So, I was in the restroom the other day. But wait! That’s not all!
While I was in my stall, I overheard a pair of women having a conversation at the sinks. It went like so:
Loud Woman: Oh my GOD. These shoes are LITERALLY killing my feet!
(Nothing like a figurative literal to catch my eavesdropping ears!)
Sympathetic Woman: Oh nooo! What’s wrong with them??
LW: I’m not sure! I’m hoping it’s just that I’m not used to flats, because I wear heels all the time.
LW: Or maybe it’s just because they’re new and I’ll get used to them. Ouch.
SW: What part of your feet hurts?
LW: My toes. My toes feel really cramped.
SW: Ohh, that’s the worst. Where’d you buy them?
LW: Online. I’m a size 10 but they only had up to size 9, so I got that. They fit just fine–they just really hurt! Ah well.
Diagnosis: An over-liberal interpretation of “fit”!
I also had the good fortune to endure a thirsty mom at the next table during lunch. The cashier did not hand her a cup for her soda because you are supposed to grab your own (they are RIGHT THERE). This thirsty mom spent the whole meal making smacking sounds and dry coughs and HINTING to her husband and teenaged sons to get her a cup, because she was afraid of the cashier. Not sure what the cashier would have done to her from the other side of a counter in the middle of the lunchtime rush. She kept shooting sour looks at the cashier, at the husband, at her sons’ bottled drinks. None of them took a hint. At least she got her husband to double check that she’d would be getting a quesadilla with chicken and cheese and NO OTHER STUFF in it, though the fact that her family all got hotsauce for their own meals seemed to trouble her.