Tuesday, August 23, 2011

I May Have Lost My Funny Bone, But I Still Got "It."

Dear Snarksters:

It’s true. I have done gone and lost my funny. I don’t where it is, but I’m sure it will return to me shortly. (Please dear God, give it back, NOW.) So for the time being, you’re stuck with just me. Double SIGH. It’s ok though because even though I lost my funny bone, I still got “it.” (Apparently).

"It," you say... what the hell is "it." Duh. You know, that factor that makes you turn heads, get honked at by cars, and be wolf whistled at... that "it," it's still mine. I'm still rocking it. Case in point my bank run in.

I went to the bank yesterday, you know the kind in the grocery store (don’t judge me) with my two kiddos. I was in a hurry, and they were climbing all over me. The teller must have been about 12, cute for his age, but still very young, and giving off a slight creeper vibe. This is the conversation that went down…

Bank Teller(BA): Why hey... hello there. Can I help you? (big broad smile-->why grandma what big teeth you have!)

Me: (Kids climbing all over me like a jungle gym) Uhh yes. I need to—Little Monster put that back—Deposit something. (kids running up my shirt, knocking over candy, dancing in pure evil glee)

BA: (leaning over the counter behind the glass slightly) Oh I can most definitely help you with that. (Actually touches my hand when he takes deposit slip and check)

Me: (recoiling in disgust) Great.

BA: So, how is your day going? (Again with the scary smile and horse teeth)

Me: (Crybaby pulling my hair, Little Monster doing pirouettes in the isle) Uh ok I guess.

BA: Do you come to this branch often? (OMG, YES he did say that I swear)

Me: No, not really. (This is the longest deposit transaction ever)

BA: Oh, well you should, I haven’t seen you here before. (Wow, super cheesy)

Me: Well, I don’t really come here. I just needed a few things at the store. (talking really fast because that should end the pain pretty fast)

BA: Well (dramatic pause) you should come here more often, I’ll be more than happy to help you. *wink* (holy shit, did that guy just wink at me)

Me: Uhh… are you done with my transaction yet?

BA: (completely ignoring me) So are you babysitting those kids?

Me: Nope these are mine and MY HUSBAND’S. (Extra EMPHASIS and the husband part)

BA: (apparently not phased) You have kids? You are way too young to have two kids. (This shmuck is actually undressing me with his 12 year old eyes!)

Me: (super sarcastic) Oh that’s right because these children right here don’t actually exist.

BA: Hahaha, you are just so funny. So, Rebecca (said somewhat intimately) (holy shit he used my first name, WTF), when’s the next time you’ll think you’ll come to this branch? I work just about every day.

Me: (said pretty much in a fuck you voice) I’m pretty sure this is the last time.

BA: (genuine disappointment) Well that’s too bad. I’ll be disappointed not to see you again. (hands me my transaction receipt)

Me: (smugly) Then let the disappointment abound. I gotta go now.

BA: (panicked and insistent) Well wait, take my card. My number’s on there.

Me: No, I don’t think so. (scooping up the kids, surveying the damage left in their wake)

BA: (practically yelling through the glass) Come back again, ok. Your kids are really cute. (What the fuck man, what the fuck)

Me: (turns around, points finger at glass) Umm that’s a really weird thing to say, but thanks. Good bye! (stomps out of store with kids, who are now both in tears.)

This weird conglomeration of emotion flooded me as I left the store with the little ones… the first one was total gratification followed by an uncomfortable awkwardness and total creep out that the teller told me my children were cute, followed by a wave of flattery. In fact today I’m still not exactly sure how I feel about the whole incident. I should add it’s been about ohh 7 years since I’ve been hit on. Mostly because the phubster can emit a certain air of…. What’s the phrase, oh yeah “don’t look at me, my woman or my family because I’ll fuck you up,” when he’s around, and therefore most men, women, small children and dogs walk on the other side of the street. (Once you get to know him, he’s really a softie, way down deep, I SWEAR). So in a way it was nice, and then again it was super uncomfortable at the same time.

This was followed up by a preschool orientation meeting where the class bully from the Little Monster’s 3 year old class was described by her parents as a natural born leader with slight headstrong tendencies. She is also apparently a master orator who through the simple inflection of her little voice can bewitch all the other children to do her bidding.


This little girl is a TYRANT. She has a nasty temper, has been known to hit her fellow students, lay down in the middle of the floor and cry, say nasty things to any adult who dares to get in her way, and have a full blown meltdown at the mere mention of having to cut something with scissors. Natural born leader she is not. AND to top it all off her father went on this LOOONNNNGGGG rant followed by 20 questions (not even kidding here) about how closely the kids are monitored and if they ever share snacks, food, drinks, crayons, scissors, paper, toys, tissues, etc, because his daughter was sick, a lot, last year. PUH-LEASE. HELLO there, FOUR YEAR OLDS. They share EVERYTHING. EVERYTHING. And don’t think your precious bundle of natural leadership isn’t the one that doesn’t instigate the sharing of water, snacks, etc. Some parents really have blinders on when it comes to their kids.

It was so annoying and irritating that I spent a large part of the time compulsively coughing every time they spoke. This may or may not have caused some other parents to break into muffled giggles, and to also effectively have me moved away from the Tyrant’s family. Just like High School, all over again…

You know what they say, once a rabble-rouser, always a rabble-rouser.

A couple lessons learned:

1. I must find a purse sized tazer for zapping weirdos at the bank and snobby parents

2. I should try to make a better impression on my child’s teacher

3. Scratch 2, being the class clown has and will always be more fun

So, been hit on in a creepy yet erriely satisfying way? Had it up to your eyeballs in self induldent parents. Let me hear all about it…….. besides I’ve got nothing better to do until my funny comes back.