Wednesday, July 18, 2012

The Average Person Spends 16 Minutes a Day Looking for Things

Last year when I got my current car, I had a hitch receiver installed such that I could attach my bike rack to it.  The car was fitted to receive a 2" hitch, but my bike rack has a 1-1/4" insert on it, so the hitch people gave me an adapter piece and sent me on my merry way.

When the huz and I set out for a morning of biking one day last summer, the adapter piece was nowhere to be found.  This of course prompted a futile, frustrating, search.  Then I convinced myself that I had left the adapter piece attached to the car without a fastener, which would have resulted in said adapter plunking out on a highway somewhere, wreaking havoc on someone else's vehicle upon their driving over it.  I've experienced some guilt about that.

Since the hitch store was out of the way, we ended up removing the children's car seats, folding down the actual car seats, removing the front wheels from the bikes, and stuffing our bike pieces into the hatchback in a way that prompts people to buy bike racks to avoid such hassle.  We did this several times since I could never seem to remember to go buy a new adapter.

Nonetheless, I have always found myself scanning the interior of my garage, looking for that piece of black metal, 2" square by 4" long.  Or 6" long depending on who you ask.

Finally, just last week, I remembered to go to the hitch store and buy a new adapter.  I paid my $45, and was handed the adapter in a small white box.

This morning I decided to take the bikes in for a tune up since we could now use the rack to drive to the repair shop.  I grabbed the adapter from the small white box that was sitting top of a crate in the garage, and used it to install the bike rack onto the car.  Then I noticed another small white box sitting on the passenger seat inside my car.




Had I actually known that all along I should have been looking for a small white box instead of a small piece of black metal, I'm pretty sure I would have found it a year ago with absolutely no effort.  And I'd be $45 richer.  And their would be fewer scuff marks inside my car...

Thursday, July 12, 2012

Because Everyone Should have an Embarrassing Fifty Shades Story

I resisted reading the Fifty Shades series, not because I was put off by the erotic nature of the books, but because the media had coined the series, 'mommy porn', which sounded about as sexy as oatmeal to me.  The summer TV schedule, however, had me looking around for alternate forms of entertainment one night, leading me to a copy of the first book of the series that my mom had cast off to me.  FYI, being given second-hand 'mommy porn' by one's own mother is also not terribly enticing.

Walking through Costco a few days later, I noticed that they carried the other two books from the trilogy at a good price.  I understand that I could have downloaded the e-book versions for free, but I am still a fan of paper, and the books were right there, so I threw them in the cart.

At the check-out, as with any Costco I have been in, there was an employee stacking each person's order onto the conveyor belt, ensuring that the line moved quickly.  He piled my order quite high so as to leave space for the next person's order.  The books were on top, and I admittedly bothered to turn them face-down to avoid possible embarrassment.

The conveyor belt lurched forward as the cashier scanned items for the man in front of me, causing one of the books to slide off of my pile of goods, and over the scanner.  The man in front of me with the mullet and beer shirt now had my pornographic novel itemized on his receipt.  The cashier quickly remedied the situation, and I grinned, imagining this man explaining to his significant other why it appeared that he made an attempt to purchase that particular book.

The man then grinned at me, and commented that his wife was currently reading the same series.  "Oh... well... hopefully that's working out well for you.", I muttered, while looking down at my feet, wondering why I don't seem to have a filter that prevents me from saying such things to strange men at check-outs.

I just kept willing for the line to move faster so the man in front of me would leave.  I could imagine what he might have been thinking, and I didn't want to continue to stand there, watching him possibly think it.

Finally he was on his way to the parking lot, leaving me to regain my composure.  Then the matronly looking woman behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Is it a worthwhile read?  What's it about?"

E-books.  I get it now.