So I made an embarrassingly stupid mistake tonight. I covered it quite well, though.
It all came about at the corner store. Now, we have corner stores in America, too, or at least I know definitively that there is one in northern Ohio. I've been to it on several occasions and know it is a corner store because it is three doors down from my grandma's house, and everyone calls it "the corner store." I think I used to figure that most grandmas had one.
Here, though, there are a lot more corner stores. When I first arrived, I found one an easy five minute walk away and was amazed to learn that it actually was the far away one. Having grown up in suburbia where the Kroger was an easy five minute drive away and convenience stores are not convenience stores but gas stations that happen to sell a wee bit more than gas, I was blown away by being able to walk to buy milk for my morning cereal if I needed to. (On Saturdays, of course. Weekdays remain a completely different story.)
I'd been warned early on that the corner store, being so convenient, did charge convenience store prices, but as I couldn't find a container of milk for less than $4.90 anywhere I looked, I figured I already so much skin off my nose I wouldn't really notice the extra dollar or two or ten.
Now the hours at my corner store end at 8 pm. (No, I don't know when it opens. Why would I?)
So it was 7:30 and I was on my third straight day of being sick and only just beginning to think that the next day I could go slightly stir crazy (two days usually being sufficent to drive me to distraction gives an indication of the severity of my condition) and that my only edible options included toast, the okay-but-not-as-good brand of cereal, pasta (required a bit more preparation than I felt inclined to give), pasta sauce (tasty, but insufficent as an actual meal), the orange juice that stung my raw little insides, tea and toothpaste. I decided to visit the corner store.
It is my general modus operandi to make a thorough sweep of the corner store whenever I go, just in case they've acquired something new and delicious, like chocolate peppermints. (This has really happened. It was quite wonderful.)
Not finding anything terribly new or intriguing, on my second sweep I gathered up the necessities (the good brand of cereal, Milo and an ice cream bar), as well as the apple to counteract the ice cream bar and keep my balanced diet in tact. I also noticed that they had movies for sale.
Now movies for sale were an intriguing option, particularly in light of the impending stir craziness. I'd noticed them once before, but having been less than amazingly impressed by the selection (they were clearly a second-cousin side item at the corner store), had never purchased one. The situation at hand, though, led me peruse them, despite having fulls hands and needing to blow my nose.
I was thrilled by what I discovered: Mamma Mia! Out on DVD! And only $5! Now, I realize that there are many of you who would not purchase Mamma Mia if someone paid you $5 to, but I happen to enjoy beautifully colored musicals set in Greece, and really there are not so many of them. I would also submit that you are not about to face day four of Kleenex and social isolation, and perhaps would think differently if you were.
Not only was there Mamma Mia, though, there were at least three other relatively recently released romantic comedies. Being a Responsible Consumer, though, I decided that buying two movies in one night was quite enough, so settled on one other I hadn't seen, but thought I'd probably have to pay $5 to rent, let alone purchase.
Quite pleased with myself, I marched to the counter, deposited my items and seized the opportunity to blow my nose. The man, whose name I don't know, but which I should, seeing as I see him often enough what with him being my primary cereal provider and all, rang up my necessities and then asked me to fill in a form with my name, address and phone number.
I think I may be commended for realizing immediately what the form was, and responding, I am convinced, exceedingly appropriately. First, I told the man behind me to go ahead as I'd be a minute or two. Second, I decided that actually I didn't really need Mamma Mia after all. Third, I asked how long exactly I got the movies for, just as a point of note. And upon hearing the answer of only one night, I hemmed a bit, because, oh dear, I really wasn't planning on watching the movie tonight and maybe I'd have to come back for it tomorrow. Which really was possibly true, and, might I point out just for the record, was it not brilliant to hand back Mamma Mia before asking the length of rental time? Yes, I thought so, too.
It all came about at the corner store. Now, we have corner stores in America, too, or at least I know definitively that there is one in northern Ohio. I've been to it on several occasions and know it is a corner store because it is three doors down from my grandma's house, and everyone calls it "the corner store." I think I used to figure that most grandmas had one.
Here, though, there are a lot more corner stores. When I first arrived, I found one an easy five minute walk away and was amazed to learn that it actually was the far away one. Having grown up in suburbia where the Kroger was an easy five minute drive away and convenience stores are not convenience stores but gas stations that happen to sell a wee bit more than gas, I was blown away by being able to walk to buy milk for my morning cereal if I needed to. (On Saturdays, of course. Weekdays remain a completely different story.)
I'd been warned early on that the corner store, being so convenient, did charge convenience store prices, but as I couldn't find a container of milk for less than $4.90 anywhere I looked, I figured I already so much skin off my nose I wouldn't really notice the extra dollar or two or ten.
Now the hours at my corner store end at 8 pm. (No, I don't know when it opens. Why would I?)
So it was 7:30 and I was on my third straight day of being sick and only just beginning to think that the next day I could go slightly stir crazy (two days usually being sufficent to drive me to distraction gives an indication of the severity of my condition) and that my only edible options included toast, the okay-but-not-as-good brand of cereal, pasta (required a bit more preparation than I felt inclined to give), pasta sauce (tasty, but insufficent as an actual meal), the orange juice that stung my raw little insides, tea and toothpaste. I decided to visit the corner store.It is my general modus operandi to make a thorough sweep of the corner store whenever I go, just in case they've acquired something new and delicious, like chocolate peppermints. (This has really happened. It was quite wonderful.)
Not finding anything terribly new or intriguing, on my second sweep I gathered up the necessities (the good brand of cereal, Milo and an ice cream bar), as well as the apple to counteract the ice cream bar and keep my balanced diet in tact. I also noticed that they had movies for sale.
Now movies for sale were an intriguing option, particularly in light of the impending stir craziness. I'd noticed them once before, but having been less than amazingly impressed by the selection (they were clearly a second-cousin side item at the corner store), had never purchased one. The situation at hand, though, led me peruse them, despite having fulls hands and needing to blow my nose.
I was thrilled by what I discovered: Mamma Mia! Out on DVD! And only $5! Now, I realize that there are many of you who would not purchase Mamma Mia if someone paid you $5 to, but I happen to enjoy beautifully colored musicals set in Greece, and really there are not so many of them. I would also submit that you are not about to face day four of Kleenex and social isolation, and perhaps would think differently if you were.
Not only was there Mamma Mia, though, there were at least three other relatively recently released romantic comedies. Being a Responsible Consumer, though, I decided that buying two movies in one night was quite enough, so settled on one other I hadn't seen, but thought I'd probably have to pay $5 to rent, let alone purchase.
Quite pleased with myself, I marched to the counter, deposited my items and seized the opportunity to blow my nose. The man, whose name I don't know, but which I should, seeing as I see him often enough what with him being my primary cereal provider and all, rang up my necessities and then asked me to fill in a form with my name, address and phone number.
I think I may be commended for realizing immediately what the form was, and responding, I am convinced, exceedingly appropriately. First, I told the man behind me to go ahead as I'd be a minute or two. Second, I decided that actually I didn't really need Mamma Mia after all. Third, I asked how long exactly I got the movies for, just as a point of note. And upon hearing the answer of only one night, I hemmed a bit, because, oh dear, I really wasn't planning on watching the movie tonight and maybe I'd have to come back for it tomorrow. Which really was possibly true, and, might I point out just for the record, was it not brilliant to hand back Mamma Mia before asking the length of rental time? Yes, I thought so, too.
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