's 1.17 in the morning), I've decided to tackle an issue that seems to have become quite pertinent in my life recently (a dramatic statement, I know).

As we speak/as I write/as you read, I am in the midst of a discussion with a friend of mine about chance and fate.

At 1.17 in the morning? you ask.

I will rebut the question I just posed on your behalf by saying that, now, of all times, is the time to delve deep into issues such as these. 

And so, I pose this question: is it better to make things happen in life (forge your own fate even), or to let things happen?

The more I learn about relationships, the more I realise they are so very much based upon games to the point of absurdity.

We wait until we have seen a person a certain number of times before adding them on Facebook, then we wait days, maybe a week, until it's okay to actually speak via this media. Then we take turns making moves (it's a bloody game of chess, I tell you - and yes, I did just get all Aussie, please accept it), and so we wait a week or two at a time, playing this game, and always retaining this aura of nonchalance; we love to project this idea that the other person is a mere afterthought, and we have so many other better things to do and other people to talk to that they are of less significance. We heighten our own significance and appear unattainable and thus (hopefully) more attractive in the other person's eyes.

The fact is, the more I discuss these things with others, the more it seems that it's the waiting around for the other person to make a move (and, let me tell you, a like on Facebook is absolutely not a 'move', let me be clear) is the most (although crucial) nerve-wracking and torturous part of this 'game'.

Will they reply?

Did I say something ridiculous?

Tell me they didn't detect that spelling error I just noticed from re-reading what I said and now it's too late to correct myself because they'll see I'm re-reading our conversation oh no oh no.

Which often leads one to think whether it might be better to just make things happen yourself; why wait around when you can just take the bull by the horns and actually do something, make something happen, forge your own fate and so on.

Then, of course, comes the issue of appearing foolish if and when nothing comes out of it, and slowly stepping away and cringing at your own behaviour.

How could I have been so foolish?!

How embarrassing!

I can never go to uni where they may see me again!

Etc.

I think, after much thought and consideration, I have come to the conclusion that, even though it's important to play a part in your own future/fate etc, sometimes it's best to just let nature take its course. Whatever's meant to be will be, and, after all, it's better than appearing foolish if you've tried a little too hard to make things happen and it's merely backfired (goodness, no one likes daily, needy texts from someone you've known for under a year, let me tell you).

Yep.

I'm still just sitting here waiting, waiting, waiting, playing this stupid game.

But if it works, it works.

Que sera sera, I guess.

Call me a feminist, but the men out there are freaks.

Am I too bitter? Too cynical?

Sometimes I think I am.

Sometimes I actually worry that I'm too bitter about people and life and I see Miranda Hobbe's cynicism in me.

Has society made me this way (Is this getting too deep? Probably.)?

I once detested Miranda. In fact, I couldn't stand her. But, after a season or two, and once she finally started dressing herself in a manner that didn't make her look frumpy, I began to really enjoy her negative commentary on life.

Yes, despite the fact that I do often try to present myself as being an altogether enthusiastic and positive person, I really do carry a lot of Miranda's pessimism (see my post on public transport for an example of such pessimism in the form of rants).

Phrases such as "of course he did" are some of my favourites; I simply love labelling the general population through a negative mindset.

Am I a bad person?

Actually, maybe we should get to that question in an entirely separate post altogether; that might need some time and thought to process and come to a conclusion.

Saturday night, I had a 21st birthday, so I went along, looking forward to seeing people I hadn't seen in a while. But, when two girls staying in Melbourne for a few months were analysed by the male invitees as to which was the 'hot one', I couldn't help but let my feminist rage take over.

Rage I say.

As I reflect now, I honestly don't remember a lot of what I said to the guy who decided it was okay to call a girl 'the hot one' and thus allude to the fact that the other girl clearly wasn't 'hot'. All I remember is glaring at him angrily, and as he tried explaining himself, saying "No. You can stop. I don't want to hear any more from you."

Needless to say, he shut up.

I realise that sometimes we do generalise people; as mentioned, I love generalising people and categorising them - wow, I'm a bad person.

But, maybe it's just in our nature to label those around us, particularly when we don't know them.

It seems that, once the person knows and is upset by it, that is the moment when you realise there is something not quite right about it.

Is it wrong to categorise people?

If so, my friends and I must be bad people, because, the more I think about it, it seems that we do it all the time.

Perhaps it's just in our nature.

But, maybe there also comes a point when we need to take a look at ourselves and say "No. Stop". If I were the one being compared to my friend, I'd probably be pretty upset too.

But, at the same time, I can't help but think about the way my friends were compared and labelled, and then we labelled the boy who labelled them.

"What an idiot" I'm now thinking to myself.

Men.

Now, there's a paradox for you.

Sarah

Miranda Hobbes: a role model for us all, despite
the haircut and brown lipstick

Do I look smart in these glasses?

I recently acquired a pair of glasses, mainly for when my eyes are tired and for use in front of the computer screen, as I have them perched on my nose at this moment, or for when doing large amounts of the reading I should probably be doing for uni but rarely seem to get to. I spent a long amount of time in a little boutique on Smith St finding the perfect glasses: small enough for my face that they don't look ridiculous and classic tortoise shell that fades to clear at the bottom. And it's only right that I should spend so long finding such glasses; after all, like a haircut, glasses do frame your face.

And your personality it seems.

Indeed, it has only been since wearing my glasses that I feel the representation I've been giving of myself to others may well have changed in some way.

My sister, a pretty, blonde, blue-eyed dietician working in a hospital, insists upon wearing her glasses upon her head at all times at work, though she only really needs them for the computer. Yet, to avoid being seen as a pretty girl who has no idea what she's doing, wearing a pair of glasses on her head helps her to present herself as knowledgable and professional.

I, too, must admit to wearing my glasses on my head when I'm at work; working at a bookstore, I simply look more bookish with glasses on, and this seems to instil a sense of confidence within our customers. Maybe they'll actually take my recommendation! Maybe they'll take me more seriously! I do look like a small, 12-year-old child, so anything that will help make me look more experienced and intelligent I'll take!

So, it seems I can not help but ask: do stereotypes govern our society? Are we so easily persuaded by little details that we see in others? If a girl is blonde and blue-eyed, does that mean she's simply a pretty girl? If I wear glasses, am I bookish?

Turns out, I am somewhat bookish, so I guess my little experiment hasn't quite worked out as planned. However, in my sister's case, of course, she is an intelligent and successful dietician, glasses or no glasses.

But, I can not help but add: I did like books before the glasses.

Sarah

Back off mate (I ain't your girl)

Now, in other life lessons from Sarah...

It is hard enough navigating the roads of friendly relationships between girls and boys. It's even harder to navigate these roads when the friendship becomes a relationship or a sort-of-relationship or could-be-relationship or there's potential or whatever. But there is something that makes this almighty difficulty an immense challenge, and it has recently come to my attention, and thus I feel the need to address it.

When a friend's boyfriend is a little over-friendly - not in an I'm-interested-in-you kind of way but more I'm-affectionate-and-like-holding-hands way -  I can't help but wonder: what does one do? What would Carrie do?

Probably cheat on her own boyfriend.

Wait.

That escalated.

How?

What?

Anyway.

Let's leave Carrie out of this.

This issue has come to my attention through a number of sources who have each expressed the woes of over-friendly-boyfriends-who-aren't-actually-their-boyfriends-but-their-friends'-boyfriends.

Has this become an epidemic of sorts? Why is this something that we are finding more often? Please don't take the Spice Girls seriously boys. If you wanna be my lover, please don't get with my friends.

And now, the almighty question: can men and women be friends?

When Harry Met Sally taught us: no, probably not. Will probably end up married.

Now you're probably thinking, "Oh, goodness. Don't tell me I'm going to marry one of those guys".

Don't be alarmed.

Accept it. Embrace it. You probably will.

But, in all seriousness, is this an issue that should alarm us? Should we do something about this? Or should we just accept affection in this cold, harsh, materialistic world?

Am I too bitter? No faith in humanity? I'll tone it down.

So, as I sip my tea in front of my laptop, I now realise that I've come to no conclusion. My so-called 'wisdom' has provided nothing but a commentary or overview of sorts of the over-affection that one might encounter and that we seem to be encountering more and more often from the people we don't expect to receive it from.

Sure, I'm concerned.

But, maybe we should just cross that bridge when we get to it.

Sarah.

Lady, let me off the tram!

Ugh.

Public transport.

The mere thought of taking the tram or train every morning before uni or work makes. me. cringe.

(This is the point where you should prepare yourself for the impending rant I intend to now conduct)

Goodness, the idea of being shuffled and squeezed into a tight corner of the tram before I've had the chance to inhale my morning coffee makes me uncomfortable as I sit in front of my laptop now. Just this morning, I was crammed between a number of people, and, at one point, had nothing to hold on to.

Imagine that! Nothing to help me balance as the tram jostles along and turns corners!

Don't get me wrong: I'm not a prude about being forced into situations in which I'm placed within close proximity of other passengers (although gently nuzzling into someone's armpit is not something that appeals to me) and situations in which I will hence also often have to politely smile and channel my inner sense of natural courtesy to others (although, sometimes at that time of the morning, especially before my coffee, it take some effort).

But, the effort it takes is not too much: it doesn't take a lot to give someone a smile!

However, there are just a couple of general rules that I truly think people should follow when taking public transport.

(Insert Sarah's wisdom)

Number 1:
When the tram stops, please let me off the tram first before you decide to hurry on in. Surely you can wait a second for me to descend the tram?! I really would like to be able to get off the tram at the appropriate stop, rather than wait for the next one and have to walk further than necessary in Melbourne's random and unpredictable weather - maybe it's started raining or hailing or maybe there's a heatwave? Who knows! Just let me off the tram!

Number 2:
If you see me attempting to read (and hopefully understand to at least a level of superficial comprehension) my latest novel for uni, please, please don't decide it's the perfect time to loudly discuss over the phone that girl in your group for some group assignment who does no work. Just stop. Just. No. I can't. Read.

Number 3.
Your dubstep blaring loud enough for anyone else to hear from your earphones does not help in the slightest.

Number 4.
I worry about your hearing in the future.

Now that these rules have been set out, I'm sure we can all agree that it's only fair to let others - eg. persons of pregnant or elderly condition - take your seat if there are no others available. But, there's just one thing I need to address.

Being older than me - and I aim this particularly at those elderly persons mentioned above - does not entitle you to the right to be mean or rude to me or anyone (though I will add, of course, that I do not intend to generalise all elderly persons as rude or grumpy - this is a rare bunch, but a bunch that I can not help but discuss due to the clear impact they have had upon me and friends as well, I am sure). I am more than happy to stand up and let you take my seat, but please don't inflict your sense of entitlement upon me and thus irritate me for the rest of what will probably be an unpleasant journey home involving nuzzling into armpits, loud music and conversations, and passengers who won't let me off the tram before they cram in, in front of me.

606 words later (goodness I wish I could write this much this quickly for uni assignments - now that would be a skill I'd welcome with open arms), and I think I've sufficiently outlined the most frustrating factors involved in taking public transport.

And now, as I'm sure you can only imagine, I am most positively thrilled by the idea of taking a tram to uni tomorrow morning.

Please people, be kind.

Rant over.

Sarah xo