"Yes, ma'am"

EXTRA! EXTRA!

The early reviews have hit the stands, and the opinion on Sleepless in Oakbrook Terrace is an overwhelming YES!

Here are what some people had to say:

"Your blog."

Much like a Charleston or Macarena (for some reason I could only think of dance crazes), Sleepless... is an overnight sensation.

Now I have to maintain my readership though, and I have to overcome my constant fears of not being good enough. But then again, who am I kidding? As I have stated before, this blog may or may not have the longevity of the Macarena. Soon, it will be played at minor league sporting events, and the dance will be mimed by modestly obese individuals following trends from ten years ago. That is what I would like to call the American Dream.

And I know you want to listen to the Macarena as much as I do right now. Therefore, I have provided a link to the music video on YouTube.

ONWARD!

Okay, so I have realized my absolute pet peeve that can turn any mundane day into a black hole of murderous rage.

It starts simple enough. I answer the phone in a polite, upbeat voice (surprisingly chipper if you have ever met me) with a generic greeting:

"Hello. Thank you for calling *wherever I am working at the moment* in *whatever town*. This is Marty speaking. How can I help you?"

And then, it happens - like a flash of lightning *OVERDRAMATIC RANT STARTS NOW* *cue thunder and lightning effects to put emphasis on the use of the word lightning*. The individual on the other end of the phone (most likely a male) refers to me by a feminine pronoun (most likely ma'am).

Okay, great. SO, not only am I female, but I am also an older female who you feel that you must refer to as ma'am. Good job. You have officially started a shame cycle that you had no intentions of entering. No really, I'm glad you have brought both of us to this place.

I, slowly sinking into an abyss of self doubt, now have two options of how to proceed. I typically follow both routes simultaneously. I lower my voice so deep that it is unmistakable that this individual has made a fatal error while dramatically shifting the tone of the conversation to rude and surly.

Now, I can hear the Spacely Sprocket's cogs (threw the Jetson's reference in there - deal with it) slowly moving in this individual's head. He is slowly but surely realizing his mistake. But what can he do now? He's already entered into the twilight zone (where apparently men sound like women).

HE IS TRAPPED in a conversation with me that has taken a brutal turn. DAMN YOUR POLITE ANTICS SIR!!!!

He has only two paths in front of him. The thought processes are like this:

"I have already referred to this person by a feminine pronoun. This situation is now embarrassing for me and the person on the other line of the phone. I can therefore either ignore the obvious facts in front of me and continue to refer to this person by feminine pronouns or I can slowly switch the tone of the conversation toward masculine pronouns (which will still be diminutive in nature - pal, bud, etc.)."

O, and don't worry, I am not remotely understanding in this respect. Therefore, we must also add an element of fear to the equation. The person on the other line now has embarrassment and fear: a complex combination that will eventually lead him to recoil at the thought of ever calling any establishment ever again. Or maybe not.

And then, the conversation ends as soon as it began. The heatwave of daggery (not a real word) anger has passed. And I'm pretty sure that nobody wins, which is sad. In these situations there should always be a clear winner and loser.

And that is my ultimate pet peeve (I also hate the phrase pet peeve or any version of the word peeve) in a nutshell (I don't particularly enjoy this expression).

In lighter news, my car became stuck in an ice pocket on my way to work tonight. I, being a genius, decided that I should try pushing my car forward out of the ice with my traction-less boat shoes. This resulted in me slowly sliding with my body half out of the car into a snow bank. But, don't worry, someone was there to watch, and not help, as I flailed helplessly to move my car out of the ice. Thank you Oakbrook Terrace resident for your overwhelming helpfulness.