Ok, Sunday was just plain weird. Saturday night I got home at 4am (yeah, yeah, Sunday morning, let’s not worry about semantics). I had to leave Sunday morning at 11am to make a 1pm rehearsal 2 hours away (yes, the math adds up). I was feeling very unpleasant, but I knew I *had* to go because I had missed the previous rehearsal and I had no class on Monday or homework due. No excuses.
I am driving through the Chicago area, which is riddled with toll booths. I pull through a automatic toll booth and see the lady attedent just jamming out to her boombox. It makes me smile inside.The arm went up and I split.
The next toll booth, I need to use paper money, so I pull up to the manual booth. The attendent asks me in a crazy hyper morning radio show host voice- “Hey, where did you get your red hair?” (My hair is burgundy with orange bangs.) I thought he was just being hypothetical, but then I noticed he was waiting for an answer. I said in as peppy a voice I must muster- “From a box.” (This is technically untrue; it should be ‘from a jar’.) Then the attendent tilted his head back and howled; not laughter, but like a wolf. The arm went up and I split.
Sunday morning Chicago-land crack people.
Anyway, I get to rehearsal. We have a meeting, then rehearse. At 5pm, I am on my way home. At the first toll booth, the attendent ask me- “Big party?” I must have looked really confused. Then I thought he must have been refering to my drum in the back seat. I thought he thought it was a keg or something. I said- “No, it’s a drum.” He said- “Yeah, I know. Does your band need a singer?” I said- “No we’re only instrumental, a marching band.” He said- “I’ve been singing for 9 years and any people standing behind me will be lucky!” I said in as peppy (not snotty) a voice I must muster- “I bet!” The arm went up and I split.
The next booth, the guy wouldn’t look at me, as if I offended he senses. He grumpily gave me my change. The arm went up and I split.
Sunday evening Chicago-land crack people.
I am shockingly adept at being polite and convincing people I am interested in what they are saying. Sometimes it is a curse. (Don’t take offense at this; this applies mostly to strangers, extended family, little old ladies at church, etc. You know what I mean.) Hint: Listen to what they say and comment or ask about specifics. If you get interrupted, ask them to continue and remind them of where they were in their story. No matter what color your hair is, little old ladies will think you are the best thing in the world. Anyway, I digress.
At 7pm, I make it back to my neighborhood. I decide to stop at Chipotle to pick up burritos for dinner. There are three guys behind the counter. The tortilla warmer guy asks me what I want. He tries to act smooth, but he’s very unsmooth. The toppings guy is an outgoing goob. He said- “Your hair is very red.” (Note: burgundy and red must be the same thing in the minds of men.) I said- “But your hair is also very red.” (It was, carrot-top red.) He said- “Mine is au naturale.” I said- “Mine is not.” He makes a melodramtic fake shocked face and said- “It’s not?” Meanwhile I was trying to get him to finish making my damn dinner. I got to the cash register and am greeted my a grubby hippy. He asked- “Which one is yours?” I said- “The veggie.” He puts his hand up for a high five. Then he said- “I’ll put the other one on the bottom, so that no meat can leak onto your veggie. I hate that.” (I didn’t have the heart to tell him I like meat.) He slipped me a card for free chips and guac. As I was leaving, the guys commented that their behavior is due to them being bored on a Sunday night. Being who I am, I did not say- “Nah, you guys are just using your food service job as a way to chat up eastside girls. Who can blame you?