I must have one of those benign faces, an approachable demeanor, an aura that screams friendly. It's as though the word sucker is emblazoned on my forehead, or across my back, advertising my niceness. Being nice is a curse, let me tell you. I went to the Hilo library yesterday to write. My plan was to sit there for three productive and uninterrupted hours of quiet, with no barking dogs or, "Can you help me with this" husbands. I found a spot near the courtyard and got quickly to work, eyeballs trained intently upon my laptop screen, tick, tick ticking the keyboard. A man arrived to sit in my area at an adjacent table. I didn't notice him at first. I was busy. Engrossed. But the neon of my niceness must have flashed, "Bug me. Irritate me. I won't get mad. I'm NICE!"
"Excuse me," he said. "Excuse me." I looked over to see him sitting there with papers strewn about on the table in front of him. He was a small, thin, ragged man who looked to be in his 40s or 50s, uncombed, grey-streaked, chin-length hair, white stubble and a few teeth missing. He smiled.
"Yes?" I said.
"I was wondering if you could help me. Do you know, um, how do you spell credibility?"
I spelled it. He wrote it down, face inches from his hand as he scratched his pencil along. He sat up straight and looked down at what he'd written.
"Are you sure? That doesn't look right?" He said. This got me a little miffed. If you know so much about it, dude, why the hell are you asking me?
"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's right, but let me spell check it here on my computer just to be sure." I did so. "Yep. That's right."
"Good. OK. Thank you. Thank you so much," he said. A few moments passed.
"Do you know how to spell astro-cartography?"
I rattled off letters like a Scripps champion. Oddly, he did not question my accuracy on this one. The man proceeded to ask about a dozen more words, most of which were common and simple, some he still had the audacity to question. He was having trouble hearing me.
"Was that a 'p' or a 'b,' he'd say, so I was forced to repeat myself and to speak louder and louder, until finally, this being a library and all, I said, "Why don't I just write them down for you."
"That would be great," he said.
Once he'd exhausted his vocabulary list, the man explained to me that he was having cards printed for his, "business."
"Good luck with that," I said, then retrained my focus on the screen and began to type. He did not get the hint. The man rose, walked over and held a form in front of my face. It was the document he planned to submit to Office Max for printing. I took it, looked it over, noticed the words Jesus and Christian (the latter of which I had helped him spell earlier) and astrology, among others. He was putting himself out there as a Christian astrological counselor.
"Do you believe in astology?" he asked. I was surprised by this. I thought he was going to ask me if I believed in God or if I was a Christian or if I'd been saved.
"Well, I don't disbelieve it," I said. That was a bit of a fib.
"Have you ever had your astrological chart done?"
"Yes." That, in fact, is true. I was once presented with a pretty, colorful circle inscribed with all sorts of symbols and images that meant nothing to me, even after it was all explained by a new-age, hippy dippy friend of a friend back in the day. It was the early 80s, but stuff like that doesn't change, right? You're born when you're born so I assume I'm still the same Aries-on-the-cusp, Taurus rising, Pisces sinking or stinking or whatever.
"Well my name is Michael and when I get my business cards, if I see you here, I'll give you one and you can come for a free astrology reading," he said.
"OK, well, thanks," I said.
"Bless you. Have a nice day," he said, "And thanks again for all your help. I'm just so luck I sat next to you."
"Yeah," I said. Lucky you. Needless to say, I didn't get much done.
That afternoon while I was in town, Ron went to the post office to mail a large envelope. When he arrived, there was just one person in front of him, so he made that age-old mistake of thinking that because the line was short, his USPS experience would be a quick one. He described her as Hawaiian and, "enormous." She presented the clerk with a large bundle of Saran-wrapped clothing.
"I can't accept it like this," informed the clerk. "We'll have to put it into a box." So the clerk did so, labeled the box, readied it for transport and said, "That'll be $10.75. The woman handed the clerk her debit card. The clerk ran it through her machine several times, but got nowhere.
"It's being denied," she said.
"It was a debit card," Ron emphasized in the telling, "so that means she didn't have $10.75 in her checking account."
"Hey, I've been there, so I would never judge anyone for that," I said.
"I know, I know," he said. "I'm just saying."
The woman promised to be right back, then lumbered out the door toward the parking lot, no doubt to rummage through her glove box and seat cushions and ashtray and cup holders and along her floor boards. She came back with enough bills and change to complete the transaction, but it took several minutes before she returned.
Today, we stopped into the Sears repair center to pick up a part for our sick weedwacker. It's a tiny piece, plastic, and costs $3.95. The thing won't work without it. They did not have one in stock, so Ron was told that they'd have to order it and that shipping and handling would be $28.00. He decided to wait until he gets to California in a few weeks to see if he can pick the part up there.
I had a similar experience with Amazon's Outlet. I purchased a flash drive. It seemed like a great price - $28 for eight gigs - however the shipping and handling was $18.99. So I changed my mind and canceled the order. I don't get it. These items are tiny. They would fit into a padded envelope and can be sent via USPS for a buck or two tops. It's because we live in Hawaii that shippers and/or merchants feel justified in gouging us. I bought the exact same flash drive today - same brand, size, everything - at Wal-Mart for $25.99. Office Max had one on the shelf too, for $99. Office Max was virtually empty and Wal-Mart was packed.
The park is socked in with vog today, so I am forced to skip my sojourn to the gym. Even indoors, with mere screens on some of the windows, the air can be pretty nasty when the volcano is pumping out gas and the air is still. So I'm eating dark chocolate M&Ms and typing this blog instead, listening to the rain outside. Hey, they're peanut M&Ms, so they're heavier.
A hui hou. Aloha!
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