I honestly have no clue what's going on. I took a picture of the two piddly little Dutch Treat blocks I did this week. Mainly to prove to myself that I actually did something quilty, however small. Put the camera card in the printer and nothing. Took it out, took another picture, reinserted it. Nothing. I give up. Short of having someone come out to figure it all out, and I haven't a clue who that would be, I give up. This is a new camera, a new printer, and a computer that's less than a year old.
So one more thing to add to the list of things that don't work around here. Answer phone is still a mystery, cell phone won't hold a charge, upstairs TV cable doesn't work, broke my portable DVD player ..... okay, maybe I'm just wallowing in self-pity right now. I think I'll go bathe the dog. Or have a glass of wine. Or both. Poor Daisy.
I hated this week at work. It was alternately too busy and too slow. I thought I would get a lot done in the slow times, but I guess I'm not made to work at a slow pace. I work much better with deadlines. Probably from all those years of court reporting.
I think I'm going to look for a new sofa in the next few weeks. I wasn't going to do it, but, frankly, this one is so uncomfortable. I try to sit and watch TV and needleturn, but I find myself moving around trying to find my spot, so I just get up. Of course, that will be something else that can only be delivered during the week. How come delivery folks can't come out at night or the weekends? And the last furniture place I talked to wouldn't haul away the old sofa or desk if I purchased new ones. What in the heck am I supposed to do with them. Tie them on the top of my QuiltMobile and drop them on a freeway somewhere? (That's a California joke!)
Boy, the pity party is really cranking up here!
It all started this morning. I swung into McDonald's to get breakfast. I have a hard time ordering at drive-thrus. My accent and all. It's always interesting to see what's in my bag when I get home. But McDonald's is usually okay. Not this morning.
Speaking very slowly, "I'd like a #3 and a cup of coffee."
The voice on the speaker, "You want what?"
Trying again, even more slowly and louder, "One #3 and coffee."
The voice again, "We don't have those."
Huh? Okay, I resisted the urge to tell her that I'm looking at a picture of #3, but I tried again.
"Ma'am, I want a #3 and a cup of coffee. Can you hear me?"
"We're serving breakfast now," she replied. Aha! I've got a comic here.
Taking a different tactic, and changing my order, "I'd like pancakes and coffee."
"Okay, that will be $6.78. Please pull up to the first window."
Now, I'm really confused. But I do like I'm told. When I got to the window, she said, "That will be $7.97."
"Wait, wait, what do you have as my order?"
She said, "Well, what did you want?" Yep, a comic.
Patiently, "I really want a #3 and coffee."
She said, "Wait a minute. Let me see if we have that."
To clarify here for anyone reading who hasn't done McDonald's for breakfast, that's a biscuit with egg and bacon, and a cup of coffee.
She comes back and said, "We normally don't serve that for breakfast, but my manager said she will get it for you. That will be $7.97."
No, I'm not going to give her $7.97 for something that usually costs less than four bucks, and it's 7:55 a.m. I think I'm probably safely still in the breakfast menu time. So I pull back the $10 I'm holding out towards her. "Could you please have your manager come to this window?" She gave that huge sigh that only 18 year-olds can give. You know, the real dramatic sigh accompanied by rolling eyes and shaking her head.
So the manager comes over to the window. This lady is my age. Surely we'll understand one another. I said, "I'm trying to order a #3 and coffee." The manager, without saying a word to me, turns and screams back into the bowels of McDonald's, "Cancel those parfaits!" Then she asked me to pull up to the next window and she'd take my money there as the cars are now dozens deep behind me.
At the window for picking up your food, she appears and asks me again what I'm ordering. I said, "I-want-a-#-3-and-a-cup-of-coffee." Okay, maybe I said it real sarcastically, but at this point it's 8:05 so ten minutes have passed since that first fateful encounter with The Voice On The Speaker. Honest to God, she said, "Well, why did you order parfaits then?" OMG, here we go again. "I did not order parfaits." "Well, the clerk has you down for three parfaits."
Now my logic and reason are determined to win the day. "Ma'am, do you think she might have misunderstood me?" The manager looked perplexed, but wasn't going to concede even that small issue. "No, I don't think so." I gave up. I gave her my ten, got my change, got my food and drove the three or four blocks to the office.
When I got to the office, I walked out into the production area and asked everyone if they would do me a favor and tell me what I'm saying. "I'd like a #3 and coffee." There were several guesses, none of them right. I really give up.
You'd think in an area as cosmopolitan as Southern California, that one little old Cajun accent wouldn't be such a problem. Of course, every single day for the whole almost 14 years I've been here someone has asked me where I'm from. I've taken to asking them to guess, and a surprising number of folks guess England. ROFLOL. (BUT have you noticed all the Brits who are now playing Southerners in movies?)
You see why I'm pity-partying today? From McDonald's to the camera .... what a day!
Daisy, are you ready to go for a walk? Don't ignore me. You understand me perfectly! Daisy, come here. Daisy? Wait, let me go open the refrigerator. That will get her attention!