So what you need to understand here, first, is that I am not your normal wonderful host here at Wait in the Van. No, rather I'm a ringer. A shill. A veritable stooge! Yes, you see I was recruited to regale you with the Sort of True and Mostly Accurate Except Where It Isn't At All stories of both the Wheel and the Nails.
The Nails and the Wheel. The Wheel and the Nails. Epic, life changing tales that will change your life in life-changing ways! Let's just jump right in!
So there she was, our intrepid hero, in Manhattan with a friend and attending BlogHer'10. After an interesting breakfast period, full of confusing left and right hand notation as well as trying to throw food at people, it was decided that what needed doing, most of all, was a manicure.
And so off they went, in search of such a profound experience as that. What they found may amaze and startle you. When asked to pay, with nails still wet and job still undone, our heroine, our bastion of all that is good and righteous, found herself short of cash. *Well, she could afford the manicure but after that she had just two bucks left for a tip.* [Editor's emphasis. Sniff.] A tip that, honestly, should've been at least four bucks.
Now, what does one do in that situation? Well, you tell the truth! And she did, apologizing and probably raising her eyebrows as her eyes themselves grew wider in embarrassment (I've seen it kids, and it
works). But the manicurist ... manicurator! ... manicurtician! was having none of it.
No, seriously. She turned down the tip. After yelling that the tip is normally higher, and being irate, despite the apologies of our hero, the manicurtactician refused any tip at all. Scowling and growling her boss tried to demand the tip, pushing this entire thing past the strange into the rude.
Yes, yes, tipping is good form and normal and expected and low tipping is annoying and rude, but if someone honestly just has so much cash on them and is apologizing, why would someone thing berating them and
harassing them would somehow inspire them to pay more? Fear? Does that work? So very strange.
The manicure continued and our good-natured sidekick found that the tip was included in the price of her own manicure, forcing her to pay upfront for the perceived sins of her companion. And let that be a lesson to you, citizens.
...we're not sure what the lesson actually is though. We'll get back to you on that. But first! The tale of the Wheel!
BlogHer'10 had swag give-a-ways and such and one of these was a wheel. No the wheel was not the give-a-way! The wheel decided what you got. See, first you let them tell you all about the killer toys they had
this year and how it would change everything, and then you got to spin some wheel and take home whatever prize the wheel indicated.
In New Orleans the wheel decides how much clothing you take off. At BlogHer'10 it decides if you get a plastic truck or not. I'm just sayin'. So anyway, after giving herself over to the endless talks of corporate shilling, the wheel was spun.
So many bright and shiny objects were held in the balance of this spin. Toys galore and fantastic, the future as candy-apple red and luscious as your brightest dreams! Can you imagine how wonderful a moment this was?
And then the wheel landed on "Diaper." And yes, a diaper was handed over, here you go, thanks for spinning the wheel and listening to us, make sure to buy the toys you didn't win now, you hear, have a great time at the rest of the convention, it was great to meet you, no don't forget your diaper, take that with you, you won it, it's yours, you're a winner, you won that diaper fair and square, now carry it around proudly.
Yup. Diaper. Thanks, Wheel. Thanks a load. A load in a diaper. Wheel. Thanks.
-- Adam P. Knave can be found at http://www.adampknave.com where he
writes things that actually happened in his own life, sometimes,
instead of just relating the lives of others.
*****Editor, who is flushed red and may or may not be weeping and/or cringing, notes: I totally had another $20 in my wallet. In fact, I probably had like $60. Yes, it's true. Now, Sir Adam apparently serves to see the best in fellow mankind, and likely disregarded my full disclosure of this IMPORTANT detail during our cocktail session late Friday evening. And YES I DID TELL HIM HOW DARE YOU SIR! (But maybe it was in a whisper. While he was off using the bathroom but WHATEVER.) The point is that I am, regardless of spin and excuse, a cheap, cheap bastard who--when pressed by PRINCIPAL! THE PRINCIPAL OF THE THING! THE TIP IS OPTIONAL! THE UNSPOKEN RULE! DON'T CONFRONT THE SHITTY TIPPERS!--would rather be seen as a cheap motherfucker than as someone of weak resolve. That's right kids. My resolve to be a douchebag is strong.
But, yeah. Mostly things started looking up after that. The next day, I attended two hilarious sessions that made me feel utterly untalented and forced me to rethink my bold decision to become a humor writer, *almost* said hello to icons Marinka and Stacey, stared at lots others and did some mental POINT! I KNOW HIM/HER! before scurrying away, and ultimately attended Sparklecorn where I continued to cling to TwoBusy's leg, tried to blackmail Sundry over events surrounding the unicorn cake (she may or may not have hit me), and met some great people, quickly thereafter forgetting their names.
And the next morning, I even managed to grab some coffee with Cat who told me that the reason I was such a failure at BlogHer is because I clearly give off that IMMA BITCH vibe. Then she tried to make out with me and/or steal my husband.
In other words, I'm keeping my eyes peeled for that VIP invite from BlogHer for next year. I'll keep you guys posted!