So one time, I had to change the password of the email address I use to log into my blog. That happened 11 months ago, and I always try to enter my original password, and Gmail always kindly reminds me, "You changed your password over 11 months ago." I know this should be helpful and friendly, but it makes me feel judged and moronic. Like, you are NOT better than me Google. My password is whatever I want it to be. So that by the time I log in and set to post something new, I feel like a shell of a person and probably much like a real writer... tortured and haunted.
Anyways. As a live events producer, I oversee the planning, creation and execution of large scale creative elements. Much of the time, this includes purchasing necessary supplies. I know everyone at Target by name (obviously this because of my penchant to shop there professionally, not the least bit because of personal habits), frequent Hobby Lobby, Michael's and AC Moore. When I'm tasked with making a white spandex tent for two aerialists to hoist to a remix of Ellie Goulding's "Anything Could Happen" in order to house 8 dancers... what?! Yeah, that's what I do.
For a recent element, I needed to procure about a thousand yards of black grosgrain ribbon. So, I began my typical route through local craft and fabric stores. When I got to Michael's I hit the ribbon jackpot... spools and spools of it. So I loaded up my cart, thrilled that I could make fewer stops than I originally planned, and headed to the register. When I got there, the cashier looked at my cart, then at me, and I expected the typical questions about what I'm doing with that many whateveritemsIwanttopurchase (pipe cleaners, a billion yards of canvas, a trillion small stones... you name it, we've bought it). Instead she looked at me accusingly and simply stated, "You can't buy all that." Perplexed I stared back and being positive that I was misunderstanding her said, "What do you mean?" "That's all our ribbon. There won't be any left." "...." "If you buy it all, no one else can." "Riiight," I answered back, struggling to keep the condescension low. "This is a store. You sell ribbon. I am a customer. I want to buy ribbon. I want to buy all of it. And I can pay for all of it. I didn't know there was a quota reserved to share." "Well, it's just not considerate," she begrudgingly muttered as she began scanning ream after ream of the grosgrain. I was stunned, but also suppressing laughter. I mean, dang greedy capitalism that allows me to purchase goods from your store to make you money... ??? Am I right, y'all?