And now I have a whole new group of people to share it with... except they seem to think I'm a raw newbie who just learned how to knit. Ummmm..... no.
First, love that the new LYS is only 4.5 blocks away. As is a grocery store, coffee shop, sushi restaurant, ice cream place, italian dessert place, etc. That means I'm doing lots and lots of walking and I'm feeling it in my left knee, which isn't hurting nearly as much.
The LYS has three open knit times: Fridays at 10:30 a.m. and 6:30 p.m. and Sundays at 3 p.m.
I've tried Fridays at 10:30 twice, haven't tried 6:30 at all, and I'm turning into a regular on Sundays.
My one complaint about the new LYS is that that they don't carry roving. <sigh> Oh, well, just means I have to hit Etsy, right? (When I work through all the fiber I already have.) But what it does mean is that I really do have a lot of that arcane knowledge. We all know how I am the keeper of the most obscure, strange things that anyone could possibly know, right? Name the wheel and I probably know who makes it because I'm strange like that. Ask me about a Russian join... ask me anything arcane about knitting... really, just ask.
Last Friday morning, one of the people who doesn't talk to me... oh, wait, that's pretty much everyone... (Just think of all the snark they're missing out on but at least they provide good blog fodder.) One of the women starts talking about wanting to learn how to spin. Well, right up my alley, right? I suggest she start with a drop spindle because it's really easy to learn how to park and draft and that she really needs to do it every day for about a month to get the muscle memory. And I receive a patronizing smile and comment and she turns back to the person with whom she was speaking, who, btw, took a spinning class but can't spin because she didn't do the spin every single day thing... She talks wheels, I mention I have a Matchless... she asks about a Ladybug, I tell her it's made by Schacht... see? arcane knowledge... I make it very clear that I can spin (notice I haven't mentioned a proficiency level)... and each time, I get the patronizing smile and comment and they turn back to each other.
Ummm... why are you asking and making comments if you don't want answers? I'm making it clear I have knowledge and instead of taking the opportunity to maybe include me in the conversation, it's being made very clear that I'm on the outside, looking in. Harumph. Your loss, bitch.
Oh, wait, I'm sorry... I just insulted all the babies in total control of themselves. So sorry.
On the other hand, the Sunday group reminds me of the Monday Panera group. Friendly, welcoming, very much the "Hi, I'm Carol, who are you?" that I'm used to.
Never thought I'd think people in Northern Virginia were friendlier than people in the Midwest.
Saturday, March 10, 2012
Tuesday, November 29, 2011
Question of the day
So J is still walking around with multiple dpns in her hat, and one of the needles she's using is a circular one. I just don't understand.
Did you know that if you google "invisible cast on," the majority of the links refer to a provisional cast on?
And, finally... I took CV's Clapotis to knitting last night where we had a couple of newbies. And as one of them, CO, was just oohing and aaahing over the Clapotis, I heard a question that I'd never heard before. "Is there a video that shows me how to drop a stitch?" Now, that was the actual question, although it was phrased as CO was fondling the dropped stitches and the phrasing was asking if there was a video showing how to make those huge ladders that make the Clapotis the beautiful thing that she is. Me being me and not in the mood to suffer anyone gladly, I stated that there were 15,000-20,000 of them out there and if it was that hard, there wouldn't be nearly as many of them. So now CO will be all paranoid if she can't figure out how to drop a stitch.
Eh, such is life.
Did you know that if you google "invisible cast on," the majority of the links refer to a provisional cast on?
And, finally... I took CV's Clapotis to knitting last night where we had a couple of newbies. And as one of them, CO, was just oohing and aaahing over the Clapotis, I heard a question that I'd never heard before. "Is there a video that shows me how to drop a stitch?" Now, that was the actual question, although it was phrased as CO was fondling the dropped stitches and the phrasing was asking if there was a video showing how to make those huge ladders that make the Clapotis the beautiful thing that she is. Me being me and not in the mood to suffer anyone gladly, I stated that there were 15,000-20,000 of them out there and if it was that hard, there wouldn't be nearly as many of them. So now CO will be all paranoid if she can't figure out how to drop a stitch.
Eh, such is life.
Saturday, November 19, 2011
Monday night knitting
I really should behave myself here, but it's me so I won't.
There were two new people at knitting this past Monday, J & D. J is not a new knitter, but she's a tad... ummm... off. Instead of putting her project onto a circular needle when there were enough stitches, she just added in another DPN. Now, that's all well and good... but... when one of the needles you're using IS a circular and you've got five or so DPNs hanging in the project, I'd think it would be obvious, especially since those DPNs were pretty loaded up with stitches.
Then there's D, who took up knitting after breaking up with her boyfriend. She needed a substitute for him, which probably means she'll dump knitting as soon as she finds a new boyfriend. So there the poor child is, wielding 14-inch metal straights for a 20-stitch scarf. And completely did not get the idea of circulars. If she drops a needle, she could lose the whole scarf... so I handed her my luscious knitting (Lisa Souza Cashmere Silk) on circs and told her to drop one of the needles. You could see the fear on her face that she was going to lose some of my stitches. In fact, I even pulled out my usual line of "You cannot possibly screw it up so badly that I cannot fix it." She didn't believe me. When I finally got her to drop one end of my circulars, the look of wonder on her face was a sight to see.
It was a tad strange to see newbies questioning my abilities, but then again, they also didn't want to fondle my yarn. Poor, broken newbies.
And then there was an orphan!!! She was running around the Panera, screeching at the top of her lungs and I hauled out Mark's old line of "It must be an orphan because children with parents don't act like that." I don't know if they heard me or not, but, suddenly, there was a parent (both of them were actually present) chasing after the child, who was only a couple years old and really needed some very close supervision. Then again, why wasn't the child home in bed at 8:30?
Now I know why I never had children. Oh, wait, my children wouldn't have behaved like that.
There were two new people at knitting this past Monday, J & D. J is not a new knitter, but she's a tad... ummm... off. Instead of putting her project onto a circular needle when there were enough stitches, she just added in another DPN. Now, that's all well and good... but... when one of the needles you're using IS a circular and you've got five or so DPNs hanging in the project, I'd think it would be obvious, especially since those DPNs were pretty loaded up with stitches.
Then there's D, who took up knitting after breaking up with her boyfriend. She needed a substitute for him, which probably means she'll dump knitting as soon as she finds a new boyfriend. So there the poor child is, wielding 14-inch metal straights for a 20-stitch scarf. And completely did not get the idea of circulars. If she drops a needle, she could lose the whole scarf... so I handed her my luscious knitting (Lisa Souza Cashmere Silk) on circs and told her to drop one of the needles. You could see the fear on her face that she was going to lose some of my stitches. In fact, I even pulled out my usual line of "You cannot possibly screw it up so badly that I cannot fix it." She didn't believe me. When I finally got her to drop one end of my circulars, the look of wonder on her face was a sight to see.
It was a tad strange to see newbies questioning my abilities, but then again, they also didn't want to fondle my yarn. Poor, broken newbies.
And then there was an orphan!!! She was running around the Panera, screeching at the top of her lungs and I hauled out Mark's old line of "It must be an orphan because children with parents don't act like that." I don't know if they heard me or not, but, suddenly, there was a parent (both of them were actually present) chasing after the child, who was only a couple years old and really needed some very close supervision. Then again, why wasn't the child home in bed at 8:30?
Now I know why I never had children. Oh, wait, my children wouldn't have behaved like that.
Saturday, October 22, 2011
Dilettantes and Tonsil Hockey
You might not think those two subjects are related, but, well, they are.
Two people showed up last night at CV's gig (god, I love going to listen to her) wearing hockey jerseys. Since one of them was on my very favorite player in the league (Brooks Laich, who my sweet <cough> Bill is named after), I had to go say something. So, one was wearing Brooksy's jersey and the other was wearing an Eric Fehr jersey. Yeah, Eric Fehr who was traded to the Winnipeg Thrashers. (Yes, they are. I don't care that they've resurrected the name, their history is of the Thrashers and that makes them the Thrashers.)
I considered it a good trade since Fehr is, as usual, on the injured list.
Of course, these are also the two women who complained about spending $110/seat for seats that are FIVE rows from the ice. Yes, FIVE rows. I'd kill or die for those seats, but, then again, I'm actually a hockey fan.
Making conversation as they left, I commented that tonight was the battle of the unbeatens and I was informed that Thursday night was that also. Ummm, no. And I said so and the idiot in the Fehr jersey argued with me. Not smart. I am a woman who knows my hockey and I had looked it up when we were 5-0 to see how many undefeated teams were left and there were exactly two: the Caps and the Wingz.
So let's examine that little hockey oddity, the record: Caps are 6-0-0 and the Wingz are 5-0-0 going into tonight, which makes them undefeated in every sense of the word. The Phlyers, however, were 4-0-1 going into Thursday, which makes them not undefeated, in every sense of the word. You see that '1' on the end? That's an overtime loss. And a loss is a loss is a loss.
Moral of the story? Don't argue with people who know more about hockey than you do. It makes you look like an idiot. Then again, if the shoe fits.....
And that leads me to T, who was wasted last night. She asked me about half a dozen time what I was working on (because I brought my knitting), despite my having given her the information after she asked the first time. In fact, I wrote it down and gave it to her so her sister could make it for her.
I was fine with that although about the third time she asked, I was getting annoyed (yeah, you get to ask twice, but at number three, I will still tell you to take notes.) There was this guy (C) in the bar who was not as wasted as T, but he had had tee martoonis. I actually decided to stick close to T, in case she needed a safe harbor because I don't like men who hit on women who are actually too drunk to consent in a meaningful way.
My bad! CV is up there belting out "Let's Get It On" and T and C were playing tonsil hockey. I'm good with tonsil hockey (see, there was a tie in), and I was cracking up during "Let's Get It On" and the subsequent "Pink Cadillac." When T left with C, I really wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to go home with him because she didn't know him and I thought he was kind of slimy, especially since his hand kept wandering up her skirt right there at the table. But I knew that my asking that would make her definitely go with him even though she was acting like it was a bad idea. This was after she accused me of acting like her mother and kept accusing me of judging her.
I still don't deal with drunks well. And I really hope T is okay.
Two people showed up last night at CV's gig (god, I love going to listen to her) wearing hockey jerseys. Since one of them was on my very favorite player in the league (Brooks Laich, who my sweet <cough> Bill is named after), I had to go say something. So, one was wearing Brooksy's jersey and the other was wearing an Eric Fehr jersey. Yeah, Eric Fehr who was traded to the Winnipeg Thrashers. (Yes, they are. I don't care that they've resurrected the name, their history is of the Thrashers and that makes them the Thrashers.)
I considered it a good trade since Fehr is, as usual, on the injured list.
Of course, these are also the two women who complained about spending $110/seat for seats that are FIVE rows from the ice. Yes, FIVE rows. I'd kill or die for those seats, but, then again, I'm actually a hockey fan.
Making conversation as they left, I commented that tonight was the battle of the unbeatens and I was informed that Thursday night was that also. Ummm, no. And I said so and the idiot in the Fehr jersey argued with me. Not smart. I am a woman who knows my hockey and I had looked it up when we were 5-0 to see how many undefeated teams were left and there were exactly two: the Caps and the Wingz.
So let's examine that little hockey oddity, the record: Caps are 6-0-0 and the Wingz are 5-0-0 going into tonight, which makes them undefeated in every sense of the word. The Phlyers, however, were 4-0-1 going into Thursday, which makes them not undefeated, in every sense of the word. You see that '1' on the end? That's an overtime loss. And a loss is a loss is a loss.
Moral of the story? Don't argue with people who know more about hockey than you do. It makes you look like an idiot. Then again, if the shoe fits.....
And that leads me to T, who was wasted last night. She asked me about half a dozen time what I was working on (because I brought my knitting), despite my having given her the information after she asked the first time. In fact, I wrote it down and gave it to her so her sister could make it for her.
I was fine with that although about the third time she asked, I was getting annoyed (yeah, you get to ask twice, but at number three, I will still tell you to take notes.) There was this guy (C) in the bar who was not as wasted as T, but he had had tee martoonis. I actually decided to stick close to T, in case she needed a safe harbor because I don't like men who hit on women who are actually too drunk to consent in a meaningful way.
My bad! CV is up there belting out "Let's Get It On" and T and C were playing tonsil hockey. I'm good with tonsil hockey (see, there was a tie in), and I was cracking up during "Let's Get It On" and the subsequent "Pink Cadillac." When T left with C, I really wanted to ask her if she was sure she wanted to go home with him because she didn't know him and I thought he was kind of slimy, especially since his hand kept wandering up her skirt right there at the table. But I knew that my asking that would make her definitely go with him even though she was acting like it was a bad idea. This was after she accused me of acting like her mother and kept accusing me of judging her.
I still don't deal with drunks well. And I really hope T is okay.
Tuesday, October 4, 2011
Oh, please, not me
But, yes, it was me. I just had to get to Panera early yesterday. I did it mostly because I wanted to have some dinner in peace, reading my book, enjoying being out. And people were sitting at either end of "our" table, which was actually okay, too, because there was another fairly large area that was empty, so I went over and spread my stuff across half a dozen seats to save them and went to the counter.
The counter was fun. Turns out the woman taking care of me was a knitter and we had a lovely conversion. Plus all the cashiers were telling me that someone had come in and asked when the knitting group met (like they actually keep track of us). I told them that we were a Monday night, 7-9 crowd. Then I followed the nice woman over to where she was making my chair tea latte (I am so hooked on those things.)
While I was waiting, I turned around, saw our area, and immediately tried to figure out how I could get my stuff and get out of there without being seen. So I kept talking to the wonderful woman making my latte and finally had to look at her and whine that I didn't want to go sit with the crazy lady and I needed rescuing.
Yes, the crazy lady from much earlier this year had shown back up. And she immediately started grilling me, which I hate hate hate hate hate. What was the name of our group? How did we know each other? How did we know when to meet? There had to be a formal name, what was it? Well, fine, then she'll just email Jamie, because Jamie's the go-to person and entirely too nice. Who was in charge? Who should she ask about the formal name? How did we know each other on Ravelry? How did we know who to friend on Ravelry?
Yes, I was VERY cranky at that point and she asked what my problem was. I managed not to say that she was, but told her that I was giving her the only answers I had and she just kept asking the same questions.
Good one was when she said that she'd seen that Jamie had moved to San Fran. Ummm... no. Jamie moved to Kansas. Last I heard they were two entirely different places.
And all this time, I'm texting Jamie and Britta telling them the crazy lady was there and I needed rescuing. And Britta came to my rescue, at which point I started talking to Britta and trying to ignore the crazy lady, although I did occasionally direct a remark in her direction. As I already knew, I really don't want to talk to people I don't like and go to any number of lengths to not talk to people I don't like.
And why don't like I like her? She's one of those people who wants something for nothing, to the point of wanting you to give her things that you've paid for and when she saw someone's stitch markers, talked about how pretty they were and how she couldn't afford pretty stitch markers. Yeah, the last set I bought was on Etsy and cost me less than $12 (including shipping) for 20 of them. It's just like I say about yarn. You can buy cheap yarn from Knit Picks or you can buy good yarn cheap from Lisa Souza.
Now that the crazy lady has moved to the area, I won't be going to Panera early on Monday night any time soon.
The counter was fun. Turns out the woman taking care of me was a knitter and we had a lovely conversion. Plus all the cashiers were telling me that someone had come in and asked when the knitting group met (like they actually keep track of us). I told them that we were a Monday night, 7-9 crowd. Then I followed the nice woman over to where she was making my chair tea latte (I am so hooked on those things.)
While I was waiting, I turned around, saw our area, and immediately tried to figure out how I could get my stuff and get out of there without being seen. So I kept talking to the wonderful woman making my latte and finally had to look at her and whine that I didn't want to go sit with the crazy lady and I needed rescuing.
Yes, the crazy lady from much earlier this year had shown back up. And she immediately started grilling me, which I hate hate hate hate hate. What was the name of our group? How did we know each other? How did we know when to meet? There had to be a formal name, what was it? Well, fine, then she'll just email Jamie, because Jamie's the go-to person and entirely too nice. Who was in charge? Who should she ask about the formal name? How did we know each other on Ravelry? How did we know who to friend on Ravelry?
Yes, I was VERY cranky at that point and she asked what my problem was. I managed not to say that she was, but told her that I was giving her the only answers I had and she just kept asking the same questions.
Good one was when she said that she'd seen that Jamie had moved to San Fran. Ummm... no. Jamie moved to Kansas. Last I heard they were two entirely different places.
And all this time, I'm texting Jamie and Britta telling them the crazy lady was there and I needed rescuing. And Britta came to my rescue, at which point I started talking to Britta and trying to ignore the crazy lady, although I did occasionally direct a remark in her direction. As I already knew, I really don't want to talk to people I don't like and go to any number of lengths to not talk to people I don't like.
And why don't like I like her? She's one of those people who wants something for nothing, to the point of wanting you to give her things that you've paid for and when she saw someone's stitch markers, talked about how pretty they were and how she couldn't afford pretty stitch markers. Yeah, the last set I bought was on Etsy and cost me less than $12 (including shipping) for 20 of them. It's just like I say about yarn. You can buy cheap yarn from Knit Picks or you can buy good yarn cheap from Lisa Souza.
Now that the crazy lady has moved to the area, I won't be going to Panera early on Monday night any time soon.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Random Acts of Kindness
In honor of the 10th anniversary of 9/11, I decided to participate in Random Acts of Kindness Day. I kept a friend from buying yarn; I held doors; I smiled a lot; I chit chatted with my cab driver and gave him a very nice tip; I even (wait for it) told a man at Five Guys that he had delightful children.
So I'm on my way home and I'm sitting outside Huntington Metro because my knee is rather screaming at me (two hours in a very uncomfy chair) and because there's no rush to get home and I'm enjoying the weather. A young Indian woman comes up and sits next to me and asks if she can borrow my phone. I'm engaging in RAOK, so I hand the phone over and she makes her calls.
I'm still enjoying the breeze and the day and I'm feeling really good emotionally, so I start to chit chat with her and she asks about why I'm sitting there and I tell her that my knee hurts, so I'm sitting for a bit. Yeah, mistake. Big mistake.
Her response: "You're very fat. Is that why you have trouble walking?"
Let me get this straight. I hand over my phone and let you use it, so now you think it's okay to be too rude for words and insult me. I told her I had arthritis and then she decided to fix my diet. I got up and started walking home.
And then we come to either a RAOK or a kidnap attempt. I'd like to think it was a RAOK, so that's how I'm going to look at it.
I'm limping down the hill (really, screaming knee) and this Honda CR-V pulls up beside me and the young man (probably in his 20s) asks if he can drop me anywhere. Now, I appreciate the thought. Really. But anyone who thinks I'm getting in a car with a stranger is stark raving insane. And as I watched him drive down the hill, I just hoped that he wasn't one of the guys from upstairs who I hadn't recognized. Since he didn't turn into the complex, I'm thinking I'm okay.
Howcver, all in all, the rude woman was my only speed bump. And if I only have one speed bump today, I think I'm doing well.
Off to make some tuna noodle casserole!!!
So I'm on my way home and I'm sitting outside Huntington Metro because my knee is rather screaming at me (two hours in a very uncomfy chair) and because there's no rush to get home and I'm enjoying the weather. A young Indian woman comes up and sits next to me and asks if she can borrow my phone. I'm engaging in RAOK, so I hand the phone over and she makes her calls.
I'm still enjoying the breeze and the day and I'm feeling really good emotionally, so I start to chit chat with her and she asks about why I'm sitting there and I tell her that my knee hurts, so I'm sitting for a bit. Yeah, mistake. Big mistake.
Her response: "You're very fat. Is that why you have trouble walking?"
Let me get this straight. I hand over my phone and let you use it, so now you think it's okay to be too rude for words and insult me. I told her I had arthritis and then she decided to fix my diet. I got up and started walking home.
And then we come to either a RAOK or a kidnap attempt. I'd like to think it was a RAOK, so that's how I'm going to look at it.
I'm limping down the hill (really, screaming knee) and this Honda CR-V pulls up beside me and the young man (probably in his 20s) asks if he can drop me anywhere. Now, I appreciate the thought. Really. But anyone who thinks I'm getting in a car with a stranger is stark raving insane. And as I watched him drive down the hill, I just hoped that he wasn't one of the guys from upstairs who I hadn't recognized. Since he didn't turn into the complex, I'm thinking I'm okay.
Howcver, all in all, the rude woman was my only speed bump. And if I only have one speed bump today, I think I'm doing well.
Off to make some tuna noodle casserole!!!
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Don't touch me!!
The day of the earthquake, I had the joy of hearing someone complain that the pregnant woman took forever to get down the stairs at work. Today, I have my own pregnant woman complaint.
In the grand tradition of Metro, the middle escalator going to the south entrance of Huntington Metro was out, so they had one escalator heading down (the mini one on the left as you're looking at the escalators) and the other mini escalator was turned off. Yeah, if you couldn't walk up the escalator, you had to wait for the incredibly slow elevator. One person suggested that they should have turned the escalator heading down in the opposite direction, but that wouldn't have worked. Knowing people and their incredible talent for being inconsiderate, if one of the mini escalators had been heading up and the other was turned off, you'd have had people like me on the moving escalator and people on the unmoving escalator who either wanted to walk or were too impatient to wait and people trying to get onto the train would have been out of luck unless they wanted to wait for the elevator, so I really do understand why they did things the way that they did.
So, yes, I waited for the elevator (which is partially why I'm still awake at 2:15 a.m. because my knees are screaming at me). Yes, four extra strength tylenol pm, four aleve, six salonpas patches, and my usual Parkinson's meds and my knees are still screaming at me.
There were too many people in line ahead of me on the first trip for me to make it onto the elevator, which is what I expected, so I had to wait for the second trip. By the way, that elevator redefines slow. Even I could have walked up the escalator in the time it took for that elevator to arrive. But if I hadn't waited, I wouldn't have my rude pregnant woman story.
Standing in line were three metro workers (one of whom ended up walking up the escalator) and their cargo -- a money cart. We got onto the elevator and then they decided to see if they could get the cargo onto the elevator. We crowded onto one side, then one metro worker got on, the money cart was pushed on, the second metro worker got on, and then decided that we had room for the third metro worker, which, honestly we did.
Except, oh wait, we had a pregnant woman on board. And I'm betting you think you know where this story is going, but you're wrong.
The second metro worker on the elevator asked if we could squeeze in a bit so the third metro worker could get onto the elevator so a couple of us scooted where we could so that we would have room.
Except the woman behind me says, "No, don't squeeze me! ! I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In fact, she was so pregnant that if she hadn't pronounced it to the world in a state of "Oh, my god, strange people will touch me," I wouldn't have noticed because she wasn't that pregnant. I'm telling you, I had to look down twice after we got off the elevator to figure out that she did, in fact, have a teensy little pooch. Because, yeah, not big enough to even be called a baby bump. Honestly, you need to play the card when you need to play the card because you will end up with people like me looking at you at some point and informing you that pregnancy is not a disability and you should suck it up. And then you have people like MSB who should have been playing the card and wasn't and is now in the hospital on bed rest waiting for her babies to be born.
No, I didn't say a word; the filter was on.
Oh, and for those who noticed, no, I don't have Parkinson's. I have restless legs, but the meds are the same.
In the grand tradition of Metro, the middle escalator going to the south entrance of Huntington Metro was out, so they had one escalator heading down (the mini one on the left as you're looking at the escalators) and the other mini escalator was turned off. Yeah, if you couldn't walk up the escalator, you had to wait for the incredibly slow elevator. One person suggested that they should have turned the escalator heading down in the opposite direction, but that wouldn't have worked. Knowing people and their incredible talent for being inconsiderate, if one of the mini escalators had been heading up and the other was turned off, you'd have had people like me on the moving escalator and people on the unmoving escalator who either wanted to walk or were too impatient to wait and people trying to get onto the train would have been out of luck unless they wanted to wait for the elevator, so I really do understand why they did things the way that they did.
So, yes, I waited for the elevator (which is partially why I'm still awake at 2:15 a.m. because my knees are screaming at me). Yes, four extra strength tylenol pm, four aleve, six salonpas patches, and my usual Parkinson's meds and my knees are still screaming at me.
There were too many people in line ahead of me on the first trip for me to make it onto the elevator, which is what I expected, so I had to wait for the second trip. By the way, that elevator redefines slow. Even I could have walked up the escalator in the time it took for that elevator to arrive. But if I hadn't waited, I wouldn't have my rude pregnant woman story.
Standing in line were three metro workers (one of whom ended up walking up the escalator) and their cargo -- a money cart. We got onto the elevator and then they decided to see if they could get the cargo onto the elevator. We crowded onto one side, then one metro worker got on, the money cart was pushed on, the second metro worker got on, and then decided that we had room for the third metro worker, which, honestly we did.
Except, oh wait, we had a pregnant woman on board. And I'm betting you think you know where this story is going, but you're wrong.
The second metro worker on the elevator asked if we could squeeze in a bit so the third metro worker could get onto the elevator so a couple of us scooted where we could so that we would have room.
Except the woman behind me says, "No, don't squeeze me! ! I'm pregnant!!!!!!!!!!!!!"
In fact, she was so pregnant that if she hadn't pronounced it to the world in a state of "Oh, my god, strange people will touch me," I wouldn't have noticed because she wasn't that pregnant. I'm telling you, I had to look down twice after we got off the elevator to figure out that she did, in fact, have a teensy little pooch. Because, yeah, not big enough to even be called a baby bump. Honestly, you need to play the card when you need to play the card because you will end up with people like me looking at you at some point and informing you that pregnancy is not a disability and you should suck it up. And then you have people like MSB who should have been playing the card and wasn't and is now in the hospital on bed rest waiting for her babies to be born.
No, I didn't say a word; the filter was on.
Oh, and for those who noticed, no, I don't have Parkinson's. I have restless legs, but the meds are the same.
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