His eyebrows stood at attention, and as he talked, I imagined my sister’s beautician’s comb lifting them up and her trimmer buzzing them down like a hedgetrimmer. I wondered if he ever noticed that they were too long. Probably not. His mother probably wasn’t so vain, and his wife was probably not as vain. Maybe it was for lack of training. Maybe it was due to their ever fulfilling life that was not wrapped up in the mirror. His mother probably never read him books about princes and princesses, or maybe he just never stood a chance of being handsome, so never took the time to groom himself.
His voice made it through to my consciousness once more, and I realized that I had missed half of what he had been saying, because I got hung up on his eyebrow overgrowth. Oh well. I was sure whatever it was that he was talking about I didn’t care about and if truth be known, he wasn’t really concerned about whether or not I “got it”. He was looking for a sounding board. I could have placed a bobble head on the counter, gave it a nudge to set it into nodding motion and walked away, and he probably never would have noticed.
That’s the life of customer service though. You are trapped in the nine to five the same as if someone has placed a house arrest bracelet on your ankle and an alarm will sound if you leave your post. And the public knows it. Most days I don’t mind. I chat it up with whomever. Some days, though, I just don’t feel like hearing about their hip replacement or the way their grandchildren are unruly or a disappointment. Those days, when the talkers start up, my stomach starts to tie itself into a not so pretty little bow, and I have to talk myself down from the ledge that I am about to jump off if they don’t just, “SHUT UP!”
The eyebrow finally ran out of hot air, or saw the dazed look in my eyes, and moved on down the road. I suppose his next stop was the bank teller or the check-out girl at WalMart – hope there wasn’t a line!
Bored, that’s what I was. Have you ever noticed when boredom sets in, it is hard to pay attention? One night my husband and I rented the movie, “Lincoln.” My husband is a big history buff, and I? Well, I like to hear stories from the past and find it interesting to see how they used to do things, and how it affects the current age, but that movie was boring! I was trying to force myself to watch and be interested. My husband had been so excited to see it, and I know how nice it is to have someone to share that with. Like when I turn on “Property Brothers” on HGTV, and I start commenting on the renno and look over and my husband isn’t even watching – he’s got his phone held up in front of his face and he’s “reading the news,” or playing Candy Crush. It makes me feel so alone, like I am talking to myself, and the show sort of loses its zest.
I was trying to live by the Golden Rule and be interested in his movie and share the experience. The problem is that when I watched, the only part of me that seemed to be working was my eyes. I would stare at the TV screen, then stare harder, but the words and conversations may well have been Chinese, because none of it was making it to my brain. I felt like the words were little soldiers with ramming rods, but the door to my brain was barred. Talk about a mental block.
Eventually, I picked up a magazine and started to read with a new understanding of why my husband reads the news when he is supposed to be sharing my show. Maybe after he has spent all day rennovating other people’s houses, he doesn’t want to think about it anymore. He bars the door!