The Pathetic Proposer

The other day, I answered the phone, which is always a risky ordeal as you never know what you are going to get (see The Danger of the Telephone). 

This phone call was from a very concerned man. He wanted to know about the exchange or return policy we had on our jewelry. 

I told him that we offer a seven day warranty on most things in the store to allow our customers time to take the item home and then test it out to make sure it is working properly, but as jewelry is a fairly straightforward you-see-what-you-get kind of deal, we do not usually offer any sort of return or exchange policy. This is partially due to the fact that people are often shifty creatures and there have been a certain number of people who have bought diamond jewelry from our pawn shop, swapped out the genuine diamonds for cubic zirconium, and then tried to return the fake diamonds under the pretense that they were still real. Similar idiots have swapped out the real diamonds we sold them for fake ones and then claimed that we sold them artificial diamonds. It's a crazy world we live in--mostly due to staggering number of the fools who live in it.

After explaining that we are not able to return jewelry, I assured the man that all of our diamonds were genuine and we'd be happy to answer any questions he had about any specific piece of jewelry. The man, however, was not concerned about being scammed into buying fake diamonds. He was worried that he would be stuck with an expensive engagement ring with no way of getting his money back if his desired fiancée turned down his proposal. When he explained this, his voice was shaking and the terror and vulnerability in his voice were prominent. 

Now, I like to think that when it comes to the point that I am going to ask for a woman's hand in marriage that I will be very certain that she will answer in the affirmative. I would never propose if I wasn't positive that she would say "yes" and I think most men are that same way--if we are accurate in our assumptions or not is another story that is neither here nor their. My point is that why would anyone buy an engagement ring if they weren't sure it would be accepted?

It was ridiculous, pathetic, and heartbreaking all at the same time. It makes me wonder what kind of relationship this man had with this woman. I'd also like to know if he ever proposed and whether or not she accepted. I should have given him my phone number so he could have given me an update.

"It's pronounced 'ook-uh-lay-lee'."

There was on point when I was standing behind the counter and a woman approached. She was craning her neck at the various instruments we had hanging from the wall and I offered my assistance.

The woman accepted my offer of help and asked a general question about the "tiny guitars".

I understand that guitars come in various sizes, but this woman mistook our mandolin, violins, and ukuleles for miniature guitars. I was disgusted.

I explained what each was, and when I got to telling her that two of the "tiny guitars" were actually ukuleles she promptly corrected my pronunciation. "It's pronounced 'ook-uh-lay-lee'  not "you-kuh-lay-lee'" she said with obvious delight on her face for being able to provide such information.

I looked at the woman and wished I could have responded that she was an idiot and that I would continue to pronounce the name of the instrument the same way as I had been, not because I refused to believe her, but because I refused to trust the supposed wisdom of someone who was stupid enough to mistake mandolins, violins, and ukuleles for "tiny guitars", especially when they also try to correct someone of how to pronounce something when they have no idea what it looks like.

I probably wouldn't have been so angry at her if she hadn't been so snobby about it. But, as she was very obnoxious and outspoken about this thing she obviously had no knowledge of, I let the hatred in my face show.

After providing me with this pronunciation lesson, the woman pointed to one of the ukuleles and asked "does it sound like a guitar?"

I stared at her for a moment as shocked loathing consumed my body. She had no idea what a ukulele looked like and had no idea what it sounded like but she corrected me on how to pronounce it? How does something like that happen?

Once I had shaken myself out of my stupor, I told her that no, it did not sound like a guitar. She responded that it looked pretty much the same. I assured her that it sounded distinctly different. I also pointed out the drastic difference in size, the differing body shapes, and that ukuleles only had four strings instead of six. We continued to have a small discussion about the instruments and I tried my hardest to not say "ukulele" because I didn't want to say it her way but I didn't want to force her to correct my pronunciation again. If she would have, I would have been very rude, and I try ever so hard to be polite.

She accepted the obvious facts I provided and decided to buy one of the ukuleles.

When I returned home for the evening, I looked up the correct pronunciation of ukulele on the Internet, and I was very unhappy to discover that the woman was right. Native Hawaiians pronounce it as she had claimed--"ook-uh-lay-lee"--but this random tidbit of trivia she possessed does not remove the ridiculousness of her broader ignorance and unearned audacity. As for me, I will continue to pronounce ukulele incorrectly to spite this obnoxious woman. I hope she shudders every time I say "you-kuh-lay-lee" and she grows ever more suspicious that she has some kind of terminal illness.

Paradise

At the pawn shop, there is a weekly meeting which all employees are meant to attend each Monday evening. During this meeting we discuss new policies that are being instituted or protocols that need to be rediscussed or various other things. Just before Christmas, the head manager of the store asked us what our favorite candies were and then had each of us answer. I thought this meant she was going to give each of us our favorite candy as a Christmas gift, but I was wrong--which was disappointing as I love candy but am often too cheap to buy myself any.

I now realize what she was doing. Even though there are roughly a dozen employees at the pawn shop and we all have a fairly good rapport, she was attempting to create a more light-hearted tone for the meeting by having everyone participate in an ice-breaker-type game.

Such questions aren't presented each week, but this past week we were all asked to respond with our idea of paradise or some place we would really like to go. As it is the dead of winter, many answers centered on locations with warm climates--Florida, The Bahamas, Texas. I, however, took a different route. I responded that my idea of paradise was "anytime and anyplace I don't have to work."

The head boss made a surprised noise and my fellow employees let out awkward laughs.

My answer was meant to be funny, but I was also serious. I don't hate my job, but I definitely don't love it, and even if it is a mostly enjoyable job, it's not my idea of a great career. This is definitely just a temporary gig for me and I have been very upfront about it, just usually in a more tactful manner.

Anyway, to try and calm everyone down, I responded that I didn't have anything against my job but that I just really liked being lazy. I mean, who wants to work?

The head manager laughed and then said she would only let me get away with that answer since she was "pretty sure" that I "kind of like" my job.

I responded, "Yeah. It's okay."

I didn't mean to say that. It just popped out and I know how it must have sounded, but it was the truth. My boss made the same shocked noise again and there was another round of nervous laughter.

We then moved on to other peoples' ideas of paradise.

Ironically, a few days after this meeting, a huge snow storm was expected. I was really excited about this at first but then realized that since I was no longer a student that snow meant nothing as I would still have to come to work. What a sad moment that was in my miserable life. But all is now well. The storm was actually so bad that we closed early the night that it hit and then were closed the following day. Snow days do still exist for those with full-time employment. I actually spent the night with a small group of friends and then spent the day doing nothing productive (other than digging out my car and the cars of my friends). I kept thinking to myself how I should have been at work and then feeling very elated that I wasn't. I didn't care that I wasn't making money. I was in my own personal paradise.