Where do they find these people??

Subway has the worst customer service EVER. Have you ever noticed this? I'm convinced that they scour the community for the high school kids with the sourest attitudes and the worst social skills. I think McDonald's actually gets more animated workers than Subway does. And that's pretty sad - I mean, have you ever seen an animated McDonald's employee? Yeah - that's my point. I'm just gonna say it: Subway customer service sucks.

So why do I keep going? It's simple . . . I love the sandwich that I get there: 6 inch turkey and swiss on wheat, extra swiss, extra bacon, lettuce, regular mustard, salt and pepper, extra pepper. YUM!!! I really think it's the bacon that makes it. You should try it sometime. It's good stuff . . .

But good sandwich or not, they STINK when it comes to training their employees in the art of customer service. I went to a Subway close to my house a while back and when I walked in I noticed that the girl working there was on the phone. She stood up and shuffled toward the bread end of the line, still talking, and put her phone between her cheek and her shoulder. Without stopping her conversation, she looked at me as if to say "Well. Whadya want?" Suddenly, I found myself whispering my order . . . like I was the one being rude! And the girl made my sandwich and took my money without ever putting the phone down or interrupting her conversation. And I never raised my voice above a whisper. I had to laugh, then, when I saw this sign:
At the Subway in Huntsville, the customer service isn't much better. The sandwich makers are rude and hurried and rarely have a smile or a courteous word for you. Plus, they do the most annoying thing . . . they yell your extras down to the cashier. So there's no ordering extras anonymously. For some reason, they don't trust you to report your order honestly when you get down to the cashier. I haven't seen anything like that in any other Subway - it's no doubt the idea of a very unhappy person working at the Huntsville Subway. This is how it goes for me every time I'm at the Subway:

Sandwich maker: What type of Bread?
me: Hi! How are ya?
Sandwich maker: [staring at me blankly]
me: Ummmm . . . wheat, please - 6 inch.
SM: [hacking at bread] Meat?
me: Turkey, please.
SM: cheese?
me: Swiss. And can I get extra swiss, please?
SM: [yelling down to the cashier] SARAH! HEY! SARAH! THIS ONE HAS EXTRA SWISS ON IT.
me: [hiding my face and sucking my stomach in case people are judging me for the extra swiss]
SM: [slaps the extra swiss on and starts to slide my sandwich down to the next person]
me: oh, can I get some bacon on there, too?
SM: SARAH! HEY - SARAH! THIS ONE HAS DOUBLE CHEESE AND ADD BACON! [pulls out two pieces of bacon]
me: [putting my sunglasses on to conceal my identity] Actually, can I get extra bacon?
SM: SARAH! THIS ONE IS DOUBLE CHEESE, DOUBLE BACON!
Sarah: OK! WHICH ONE?
SM: THIS ONE RIGHT HERE. THE LADY IN THE RED SHIRT!
me: [doing a quick ring-check scan around the place to ensure that I'm not scaring off any single would-be suitors with my love of bacon] Ummmm . . . lettuce. Extra mustard. Salt and pepper. Extra pepper.
SM: [passes my sandwich to cashier and goes back to make more sandwiches]
Sarah: [picking up my sandwich] BLAKE! IS THIS THE ONE WITH THE EXTRA CHEESE AND EXTRA BACON.
Blake: YEP! THAT'S THE ONE!
me: [loudly, so everyone can here . . .] Do you all have BAKED Cheetos?

So mortifying.

But one bite of my sandwich and I forgive the poor customer service. And before I know it, I'm returning to the Subway in a day or two to repeat the whole embarrassing process. But it's all worth it.

Man, I really do love bacon . . .

Please, no more tortillas.

After church on Sunday, my friends and I went to lunch at a Mexican restaurant called Casa Rico's over there by The Egg & I. I think it's owned by the same people who own the Rico's where the Creepy Little Village was so I was excited to see if they had any good artwork there. I walked in and saw two murals on the walls in the entry and was disappointed to see that they were pretty good. Bummer. I had had such high hopes!!

But then . . .

Shortly after we sat down, I excused myself to go the restroom. As I was walking toward the ladies' room, I had my head down. When I got to the door and started to push it open, I looked up and was greeted by this:

Holy cross dresser!! Someone get me a pair of tweezers STAT! I haven't seen a unibrow like that since . . . since . . . well, I've NEVER seen one like that! I actually stepped back to make sure I wasn't at the men's room by mistake.

Then I looked over at the men's room, wondering if they had an equally disturbing image. I was not disappointed:
What the heck is that?? How is ANYone supposed to be able to go the restroom after seeing that thing?? I know I couldn't . . .

After my unsuccessful trip to the restroom, I returned to the table. On my way back there, I noticed a picture of a mariachi band. I have decided to call this one Mi Guitarra Muy Grande:

How is he holding that thing up?? And check out his left hand - it's freakishly small. Poor guy's gonna get a hand cramp trying to play that thing. Clearly this artist is at least RELATED to the one who drew the likes of Slopey Shoulders boy and the Young Amputee. Right?

Then I saw the little girls making tortillas and I KNEW they had to be related to the creepy villagers:
I mean, it's bad enough to be born with no elbows OR no neck OR a large head. But to have all three at one time?? That's unfortunate. Add to that a lop-sided face and shoulders attached to your chest and you have a very sad situation. It's hard to enjoy your tortillas when she's looking at you so sadly like that as if she's trying to say "Please, no more tortillas. Every time you order more, I have to make them. With no elbows." And what's going on with the other little girl's foot? Is she related to pig hoof guy? Yes, these two are DEFINITELY refugees from the Creepy Little Village genocide.

Finally, the coup de gras . . .
I really don't know what to say about this one. I mean, did Jesus get that picture of Mary screen-printed on his garment? And since when did Jesus start wearing the open-shouldered Flashdance look?? This is quite disturbing. And a bit sacrilegious, I think . . .

The other pictures in the restaurant are actually pretty good drawings so this was all I could get. Granted, they aren't as good (and by "good" I mean "bad") as the original ones over at the Rico's in Alden Bridge BUT they are an entertaining substitute, aren't they?

And I don't know about you, but I appreciate my tweezers and my elbows A LOT more now . . .

Stay tuned . . .

Hey, friends! I'm having a HORRIBLE back spasm today and can't sit up long enough to type a post for today. But I'm getting a massage this morning so hopefully I'll be back in business tomorrow!

So stay tuned . . . :)

Sooooooo out of my element . . .

At work the other day, I had to ask someone about huffing paint and as soon as those words came out of my mouth, I was struck by how strange they sounded coming from me. I really can't pull it off. I try to keep a straight face when I have to say something like that but I don't think I'm fooling anyone. I mean, I might as well start rapping - it would sound about as natural coming from me.

When you grow up in the suburbs, it's pretty easy to find yourself out of your element as soon as you step out into the world because there are a lot of situations out there that a sheltered upbringing just doesn't prepare you for.

I remember back in 2003, my firm sent me to Louisville, Kentucky for a couple of depositions. I had only been a lawyer for a few months and felt pretty proud of myself for getting to go. Of course, the only reason they had me go was the fact that I was the only single lawyer who wouldn't have to spend a night away from her family but that's neither here nor there. I was staying at a nice hotel in the city and I felt pretty grown-up. Granted, I was 27 years old so I SHOULD have felt grown-up but you get my point.

On the day of the depositions, we had about a 2 hour break in the middle of the day. I didn't want to just go sit in my room so I asked the desk clerk if there was anything interesting within walking distance. He told me that there was a mall down the street and warned me not to stray too far from the hotel because the neighboring areas were not good ones. I walked over to the mall, looked around, and headed back to the hotel. On my walk back, I came to an intersection and had to stop until the "do not walk" light went off. While I was standing there, I heard a conversation between two men behind me. This is how it went:

Man 1: SHE got a little booty.
Man 2: Man! White girl ain't go no ass.
Man 1: Well, she got a LITTLE booty.
Man 2: Man! White girl ain't go NOOOOOO ass.

I stiffened up when I heard them and realized that they were talking about me. I had never been in a situation where anyone was talking about my rear so openly and didn't know what to do. So I stood there, facing forward with my eyes widened. And with very good posture for some reason. I felt simultaneously offended and flattered and didn't know who I should be rooting for in this argument. Did I want a little booty or not? I had such competing emotions: on one hand I wanted to turn around and slap them and on the other hand I wanted to pull my jacket up a bit so they could get a better look before they made their final determinations. Thankfully, the light turned green so I was just able to walk away. And call everyone I ever knew.

Later, when I was in law school, I went to Memphis with my roommate and we spent the weekend hanging out with some of her friends. They decided to take us salsa dancing so we piled in the car and headed to a club that they liked. We pulled up to this place and I quickly realized that this was an AUTHENTIC salsa club - not like a wannabe that you'd find in the suburbs. This was the real deal. So we got in line to head in and then I saw that the bouncer was frisking people before they went in. My eyes got wide, my heart sped up, and I could feel my dad watching me all the way from Texas. You don't have to know me for very long before you'd know that I have never frequented a club where they frisk their patrons. This was definitely a first for me!

I stood there in line and, again, I had conflicting emotions. On one hand, I was horrified at the thought of someone frisking me but on the other hand I was kind of excited about it! When it was my turn, I walked up to the bouncer, stood with my feet apart, and lifted my arms straight out to the side. I let the air out of my lungs, closed my eyes, and scrunched up my face as if to say "Go ahead. Let's get it over with." Nothing happened. So I opened one eye and looked at the bouncer who was just looking at me and smirking. When he saw me open my eye, he said "We don't frisk, women. Go on in." I must admit - I was one disappointed little Gringa.

Sometimes I wish I had a little more street cred, know what I'm sayin'?

Yeah . . . I can't pull that off either, can I??

Happy Fourth!!!!

One of the MANY things I love about my family is that everything always turns into a story. Bad things, good things, even mundane things that happen to us somehow turn into a funny story that we can tell and laugh about. Growing up in a family like that is such a blessing . . . and really develops your story-telling abilities!

As Fourth of July approaches, I can't help but think of one story in particular. This story is Palmore family legend and I think it's the perfect way to celebrate Independence Day with you all.

We moved from Garland, Texas to The Woodlands in the summer of 1983. It took a while for The Woodlands to grow on me because I had left all my friends behind and really missed them. Luckily, I was in the third grade and making friends was easy at that age. Don't get me wrong - I still had to prove myself to them and show them that I was cool but I felt like I had made a good impression with my classmates.

Summer 1984 came along and I got my Permullet - things were really looking up for me. And the best thing was that 4th of July was coming up. And that meant that it was PARADE time . . . we LOVED the 4th of July parade! We would get up early, get our chairs in the car, get our buckets for all the candy we were bound to catch, and we'd head out to get a good spot on the parade route. It was always an exciting day. Back then, The Woodlands didn't have its 4th of July parade on the actual 4th unless the 4th fell on a weekend. If the 4th fell during the week, the parade would be on the preceding weekend. Follow me?

In 1984, my family had been in The Woodlands for about a year and we were ready for our first July 4th parade in our new town. That year, the 4th fell on a weekday so the parade was scheduled for the weekend before. We woke up early Saturday morning and piled all of our stuff in the car. Being Nora, my mom decided to bring a chaise lounge lawn chair with us. Do you remember those things? They were the long lawn chairs with the plastic, green and white strips that your butt would always jut through? And you could fold it up by folding the top and bottom up to the middle and then folding down the legs? And you'd use them to lay out in the back yard? Do you remember those? Yeah, my mom brought one of those with her that day for the parade.

We girls got our candy buckets and hopped into the car. We drove out to Woodlands Parkway (that's where the parade was back then) and we parked on the grass on the side of the road. The five of us piled out of the car and unloaded all of our stuff: four chairs, a chaise lounge, three buckets for candy, visors, sports thermoses loaded up with water, sunscreen, and little flags to wave (the Palmore family doesn't wait for someone to pass flags out at a parade . . .). We were decked out in our best July 4th wear - white shorts, red shirts, sunglasses, big blue bows in our hair - things of this nature.

We sat on the side of the road and looked around. No one else was out yet. We congratulated ourselves on beating the rest of The Woodlands out to the parade route. We waited for a while, my sisters and I in prime candy-getting position with buckets ready. We started to comment on how strange it was that the street was still so busy - it seemed like they should have started shutting down the parade route by that point. But no matter . . . we brushed it off and just high-fived each other for getting out there before ANYone else did.

Another 10 minutes passed and we thought it was so strange that more people weren't coming out for the parade. Cars were screaming past us on Woodlands Parkway, the breeze blowing through my Permullet. Something just didn't feel right. We were still feeling pretty proud of ourselves but that feeling was becoming slightly overshadowed by our growing confusion. Eventually, one of our friends drove past and somehow recognized us. He pulled over and hopped out of his truck to ask us what we were doing. We told him that we were waiting for the parade, of course. That's when he informed us that the parade wasn't until the next day. Sunday.

WHAT????

I still remember that moment - looking around panicked, feeling exposed. I began praying that no fourth graders had seen me out there. Surely they wouldn't recognize me! Then I remembered my Permullet and realized that you could spot that thing from a mile away. I silently cursed my beautiful hair, shaking my fist to the heavens.

Oh, man - we must have been such a sight. I mean, we weren't just sitting on the side of the road, people. We were CAMPED OUT and raring to go, we girls waving our flags and my mom lounging back on her chaise lounge. So horrifying. And yet . . . so Palmore.

But at least we got a good story out of it . . .

Another blah-g . . .

Well, I couldn't figure out what to blog about - nothing blogworthy has happened in the last few days! So I was thinking that I would just tell you about some random thoughts and happenings from the the last week or so . . .

I was driving back from the Hill Country and stopped to fill up my tank. As I was pumping my gas, I noticed a reflection in a piece of glass that was waist-level. What I saw there startled me: there was a HUGE protrusion at my waist! Like a big hump coming straight out. I was seriously horrified. I thought to myself "I KNEW I shouldn't have eaten those Beaver Nuggets!" I tried sucking it in but didn't notice any difference in the reflection. I was just about to fall to my knees shouting "whyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy????" when I realized that the glass was apparently at an angle and it was my chest that was reflecting and not my waist. Is it wrong that I felt proud of the "huge protusion" at that moment?

On the drive home, I saw an old clunker truck with a sticker on the back window that read "Bad Ass Boys Drive Bad Ass Toys." This made me laugh. And made me want to ask him his definition of "Bad Ass."

I stopped by Burger King to pick up dinner for me and my mom. I pulled forward to the second window and paid but my order was not ready. The kid taking my money asked me to pull forward and they would bring me my food when it was ready. Not unusual, right? What was weird about it was that there was no one behind me so I didn't really understand why I couldn't just wait at the window for my order to be ready. I found myself feeling quite rejected and pulled away saying quietly, "Fine. I didn't want to look at you, either." And then I realized that I'm too immature to be driving a car.

I went to my 5 year old nephew's hip hop class today and thought it would be so cute to watch. All the dance studios there have big windows that people can watch through so we all piled around to watch little Ben do his thing. I sat there watching him trying to learn the steps (and getting only about every fourth step) and I realized that I would NOT be able to do the dance he was learning. It looked way too hard! It has taken me 2 months to get to a point where I can do Hip Hop abs without becoming nervous that someone might see me. And here is my nephew dancing every fourth step of a hip hop routine with all of us staring at him through a window. I suddenly became more impressed with Ben and thought about asking him to teach me some moves. I'm not proud that my 5 year old, whiter-than-white nephew has more groove than I do.

Then my sister started talking with the owner of the studio and I realized that my sisters had signed me (and themselves) up for a jazz/hip hop class. And it starts next week.

Excuse me . . . WHAT??????? WITH A WINDOW WHERE EVERYONE CAN WATCH ME??? Friends, that is my own personal Hell.

Something tells me that I will DEFINITELY have something to blog about then . . .

Catherine is typing.

I love facebook. I heard someone call it the "virtual neighborhood" once and I love that description - when I check my homepage, it really is like running into some neighbors outside and hearing the latest news from their day. It's so fun. Plus, I'm keeping up with people I haven't seen in years. It's so great!

My mom is on facebook now and that has provided me with endless entertainment. One of my favorite things to do is to watch her when an IM pops up. It completely unnerves her and she starts saying things like "Oh noooooooooooooooooooo. What do I do nooooooooooooow??" She finally had to disable her chat because her nerves just could not take it. I was recently over at her house doing a facebook tutorial (these are the things we do in my family . . .) and we were tackling the idea of the status update. Once we got past the stress of picking the RIGHT thing to type, she posted her first status.

If you aren't familiar with facebook, let me explain the status to you. Facebook allows you to tell people what you're doing at any given moment. You just type in your status and then it appears on your friends' facebook pages so that they can be kept abreast of what's going on in your day or in your life. I'll get on my homepage and see that some of my friends are on vacation or home sick or just found out they are expecting a baby. It's a great way to stay up with the latest in everyone's lives.

The longer you're on facebook, the more you see that different people have different ways of using the status update. Here are just a few of them:

The play-by-play.
Some people use the status feature to really keep us posted about everything they're doing throughout the day. For instance, you'll pull up your homepage and see successive updates like so:

Catherine is going to copy some documents.
Catherine is frustrated because someone is already using the copier.
Catherine is FINALLY copying her documents.
Catherine is wondering when this copy job will ever be finished!!
Catherine hates paper jams!!
Catherine finally cleared the paper jam and is almost done!
Catherine is back at her desk and glad to be done with the copier.

These people take the idea of "status update" quite literally.


The teasers:
Others like to tease us with just enough information to get us asking questions. You know who you are. Here is how the teaser works:

Catherine is wondering when the pain will go away . . .
Catherine wonders if she'll ever get over what just happened.
Catherine wants all the drama in her life to just go away.
Catherine is not sure how much longer she can hold on . . .
Catherine just can't take it anymore.

These status updates inevitably get comments like "What's going on??" or "I'm praying for you." or "Suck it up and quit whining." Ok, not the last one. But you know you've wanted to write that a time or two.


The incorrect-use-of-is updates:
God bless 'em, some people just don't know how to use the "is" properly in the status update so you get lots of these types of statuses:

Catherine is oh my gosh I'm so tired.
Catherine is can you believe this weather??
Catherine is wow my neighbors are loud.

It's ok - "is" has tripped many people up so don't feel bad. It's a tough concept to grasp. Chin up, friends. Chin up.


The you-should-not-be-on-facebook-right-now updates:
I'm sure you've seen this type of update, too. It looks something like this:

Catherine is trying to outrun a rabid dog.
Catherine just shot a nail into her hand.
Catherine is about to rear-end the car in front of her.
Catherine can't figure out where all the blood is coming from.
Catherine thinks someone is trying to break into her house.

WHY ARE YOU ON FACEBOOK RIGHT NOW??? Put your iPhone down and concentrate on what you're doing!!

Aaaaaaah - I do love facebook! Where else can you find out that your friend from second grade got a sunburn at the beach or that the girl you sat next to in 10th grade English just saw something that scared her? I get to "see" these people everyday and get to keep up with their lives . . . what a great idea! And I hope to see YOU around the virtual neighborhood soon. But for now . . .

Catherine is thinks she's done with this post.