A little bit grumpy.

I'm a little bit grumpy today. Every now and then, we all need (and maybe deserve) a grumpy day. And, even after my recent posts about not bitching . . . . I feel the need to vent.

I do alot of volunteer hours. At school, primarily. I do it because I like it. I like it alot. Being totally accessable to my young children IS my primary job right now. Even though I have a job and I work (somedays alot), but "REAL" job is my kids. Our student body is big. About 650. Our volunteer pool is small. The PTA active list is even smaller. For some events and the true "dirty work", it's a reliable 5 member team. And we do everything from planning to prep, set up to execution. When we are done, we unlock janitor closets and mop, sweep and clean.

One of the, er, higher up officials at school yesterday came uncorked. At me. To me. In my face. I think the phrase is 'ripped off my head and shit down my neck.' I ate crow for a multitude of things. Minutia. Took it like a woman. But, today, retrospective clarity began to set in. And I got pissy.

I'm 35. (I know, I know . . . pick up your jaws . . . . I know you are surprised . . heck, I just got carded to buy superglue.) And, when I was summoned into the chief's office, I seriously felt my mind and body transport back to La Jara Elementary when Mr. Shawcroft would call me in, gaze across his expansive desk at me and threaten me with the paddle. I had a lump in my throat that lastest the better part of the day.

As I wallowed and sifted through thoughts today, I ran errands. A local craft store (which shall remain un-named, lest I be sued for defamation of character) was on my list. For knobs. Cute little ceramic knobs that will complete my kitchen. Yesterday, you have to understand, I was at another location of this said craft store, where I made my purchase of knobs. A big sign in their row had them labeled as 50% off. Yes, that had a big impact on my selection. But when I got to the register . . . I think you know it, full price. The non-english speaking cashier spent long minutes scouring the add for details while a line continued to grow behind me. Nervous legs tapped on a team of angry grandmas, their arms bulging with knitting supplies, fabric bundles and autumn craft supplies. Their angry looks bored holes through me as I continued to hold up the line, summon a manager, plead my case, void a charge, re-ring something else . . . . . . all while Tinky threw her paci overboard, stood up in the shopping cart, screamed for Juicy Fruit, kicked off her shoes and threw a handful of flyers on the floor. I left the store victorious, my knobs for the advertised price . . . but with a pool of nervous sweat trickling down my back, and simple exhaustion setting in. At 10:18 am. Not a good time to be exhausted. So, today, I embarked on a mission to purchase the remaining knobs from a second location of said craft store. Same deal. Mis-advertised, mis-communicated and just plain screwed up.

As sometimes happens with me (I see you laughing and nodding your head in agreement), words came forth. Bubbling forth with only moderate control. They involved a manager. Again. And the advertisement. Again. And a line of pissy grannies wanting only to make their knitting club on time. And frustration. This store has lost a customer. Me. This store . . . needs to step into the 21st century. In this day and age, we have digital zappers that expedite checkout. At the swankiest joints, we even do this marvelous thing called "self check". So how a store, in this day and age, has managed to stay in business while charging full price against advertised items and paying non-English speaking personnel to place a totally 60's price tag on every itty tiny magnet, while they manually ring up and manually discount every stinkin' item is beyond me. Oh wait, now I know. They charge full price for knobs that should be half off. Silly me.

Grrrr. I'm still kind of growling a low rumble and holding my lips in a tight left twist. So not like me, to hold on to something . . . . maybe venting it out will help . . . .