Attempts at proper bar etiquette

Last week Nate and I met up with my brother, Alex, at a local bar. The plan was to watch the Pistons game. I do not follow sports, nor do I typically go to bars (coffee shops do the trick for me, after all) but sometimes I feel the need to force myself to do things I normally wouldn’t do. Life should never be too predictable, or repetitive. Sometimes one has to spice things up. I’m not talking about dangerous or illegal activity but more like trying a new flavor of gelato or reading a comic book (even when you secretly feel that comic books are sort of silly). So, watching a sports game in a smoky, dark setting qualifies as an out of the ordinary experience for me.

After ordering my drink I considered how I would tip the bartender. What is the right etiquette for tipping in bars? I wondered. In a coffee shop there is typically a tip jar and tipping itself is optional. Inside a bar you hand your tip to the bartender. But what do you say? And, are words needed for the exchange?

I quickly turned to Alex and shared my concerns through a series of whispers. With great patience in his voice he provided several options for tipping. One option was: The bartender returns with your change. You motion with your hand and say, “No, keep the change.”

I felt this method would work and began reciting the words in my head. Then Alex interrupted my thoughts. “No, you shouldn’t use that method. From you the words will probably come across as sounding posh.”

“What do you mean?”

“It just will… from you. Just make the hand motion but don’t say anything.”

At first, I felt mildly insulted and was ready to fire back, “I do not sound posh!” After all, does a posh person go to a bar that is so smoky lung cancer is guaranteed all in order to watch a Pistons game? I think not!

But then, I reconsidered his words. “Would I sound posh? Was he right? Is it possible my brother knows how I sound and thus, will be perceived better than I do?”

In the middle of sorting out these thoughts the bartender returned with my change. Except, she put the change on the counter before I could make a hand motion or utter a single word. And then she was gone. Probably off to serve customers who have no trouble tipping because this is what normal people do: go to the bar, drink and tip the bartender without hassle.

I left the bar early and ended up giving the tip to Alex who would then give the tip to the bartender. This seemed like a childish thing to do but at that point the smoke in the bar was so thick I didn’t care. Besides, maybe my posh self doesn’t belong at the bar scene. I went straight home to my château, only to finish the evening with caviar while contemplating my next trip to Milan… because I am so entirely posh, after all. Maybe I need to start swapping places with this girl:



Perhaps we are long lost sisters?

Is this omnivore discrimination?

Many Craigslist users make use of the housing section. (For example: Apartments for rent, sublets, etc.) Craigslist’s fair housing policy is very clear. Basically, it is illegal to discriminate based on the following categories: race, national origin, religion, sex, familial status, handicap/disability. Well, I was recently browsing the housing section when I stumbled upon an ad that caught my eye:

“Looking for one female vegetarian roommate.”

At first, I laughed. I couldn’t help but imagine scenarios in which the person placing the ad requires proof that the individual is, in fact, a vegetarian. If you are a vegetarian and sharing an apartment with a non-vegetarian, does it really matter if one person eats tofu while the other eats non-organic, non-free range, probably killed at the hands of George W. Bush meat?

Perhaps I should not joke about the matter as I once lost a job opportunity because of a mix-up concerning how comfortable I am around meat. For the record: I am comfortable around meat. I once kissed a dead pig that was a part of a hog-roast before everyone in my carnivorous family started eating it. It was a ritualistic act: a pretty girl is supposed to kiss the pig before everyone can enjoy it. I was young and on the family farm. Someone told me I should do it, and I did it. This action, I feel, should be sufficient proof as to how comfortable I am around dead animals.

This is how the mix-up happened. The interview was going fine until the interviewee asked me, “How comfortable are you around meat?” I misinterpreted the question. I assumed he wanted to know if I was comfortable working directly with meat. Like, in the butcher area of the store, for example. Immediately I had visions of the butcher in the movie version of Fiddler on the Roof. The memory scared me.

“Oh, well, I’d rather not work with meat.” I replied.

“You mean you can’t work with meat?”

“I’d rather not.”

“So, let’s say you were a cashier and a customer was purchasing meat, you wouldn’t be able to handle the situation?”

Ohhh, I get what he is saying. He doesn’t want me to work with meat in the butcher shop, he wants me to work around meat. Ohhh. Ohhh.

I explained how I had misinterpreted his question and that I was comfortable with meat. I think I might have even added, “I like meat.” The whole conversation felt very bizarre.

The interviewee went on to explain how in the past certain cashiers in the store had trouble being around meat. A customer would go to purchase a pack of humanely slaughtered, magically organic pork-chops but the cashier would burst into tears and be unable to complete the order. He asked me how I would handle this situation.

“As a cashier, could you ring up meat?” he asked, looking me directly in the eyes.

I reassured him that Yes, I could ring up meat. I wouldn’t have any trouble. Except, at this point in the interview I got the sense he no longer trusted me. He returned to his notepad, quickly jotting down notes. I imagine the notes read:

“She does not do meat. Do not hire her at any cost.”

Perhaps he concluded I was a crazy, extreme vegetarian. Ha ha! How amusing! But wait, isn’t that the kind of employee they want at a trendy, new age organic store? Anyway, I didn’t get the job. Maybe it had nothing to do with the meat mix-up but my instincts tell me otherwise.

The ad on Craigslist reminded me of this past fiasco. I hope whoever posted the ad finds their female vegetarian roommate. If not, maybe they can reconcile their differences. Just not over dinner.

Do men and women shop differently?

Yahoo News just put out a story on how grocery stories are still "overwhelming" to men. An excerpt from the article reads:

"Unlike women, men tend to hone in on the specific thing they want to buy instead of surveying the entire aisle, consultants said. That can be a problem for manufacturers and retailers trying to promote new products that are the life-blood of packaged food companies."

I'm not a man but I don't know if this story should be so exclusive. After a recent trip to Meijer (which is a large grocery superstore that is common throughout Michigan) I left feeling exhausted. You see, I grew up with Meijer and so throughout my life span I've come to know the layout of the land. You could blindfold me in a Meijer and I'd still know where to find paprika or a goldfish. Because Meijer is everywhere in Michigan, I imagine many other Michiganders would share similiar sentimement.

Recently Meijer has been in the process of making over their stories. They are attempting to be hip and a part of being hip seems to be shifting aisles and products. So, if you want to find deodorant it is safe to assume it is hidden in an aisle with canned vegetables. Looking for a bottle of fine wine? Then you had better head over to automotive. You will probably find your chardonany next to windshield washer fluid.

I was venting about my Meijer frustration to my sister, Theresa, yesterday as we sat in Ikea's food court. Ironically, in some ways trying to shop at Ikea is just as difficult as trying to shop at Meijer. I love going to Ikea in Canton (after all, it is the only Ikea around) but I do not love the madness of trying to move through the crowds of people who are also enamored by Swedish design. Often, I will leave Ikea empty-handed. Somewhere in the process of fighting to get through the store my love for cheap furniture dies.

So, has shopping become "overwhelming" for men alone? I don't know. I do know I am starting to feel some of the burn.

Tired

I’ve started to feel like my old self, which is a good thing for me and everyone else in the world. However, I’ve been feeling incredibly tired lately. On most days I’ve been napping in the mid-afternoon, something I rarely do. During the semester I go full speed between classes and work. I also have more caffeine in my system. Perhaps that is what is missing from my life?

Movies I've watched recently

After having my wisdom teeth removed I've spent an incredible amount of time in my apartment. During this time I've discovered every moment of my day cannot be spent obsessing over when I will feel "normal" again. Also, sending out text messages with the words: woe is me, gets a little boring after the hundredth message. I changed the message to: life is miserable, just to mix it up a bit but stopped when I realized such melodrama may cause others to start to seriously worry. One activity that has kept me busy is watching movies. Here are a few movies I've watched in the past week:

The Queen: Excellent portrayal of the modern Queen. Slightly slow moving in parts. For those interested in the British Royal Family, this movie is for you.

Happy Feet: Very cute but not very happy. I didn't buy into the ending.

The Holiday: I haven't watched a romantic comedy in some time. Having said this, the movie was mildly entertaining. I think I enjoyed the premise of the movie more than the actual movie. (Two characters switch places/lives, go to exotic location, fall in love.)

The pain of it all

I remember bragging that I’ve never been stung by a bee, broken a bone, needed to stay in the hospital, and that I have no allergies. I’ve lived a relatively healthy life, free of pain. Last Wednesday I had all four of my third molars removed. I was put asleep for the actual surgery and so, there are no horror stories involving the operation. The horror is, I believe, the days that have followed. Just this afternoon I made the rather bold (and melodramatic) statement to Nate:

"This has been the most miserable week of my life."

Okay, so I’ve lived a rather spoiled life and I’ve been lucky in terms of health and access to health care. But I’m still standing by that statement. When I look in the mirror I can’t help but notice my face has swollen into the size of a hot air balloon. This isn’t the worst of it but it doesn’t help, either.

My cell phone has been on silent for the past few days. (I haven’t been talking very often, in order to minimize use of my jaw.) This has been a very interesting experiment and I recommend it to anyone who needs a break from the world. I will be in touch with family and friends once I feel like I’m ready. Until then, I’ll be healing.

Photo update

I've posted the first batch of Florida photos up on flickr.

What I wore (for those interested)

For the wedding I ended up wearing this dress with these shoes. I thought I looked good and I didn't spend a fortune. Of course, the shoes were painful and so I switched over to my Mary Jane Crocs for the wedding reception. I'm certain my Crocs looked funny but I noticed a three year old boy wearing Crocs as well, which was comforting.

Wedding talk

My brother’s wedding is officially over and done with. He’s happily married, everything went smoothly and the wedding was lovely… What else? I’ve had several thoughts running through my head over the span of the wedding weekend. Here are a few thoughts:

I have a big family and yet, only two of my siblings are married (I’m including my newly married brother when I say two). It seems my siblings, and myself included, haven’t made getting married our sole life purpose and reason for living. Or, maybe we’re all unlucky in love. There are many ways you could look at it. So, about a half million times this weekend the conversation switched over to the question: "Who is next?"

The question isn’t entirely offensive, nor is it surprising. I assume everyone felt the need to ask it because there is no way to know who is next, which might just be the scariest thing ever. My oldest brother was married 15 years ago. Will it be another 15 years before someone else gets married? No one had a Magic 8-Ball on hand to consult for the answer and to be honest, I haven’t exactly been staying up at night trying to answer the question, either. So, the question, "Who is next?" prevailed throughout all the wedding festivities.

You would think the same conversation would get old at some point. I was asked the question on Friday throughout the rehearsal and rehearsal dinner. The topic was debated extensively on Saturday throughout the actual wedding. Even today I met with family for lunch, only to hear further speculation as to who is "next" in line for marriage.

I admit, I only have so much patience when asked the same question over and over again. It gets a little tiring at some point. I start considering new and creative ways in which I can respond.

Well, I think I’m next. After all, getting married and popping out babies has always been my life ambition. I don’t even know why I’m bothering with college. Do I need a degree to change diapers?

Or, an answer that would make certain family members uncomfortable:

I’d love to get married but did you know gay marriage is illegal in Michigan?

I think what is most frustrating about the question, "Who is next?" is the underlying assumption that marriage is what defines individuals. The notion that you are incomplete until you are married and if you haven’t made the trip to the alter yet, it is only a matter of time before you are "next."

I would rather have spent the weekend talking about why I might go into the Peace Corps, or how I had a wonderful time in Florida with my sister, Sara, but am not a fan of the lizards that are everywhere, or discussing the newest Lost or Harry Potter conspiracy. Of course, why discuss such topics when the single most important issue has to be when I will be getting married.

I also found myself thinking this weekend about the absurd nature of weddings. Often weddings are suppose to exemplify perfection and yet, there are so many uncontrollable forces. At the rehearsal the priest was incredibly strict as he gave out exact instructions. How one should walk, which way to face, the importance of standing up when the bride enters the church, and so on. It became apparent that timing and presentation are everything.

When the actual wedding ceremony arrived I remembered only bits and pieces of the previous night’s instructions. As I began to walk down the aisle I knew the show was on. I attempted to strive for excellence by walking as perfectly as possible, at just the right speed and angle. Mid-way down the aisle I felt my new red shoes painfully digging into my feet. So, instead of walking as a vision of elegance I ended up walking a little like a penguin. Later, when I went to the back of the church in order to pick up the gifts for the Eucharist, I had a small collision with one of my sisters. Luckily, the collision was minor but it felt much greater as all eyes were on us. I’m certain the priest noticed and wondered why that blonde girl hadn’t paid more attention at the rehearsal.

As I carried the glass of wine for the Eucharist to the front of the church I couldn’t help but envision disaster. I could see myself dropping it on the priest, causing permanent stains to form over his ivory robes as the sound of breaking glass echoed through the church. I walked slower than usual to avoid this scenario, focusing my eyes on the wine, telling myself, "Keep calm, keep calm." I almost let out a visible sigh of relief when the glass was finally placed into the hands of someone far more capable.

In the middle of the ceremony my brother, Alex, was dying from a cold. It sounded like he might be hacking up a lung. What would happen if a groomsmen hacked up a lung in the middle of the ceremony? Would this stop the wedding? Alex turned to me and whispered in panic, "I need a napkin." Of course, I had no such thing. I whispered to the person sitting next to me, "Alex needs a napkin." Of course, no one had a napkin and Alex went on dying. Everyone assumed he needed the napkin because he must have been crying (how touching) but if they saw the spittle that eventually covered his tuxedo and seat, they would have understood why a napkin was so urgently requested.

I understand weddings must follow tradition and if one plans on getting married in a church, then ceremony and tradition are to be expected. But at the same time, why does tradition have to be so formal and uncomfortable? I can imagine myself getting married in a field or on the beach, the wind blowing through my hair. I might have a priest conduct the ceremony but it wouldn’t be a ceremony with strict rules and order in place. I wouldn’t want it to be a total hippie wedding but maybe a little hippie like. Maybe something like the wedding I encountered on a beach in Fort Myers, Florida. Something small, informal, and in a natural setting. No frills, just a wedding on the beach. Sort of like this one:





Both photos are from my trip to Fort Myers, Florida.