A tiara, teens in hoodies, and waiting in line at Walmart.

Good evening

You know, I am at a point in my life where, yes, I will pay a little more for American made and yes, I will pay a little more for good customer service.  

So why I made three trips to Walmart in the last week is beyond me.  That said, before I get to the main part of today's blog, I have to make a point about the minimum wage.  Much has been made about should it be raised (yes) should it be $15 an hour (probably not quite that high) and all that.  I have some thoughts I'd like to share, and this is pretty much based on my experience during two trips into the Walmart yesterday afternoon.

When I entered the building the first time, there were two young men in hoodies (it was warm, not as warm as it's been, but certainly NOT "wear your black hoodie up over your head like a gangster when you're actually a 17 year old white kid from Waukesha" cool.) standing outside the building. They were cart collectors. They stood right outside that half door where the cart collectors push the carts from the parking lot. The door was closed. I figured they were waiting for someone to come open it. No big deal.

I did my shopping, took me about 50 minutes.  When I left the building, the same hoodies where standing there, still leaning on the same carts (I know this because the amount of carts inside the building was the same or less as when I entered, and the amount of carts they were leaning on were the same.)  still chatting with each other. I stopped and stared at them  Why?  Because I am old enough now where I don't give a fuzzy fig whether or not idiot slacker teens in hoodies who have standing there for almost an hour doing NOTHING notice that I'm staring at them.  I even listened to them chat.  Apparently one hoodie was training the other.  To do...

Anyway, I had to go back into the store.  I forgot one thing and it was the thing I went to Walmart to get in the first place.  I walked back to the doors where the hoodies were STILL chatting away.  (Door was still closed. Now, the button to open the door was just inside the main entrance, some thirty feet away from the hoodies.)

I got my items and also  picked up a couple gift cards.  The cashier who helped me was a trainee.  His name is Taron.  I mention this because this young man was splendid.  He was clearly nervous.  His trainer, a young lady who's name I did not get, walked him through the first gift card. He tried to make eye contact with me and chat me up, which was probably difficult for him since on the outside the two of us have very little in common.  He got the gift cards done and he smiled and thanked me.  I told him starting a job was hard but that he would get it. He appreciated that.  

And then I went back outside  (some ten to fifteen minutes after I reentered the store) and the hoodies were still there, but trainer hoodie was calling someone on his walkie talkie to open the door.

Yes, the two  young men, both in pretty good physical condition, were unable to walk 30 feet to press a button, so instead they stood outside chatting and doing nothing for an hour or more.

Now, I agree the minimum wage should be raised.  No one who works a full time job (40 hrs or more)  should be living under the poverty line.  I understand that raising the wage will hurt smaller companies. (Not Walmart.) I've suggested that we base minimum wage on the size of the company (the parent company, so Walmart can't go and become a string of franchises and plead that it's a small business.)  If your brand name/parent company employees X you have to pay Y per hour.  I also think we need to raise the wage based on education. I suggested making the wage graduated based on age, but Hubby pointed out that everyone would just hire high school kids because they are cheaper. So basing the wage on education would keep employers from simply hiring high school kids and letting kids go once they're 18.  Also, it would possibly encourage more kids to stay in school. (I'm an employment analyst.  One thing people need in this world is a high school diploma. If you don't have one, get one for the love of all that is holy.)

The two hoodies do not deserve $15 an hour. No one who does their job that way does.  But Taron does.  I realize in the end it'll all wash out the way it should, probably.  Maybe. Probably not. the hoodies will have Daddy pay for everything and they'll continue to be hoodies their whole lives, just chatting when others are working. Taron, however, will probably work at the Walmart forever. I hope not.

BUT, you did not come here to read about my opinions on minimum wage.  No, instead I'll tell you about my OTHER trip to Walmart.  This time to return something.

Yes, I know.  I bought something at Walmart that I didn't like, couldn't eat and decided to return. Don't even remember what it was.

Got in line at about 5:40 in the afternoon.  I make this point because hubby and I were going to go to a 7 PM movie and I figured I had plenty of time to return a couple things to a couple places.



And I would have had the time, had it not been for the old man and the tiara. 

See there was this older, fluffy lady in a scooter.  Normally I wouldn't have noticed her, except she was wearing a tiara.  And not a plastic one either, this one, while probably not real, was pretty and looked like it cost something.

Which means she was wearing it seriously.

I've worn tiaras. I've been called "Princess," and I say that nickname with all the sarcasm I can muster.  Sure, yeah, I'm a princess.
Right.

But I don't take any of it seriously.  And yet, here was this lady...in sweats I might ad, wearing her tiara without it being a joke. This was part of her ensemble, like earrings or shoes.  

There are some signs that you can watch for if you're in a rush and you need to stand in a line but you're not sure if the person in front of you is going to take a long time or not. If someone has more than one child with them, if they are wearing cartoon character lounge pants and they are over the age of 18, and...IF THEY ARE WEARING A TIARA ANYWHERE...then yes. They are going to take a long time.

Had I not had to stand in a long line behind her while she made MULTIPLE RETURN TRANSACTIONS  (some for cash and some for credit...oh yes, it was fun to watch the 90 year old guy on the other side of the counter try and keep up.) I wouldn't be writing about it.  But I did. I spent twenty solid minutes waiting, along with a large collection of the Walmart faithful. all of whom were returning something...and many of those items not only didn't have tags....many of them looked very much USED.  But whatever.

On our way to Walmart, but we left our tiaras at home.
Have to go get them.

So this woman gets to her final transaction, this time it's a credit return.  She needs to sign the pin pad. Now, she's sitting in her scooter, parallel to the counter.  The pin pad is about ten inches too high for her, from her seated position, to sign.

I know she's alone. I know she's using a Walmart scooter. Therefore I know she's walked at least 25 feet from her car to the store. And if she can walk 25 feet then she can stand up and sign the pin pad.

Nope.

No, instead she took her own sweet time and tried to parallel part CLOSER to the pin pad.  This involved a lot of beeping. Beep, backward two inches.  Forward two inches. Beep, backward two inches. Hit the counter.  Beep forward three inches.  Beep backward two inches.

It didn't take forever. I mean, forever is forever, and clearly I'm here, sitting at my desk and not still waiting in line.  So no, it didn't take forever,   But by this time and was almost 6. I had been in this line of huddled masses for nearly twenty minutes.  Normally I would have just come back another day, but I was on a quest to return all my returns and I'd invested time in this line and this return was going to happen!

The fifteen people in front of me  (the people in this line looked like some kind of triage area in an ER. Just about everyone had a cast or a sling or a head bandage...I felt left out.) all groaned every time this woman tried to manuever again.  FINALLY the 90 year old man, who had been watching the clock and announcing to no one in particular that he was DONE at 6 and he WAS NOT STAYING LATE found some kind of mobile pin pan for her to sign. Where was THAT five minutes ago when she started trying to get closer to the counter?

Finally done with all of her returns, Tiara Lady revved up her scooter and drove off, nearly running over the pillows the couple behind her were going to return.

Not that tire tracks were going to make those pillows look worse. I don't think "new" pillows could look worse.

So from now on, the rule is if I buy it at Walmart, and I don't like it, I'm not returning it. I'll just give it to Goodwill.  They have shorter lines.

As for the movie, yes, we did get there on time. Barely.  (I had two other stops I had to make.)  What did we see?

I don't even remember.

Don't you just love bright shiny new book covers?

(This is today's post from my writer's blog It's Just a Writer's World.  Thought I'd share this with you all as well!)


Good afternoon!

It's been some time, I realize I'm woefully behind my blogging these days.  What can I say?  I took my own advice and started writing.  A little.

The last couple weeks have been dedicated to making some BIG changes in my writing life. Not the least of which is this:

If you are reading this blog at It's A Writer's World! please stop. That page was hacked two years ago and chances are you're seeing more spam and weird images than you're seeing actual content from me.  Please move over to It's Just a Writer's World! where I have freshened things up big time and best yet...hasn't been hacked!

When you get to It's JUST a Writer's World you'll notice something is super different on the right hand side of the page.  Yes indeedy.  I updated and upgraded my book covers!  Well, to be totally honest, my friend and fellow author (Although she's a true genius with the romance novels, you should check her out!) Author Kelly Moran gave me several pointers recently and then created my new covers for most of my books because, as she put it, (The books that are in a series should LOOK like they're in a series!)

I could NOT agree more!

You'll also notice THREE new books!  WHOOT !  No, I haven't been writing THAT MUCH, but  again Kelly Moran assembled all three of the Rock Harbor romantic suspense novels into one awesome downloadable books.  (All of my books are available in print and where ever you buy e-books.  Check your favorite e-book store!) 

Then, Ms. Moran created a new, and very awesome cover for my BRAND NEW Nora Hill Novel  Check out Nora's FIRST novel!
(which came out last November, but as I said, I'm a bit behind things.)  You may see different covers for book and e-book, but never fear, Createspace is just a tiny bit behind.

Finally, we have assembled into one book or e-book, all three  Rock Harbor novellas. I'm super excited about this because I actually helped in this process of this project!  I've been saying for a long time that I was going to put these three short, sweet love stories  (REALLY can't call them all romances, sorry.) into one volume and I finally have, with a cover, thanks to my friend Kelly!


I know all the links take you to my amazon author page.  Don't fret!  All the links you could want when it comes to finding me on the web are up there in the top right hand corner.  Oh, and again, all of my books are sold in print on Amazon, Barnes and Noble and on the Createspace book store!  (PSST!  If you really want to help an indie author out, buy your print books at Createspace.  Book prices are the same as anywhere else online, but the author gets roughly 100% more in royalties than on Amazon.)


So yes, I've been busy with the writing...but now I should probably go and actually, you know, RIGHT!  Meanwhile, I hope to see you all at the Waukesha Farmer's Market in Waukesha, WI this SATURDAY (July 30) from 8-1.  I'll be there signing and selling my books and just generally hanging out and having a great time!  Special Market pricing on all print books!  10% off ALL BOOKS Before 10 AM! 

Sarah thinks about offering couples therapy after a Cardinal game.

Aren't we cute?

Good afternoon!

As many of you know, Hubby and I went to St. Louis this past weekend to see Peaches and Junior.  We had a great time and I really wanted to just pack Peaches in a suitcase and bring her home because I miss her, but for some reason she wanted to stay there.  (Probably some dumb reason like she LOVES Junior or something.  Whatever.)

Anyway, we did a couple of touristy things:  We went up into the St. Louis Arch. Yes, you can go all the way up to the top and look out over St. Louis on one side and some parts of Illinois on the other.  Some people will say they wouldn't do that because of the heights. I'm here to tell you the HEIGHT is not the scariest part of the St. Louis Arch.  It's GETTING TO THE TOP that's...unpleasant.

First of all, you do a lot of walking, A LOT OF WALKING, to get to the place where you buy tickets. Then you do a lot more walking to get to the place that's actually the arch.  Fun fact, you can buy tickets at the arch, you don't have to buy tickets ahead or buy them at the old courthouse, like we were instructed.  You can just walk up to a booth in the shadow of the arch and buy tickets.  A travel tip from me to you.

Once inside the tower (and you can pick, north or south, not that it matters) you walk some more...thing time down. Down, down, down until you're 50 feet underground.  

That's the first thing they tell you once the tour starts:  You're 50 feet underground.  I didn't hear much after that.  My brain was trying not to implode with the idea that I was going to die, buried beneath 5 stories of dirt under a National Monument.

But then that's when it gets really creepy. In  order to go from 50 feet underground to 630 feet in the air, you have two choices:  Stairs or the tram.

Well, hey, stairs.....no.  They don't actually let you take the stairs.  Nope, we are in modern times now
my friend, we take the tram.

This, but with four other people.

The TRAM is a tiny egg (Like in "Mork and Mindy," Mork's egg) that they cram 5 people into and then shut a door. There is no natural light. 

For those of us who do not care for tiny spaces (and that would be me) this is something akin to torture.  

Now, Junior made a point. He said, "Well, it's four minutes up and three minutes down."

I asked why a shorter ride down.

He said, "Because, gravity."

Yep, I was pretty sure I was going to die in a tiny egg flying down from 630 feet in the air.

I'm not afraid of heights and I love roller coasters. But with roller coasters, you can see where you're going.  In  the egg all you could see was the faces of the people jammed in there with you.

Obviously I survived, and I did really enjoy the arch once we were at the top.  But, I'm pretty sure I'm good now. I can check that box and move on to something else.

But THAT'S not why I'm writing the blog.

Nope, on Saturday Hubby and I took Peaches and Junior to a St. Louis Cardinals Baseball game.

The stadium is beautiful, the people are nice and the home team won.  It wasn't even that hot.  For all the times Peaches has said how hot and humid it is down there, I have to say, the weather wasn't terrible.  Of course, today I believe it's something like 100 degrees, but Saturday was nice.

But I'm not even writing today to tell you about the game. I'm writing to tell you about what happened on the sidewalk AFTER THE GAME.

It's a true, "It can only happen to Sarah" moment.

We were leaving the stadium along with about 44000 of our newest friends.  The downtown area was already busy so I held on to Hubby's hand as we made our way along the sidewalks. We had several blocks to walk,   I didn't want to lose my group.

A lot of the people rode down to the game in tour buses so by the time we'd gone a few blocks, the crowd had thinned and I was able to walk next to Hubby.  Still held on to his hand, but he wasn't leading (dragging) me so much as we were strolling along, following Peaches and Junior back to the car.  

That's when it happened.

This guy, just a normal looking guy, sidles up next to me. He's probably 30 but he looks like a frat boy.  He's just walking next to me, no big deal.  Then he says, "I'm glad to see you're happy in your relationship."

I slowed down and looked at him.  Next to him was a woman, about his age, somewhere in that 25-30 range.  From the expression on her face, I was guessing they were together, but she was less than happy with him.   Clearly, one of them was the designated non drinker and one of them drank for two.

"Yeah, I'm really happy for you guys."

This time I noted Mr. Frat Boy was slurring his words big time.

Ok, I thought, I'll play along.  "Yes, we are happy.  Been together a long time."

"Yeah, my old lady is pissed at me for something."

Gee, wonder why.  Getting hammered and talking to strangers about your relationship doesn't strike me as something she'd like.  Maybe calling her old isn't sitting well with her either.

"So yeah, it's nice to see someone's happy."

"Get in the bus!"

Hubby and I tried very hard not to laugh.

Frat guy said something else, but the only other thing I heard was, "GET. ON. THE. BUS."


They peeled off the flow of people and got onto a bus. I sort of wish I could have continued that conversation.  There's so much I would love to have told him, you know, to help him be happy in his relationship. Simple things like, 

1)  Don't get falling down drunk in public.
2) If you do get falling down drunk in public, don't talk to anyone, just be quiet and go home.
3) For the love of God if you get falling down drunk in public and CAN'T be quiet, do NOT try to strike up a conversation with a BLOGGER about how bad your relationship is when your lady love is standing right there trying to make sure you don't fall down and get trampled before you get to the bus.

I would have told him that.

Gee, I wonder if she's still mad at him.

I probably should have told him to buy her flowers in the morning.

Really, Kohls cashier? REALLY?

Good morning!

It isn't often lately that I produce two blogs in the same weekend, but I've just returned from a shopping trip to Kohls (my first in quite some time, I paid off my card three months ago and have used great restraint in not using.  But a girl's got her limit!) and I have to share this true, honest, can't even make it up, IT CAN ONLY HAPPEN TO SARAH moment.

As most of you know, I've long opined about how retail stores who sell both regular size women's and fluffy women's clothing often short change the fluffy department.  (the exception to this rule is Christopher and Banks, who are so even, they created a whole store for fluffy girls, CJ BANKS.  Yes, I paid my card off there as well...so it's about time I go and see what's new, right?) Kohls is not an exception. There are probably a dozen fixures in the plus department compared to four city blocks of clothing dedicated to the unfluffy.

I've learned to live with it. I've learned that even if I see a super cute Sonoma (my favorite brand of all brands) top in the unfluffy department, chances are that it won't be available in my size.  I just learn to live with it and I don't complain....often.

Which brings me to this morning.  I was on my own, with Hubby out of town at a family reunion and Skippy in Nashville with friends and Peaches and Junior....living far away.  (Sniffle.)  So I had a lovely breakfast at Denny's, which I never go to unless I'm in Madison with writing partner Linda.  After a delightful veggie egg white omelet (see, it's not like I eat fluffy.  I just AM fluffy.) I crossed the parking lot to Kohl's.  After about forty minutes of shopping I headed up to the counter with my
selections.

The cashier was a decidedly unfluffy lady.  I don't hold that against her. I just don't want to hear any grunting noises when she has to hoist my clothes across the scanner because they're so incredibly huge.  Believe it or not, I have heard just such a grunt.  

She picked up a top I'd found on the super clearance rack. (It was four bucks down from forty and it was my size.  I may not love how it looks on me, but I'm taking it home because a good deal is a good deal.)  She held it up and said, "Wow, that's a really pretty color." (It was black and sort of an aqua blue stripe.)

"Yes, I love that color," says I.

"I wish we had this color over on our side," says she.  "We don't have this pretty color over there.  She waves to the sea of clothing fixtures dedicated to the undersized.

"I say that all the time about women's. There are so many things in misses that I wish would be over in women's," says I, trying to express my frustration at the fact Kohl's simply underserves those with curves.

"Oh don't even start with that," says she.  

Let's read that again.

The size four who is supposed to be dedicated to serving the customer,  me, just said what?

"Oh don't even start with that."

I'm expressing a serious, actual complaint about the women's department and she's telling me to stop complaining?

I'm sorry, WHAT NOW?

I sort of expected to be treated like a person.
Is that too great to expect?

Let's review a FACT:  52%  of ALL US WOMEN purchase plus sized clothes.  

Kohls plus sized department is roughly 15%  the size of  the misses department.

And this skinny....(insert here word that rhymes with "snitch")...is telling me not to gripe about it?

Oh, but it gets better. You all know what they do at Kohls when they're done ringing you up, right?  They ask you to fill out on online survey. Only this woman, this MARY W. told me she wanted a "very satisfied" rating and then she told me to be sure to mention her name.

Check them out online or in your local shopping mall.

Okay, well, I'm not filling out the survey, because I doubt that would do a bit of good. Besides, I'm not one to give a negative review when I've never given a positive one. I like to be consistent.  But I will say this, Kohls, if this is the attitude you as a corporation have about plus sized women, then guess what?  I'm going to take my shopping dollar completely over to CJ Banks. Sure, their prices are higher, but so is their dedication to customer service and kindness.

"Let's get weird," he says. And then this happened.

Good evening all!

You know, the kids are all but moved out (well, okay, Skippy may never move, but other than grunting at me on his way to work and grunting at me on his way back from work, I don't see him much) and hubby and I are getting older. 

Peaches and Skippy

We're not chasing around to kids' stuff anymore.  The closest thing we come to that now is we ordered pizza from Toppers the other night and Skippy delivered it to us.  Hubby and I are sort of in that space in time where the kids are independent but don't have kids of their own so they still think they know everything and don't need us.

Peaches and her fiancee, Junior

Aren't they still cute?

Anyway, without the kids needing stuff from us, we have this huge gap in our lives.  I mean, when you dedicate your life to raising children, you go all in, right?  Every ounce of energy, every dime you have goes to them.  You drive car pool, you buy shoes, you keep cheese pizza in the freezer because you never know when an army of kids are going to camp out on your couch and they'll need cheese pizza. You sweat, you pray, you do everything you possibly can to get them on the right path.  You live through tattoos, piercings, broken hearts, calls from teachers, school trips, sports injuries, and drama with friends.  You endure slammed doors, loud music, filthy bathrooms, demands for pets, clothing, rides, money.  (Oh yes, you parents of toddlers, you parents of junior high kids, it gets much, much, much worse...LOL) And you know what?  Deep down in a place you probably don't even realize is there, you love it.  You say things like, "I can't wait until there's peace and quiet in this house!" But you know you don't mean it.

Now since Hubby and I aren't in the "grandparent" space yet...and won't be for a while...a long while...we have to find ways to amuse ourselves. Which is what brings me to the events of last night.

As you all know, I have a fit bit and that thing demands to be walked every darn day.  And I have to do 12000 steps instead of the normal 10K because it takes me that many steps to get to five miles, the daily recommended amount of steps.  (Because I'm a dainty, dainty princess who takes tiny steps.)

By the time Hubby gets home in the late afternoon, we both realize we're woefully short of our steps goal, and there's become a go to cure for that:  Walking to Starbucks!

Our closest Starbucks is 1.2 miles from our front door.  It's a pleasant 25 minute walk over undulating sidewalks.  The route there never varies:  Out the front door, turn right, up the hill, walk  the main road to 'Bucks.  

Then we sit and I have an unsweetened iced tea, because I'm not going to load up on calories after I've walked. That' makes the walk pointless. Besides, when I'm hobbling into 'Bucks I'm sweaty and I tend to chug my tea. I've tried chugging a frappucino. It gives me an ice cream headache.

Hubby likes what is called a "Pink Drink."   It's not bad.  I like the strawberries. But come on...a pink drink?  I have pink hair and

I'm thinking, "this might be too much pink."  

Anyway, once we've finished our beverages, it's time to walk back and that's when we have several choices about our route.  Although, if I'm being honest, we typically go one route back.

Last night, however, we had the usual discussion about the route back and Hubby said, "Washington?" indicating the street we normally take back.  I said, "I suppose."

"Well," says he, "We could get weird."

"Oh sure, let's get weird," says I, feeling remarkably not crippled.  My right foot usually craps out on out me on the trip to 'Bucks.

"Okay.  Let's get weird."

Then he leads me on the "weird route."

Ready?

We cut through the hedge.  We cut through a parking lot. We walked up a flight of stairs.  We walked down a slight hill. And then we got onto Washington.

I know.  Mind blowing.

I'm sure the kids are reading this and, since they are all out of state right now, they are calling each other wondering if we're going to be okay, given this streak of crazy wildness we've just exhibited.

Oh, but wait, I'm not done. After our walk back we sat down and watched the Tour de France coverage, but NOT the usual prime time coverage we usually watch, no. I taped the live MORNING coverage and we watched that instead.

INSANE.

Look out people, once the weird starts, it may never stop!

In a weird way, Hubby makes a point.

Good evening!

In the USA this is The Fourth of July Weekend.  This is where we Americans celebrate our independence from the British by drinking beer and setting off fireworks. (Often resulting in blown up limbs or, as my brother was telling a story today brunch, nearly setting fire to a whole neighborhood.  And, for those not into beer or fireworks, there's always a good mattress sale happening someplace.

Not so in France. In France this is the kick off weekend to the Tour de France. This is a 3 week bicycle race around France (and touching spots in other countries),  Thanks to the great coverage of NBCSN, we get to listen, here in the States, to Phil and Paul as they speak in dulcet British tones about bike racing and French and European history.  We get amazing scenic shots, like the ones I'll be sharing from the first day of racing, and we get a little

humor thanks to American Bob Roll (LOVE THAT GUY).

Now I'm not here to question how Americans celebrate their independence and I'm not here to extol the French on their greatness in cycling.  I'm bringing all of this up mostly because while watching coverage of the Tour last night, Hubby finally trumped me with something.

See, there's something you should probably know about me, something I don't advertise all that much:  I find guys getting hit in the crotch with stuff just about the funniest thing there is ever.  I mean, I'm not alone, "America's Funniest Home Videos" has been on the air what, a hundred years now, and those videos are either cute kids, funny pets, or guys getting hit in the crotch with stuff.

Still, I might enjoy that genre of humor a bit too much. I mean, I laugh at pretty much everything, mostly because life is so ridiculous you have to laugh or you'll just get all bound up and constipated like several people I know on Face Book,  (Seriously...ending a friendship or a family tie over something that's said on Face Book..well, let me just quote the great TV character Red Forman: 



Thank you, Red.

Where was I?

Oh, right, guys getting hit in the crotch.

So funny.

What does this have to do with Independence Day?

Nothing.  But it does have something to do with the Tour de France.  We were watching last night's coverage and I was having trouble watching all the close up shots of the guys riding. they're all hunched over with their weight square on their hands and wrists.

That makes me cringe more than a multi cyclist crash..which happened a couple times in state one.

See, for those of you who don't know, I've had two hand surgeries this year for carpal tunnel and I have advanced arthritis in both thumbs.  My hands are very tender yet from the surgeries and the thumbs hurt all the time.  So, watching these guys put weight on their hands for extended periods of time makes my hands hurt.

I made that comment to Hubby as we were watching last night and do you know what he said?

"Well, it's like I feel when you're watching guys get hit in the crotch and laughing, isn't it?   
It's just NEVER NOT FUNNY!"

To borrow a phrase from the French:  Touche'.



Now, about those fireworks.  Folks, come on.  Leave the big stuff to the professionals, or at least to the sober guy in the group.  Don't wake up on Tuesday with blown up fingers.

Happy Birthday, America!  Vive le Tour!