If you are like me, there are many moments in life where you will be struck incredulous. I call them my Really? Seriously? moments, because those are the two questions that usually come out of my mouth. Most of the time this happens when my husband thinks it’s funny to Dutch oven me, or when my stepkids do some half-assed job on a chore. (“Cleaning the kitchen” also includes things like washing dishes, for example.) But mostly these moments happen in everyday life where I run into random clueless people. And so I present to you my Top Five List of Really? Seriously? Moments.
1) I’m at the Madonna concert where Madge is singing this slow, hideous version of “Like a Virgin.” That leads into a mash-up of some other slow depressing song about a woman done wrong, or something of the sort. Then she proceeds to writhe and roll around on the ground…she may have been portraying a stripper? Who knows, now I know how Guy Ritchie felt when he tried to direct her. Anyway, all of a sudden she yells, “Give me some f*cking money! Come on! I’ve worked so hard!” Finally, some undoubtedly very confused concert-goers throw some dollar bills at her so she would stand up and get on to the next song already.
After spending more money on those concert tickets than my husband did on his first car, I couldn’t help but wonder…Really? Seriously?
2) I’m at Barney’s Chicago, clearly in a delusional state since I have no business being in that store; seeing all that unaffordable designer deliciousness depresses me. Anyway, as I’m fingering the dresses I’ll never buy, I overhear a woman at the checkout saying to the salesclerk, “I don’t do sales.” She then proceeds to complain about what a hassle they are, especially since you have to wait for certain things. Kind of like how I was waiting for her to take her pretentiousness down like a thousand notches.
So to her I say: Really? Seriously?
3) Speaking of retail establishments, I once worked at a department store that was taken over (twice) by other department stores. (Hint: It rhymes with “Creightons.”) I was working another full-time job at the time, which, by the way required a great deal of responsibility, organization and communication in Spanish. None of that really mattered here since I was paid minimum wage and treated like a peon. Every night during “recovery time”, the fifteen minutes or so before closing, the managers would march around, point to things out-of-place and bark orders like they were the Andy Garcia character from Ocean’s Eleven. I so wished for my Tess moment where I could call them out on their evilness and then go reunite with George Clooney.
Instead I would purposely focus on the less-important “middle section” during recovery time. Oh I would eventually get to the aisles, but I enjoyed watching them sweat and twitch as they waited for me to straighten a single dangling sweater. Yes, they stood there and watched me, instead of just helping and straightening it themselves.
To those lazy power-mongers I say, Really? Seriously?
4) I was just in New York when I overheard this conversation:
Mid-Twenties Girl: And I told her nobody blows their nose in public. And then she tells me that she does it all the time! (Gasp!)
Well it’s a good thing this girl never met my family, especially around allergy season. If my brothers had to leave the room every time they had to blow their noses, I wouldn’t have seen them every August from 1973 through 1995.
Gross stuff happens. People have to blow their noses. Never blowing your nose in public, ever? Really? Seriously?
5) I really shouldn’t get too worked up about reality shows, but I once lived a little bit too vicariously through The Hills and The City. The thing that pissed me off the most about these shows was how the producers would arrange for these uneducated, spoiled twerps to get cushy, glamorous jobs that someone like me would kill for. The interview for the dream job would go something like this.
Interviewer: So, tell me about yourself.
Unqualified-but-cute candidate: Well, I grew up in Orange County and now I’m here in L.A. I’ve never held a job but I really um… like, love fashion and stuff.
Interviewer: Hmmm it sounds like you’re perfect for the job. Can you start Monday? We need someone to help with a huge fashion show with a bunch of A-Listers.
Unqualified-but-cute candidate: Uh sure like that sounds great. Thank you thank you thank you!
Although I know these things are set up so that the “characters” seem to have legitimate jobs (while giving the company some great PR on a TV show), the whole unfairness still made my veins pop.
One particular episode of The Hills made me especially indignant:
Here was Whitney, intern for Teen Vogue, running work errands in Paris. She tells the driver she needs to go to “Ghi-venchy”. Hard G. Soft E. Totally slaughtered it. Thankfully the driver smugly corrected her. But really? You work for Vogue!
And you know what came next. Say it with me.