Tuesday, Sep. 09, 2008

Just watching the lights change

It's Kids Day here at the Herald, and it makes me laugh. When I look around the office, all I see are people wearing red - even the editors. It really makes you feel like part of the collective "hive."

If you ever feel like you're just wasting time, sitting at traffic lights, you haven't sold Kids Day papers. It's for a great cause, but when traffic is sparse, it gets really boring. You just sit there, waiting for the lights to turn red so you can try to sell people special edition newspapers and hope they don't roll up their windows.

This morning, one man cracked his window about an inch, slipping a dollar through. I tried cramming the newspaper into his truck as he refused to roll it down any further. I don't know if he thought I was going to rob him or if he was just used to people sliding his mail through a tiny slot.

Aside from those shenanigans, most people were courteous. Several pedestrians bought copies and an unusual amount of people thought they were buying the regular paper. "I've already read today's paper, but I'll buy another one, deary," an old lady, cute as a button, said to me.

"No, mom, it's a kid paper," her daughter corrected. I think she secretly knew - she just didn't want to make me feel bad.

Speaking of feeling bad - whenever I write a blog mentioning something going on in my life (which is often), my mother calls me up that very night. "I read your blog!" she usually says. "It's sad I have to find out what you're doing through your blog!" she almost always says. Last night, she opened differently. "Your father read your blog at work!" I cracked up. Yes, I explained to her, I'm moving in with Mr. Big.

Don't get me wrong, though. She already knew this was coming, so it wasn't like this came out of nowhere. And most of the time, I decide things late at night, then write about them the next day, and - badda-bing - I get a phone call that evening. It's a strange cycle, but definitely unintentional.

So now I'm recruiting movers to help my things migrate over to Mr. Big's house. After buying new couches, not a lot of hands were instantly raised. I hate the fact that I have accumulated so much crap. You don't think you're a collector until you have to move and realize there's quite a few twigs you could've thrown out of the nest. But my collection of shot glasses? Those I'm keeping.