The oddness that was my week:
I work in a large office building with the standard Men’s and Women’s community bathrooms on each floor.
Men’s, and Women’s. Two bathrooms. One for each sex.
The other morning I grabbed the key and crossed the hallway to the Women’s room. Just as I got there a man (I think he was Mennonite), held the door for me as he exited.
He said, ‘It’s ok, my wife is just doing her hair.’
With trepidation and a nervous smile, I enter to find two Mennonite women in the restroom: his wife fixing her hair, and her attendant.
And no more men, thank goodness.
When I posted this on FB, most of my friends commented how they wanted an attendant. Umm sure, I want one, too. But can we not have men in the Women’s bathroom?
I’ve wanted a Droid phone for a while, and Friday I finally got one! Yippee!! I activated it, added two apps, and then tried to back up my numbers.
The screen DIED.
Not the battery (still had 80% power) – the SCREEN. I’d had it for ONE HOUR.
Ok, obviously I got a lemon, time to go trade it in for a good one. My Friday night: I drive down to the Verizon store, and (another) hour and a half later walked out with a second brand new Droid X. (BTW – these were not refurbished “pre-owned” phones.)
IT CAME WITH A VIRUS INSTALLED.
Oh, that’s NOT the worst… Before I had even left the store, the phone or the virus sent every text message I. ever. sent. Hundreds of them, years old.
To old ex-boyfriends and friends’ crazy girlfriends.Ya, that was great.
It also posted every old tweet and status post I’ve ever sent. YEARS OLD. I lost friends and followers.
While I was there, getting the new phone, the guy next to me was turning his Droid X in for the third time, for a whole host of other problems.
Lots of people, many whom I hadn’t talked to in ages, started texting me back or calling me.
Got a Droid? Text me and get the virus!
‘Member how I was all addicted to the Droid? I’m not anymore. In fact, I’m pretty frustrated with technology as a whole right now. Except my computer and this blog. At this moment.
And finally, the third bit of oddness…
Scene: Weekly Meditation Class, approximately 40 seated students, soft music plays in the background.
Substitute Instructor, a kindly young Ananda monk: After brief introductions, he is ready to being. He asks if, during the meditation, everyone in the group is ok with being filmed.
I knew this was coming.
My state of mind: I detest being on camera. Once too often I’ve allowed myself to be included in various meditation group, or individual interview videos. I’ve never liked it, but felt obligated to do so for one reason or another. I’m over it.
Me, in response to instructor: *raises hand*
Substitute Instructor/kindly monk: “Yes?”
Me: “I can’t be on camera, I’m in the witness protection program.”
Substitute Instructor/kindly monk: *mouth drops wide open* Half the room is now laughing out loud. (They probably know me, the other half of the room, maybe not so much.)
Substitute Instructor/kindly monk: All wide-eyed and serious, he asks, “Really??!”
Me: Smiling, chuckling, “No. I wouldn’t be able say that, if it was true.” Room, still laughing.
Substitute Instructor/kindly monk: Looking relieved, starts laughing, too.
Me, now feeling sheepish, offers to move to the corner to be off camera. (Several others than piped up they didn’t want to be filmed either. No camera.)
My friend Rick, whom I’ve known for about eight years, seated next to me: “Really? Are you in the Witness Protection Program?!”
Yes, and you’re the only one I’m telling.
Due to how weird my week has been, I’m joining the Witness Protection Program. I’m going to live with the Mennonites because I don’t think they use cell phones. Also, I’ll get an attendant.