Rod Filbrandt
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Dear Uptight Seattleite,
I'm at Safeway. Me and this other guy have gotten into two different lines at the same time. That means we'd come to two different conclusions after sizing up the length of the lines, the groceries of the other customers, and the cashiers. Now it was a race that would decide who was smart and who was a sucker. It was neck and neck until a woman ahead of him starting arguing with the cashier—just as I knew she would—about the advertised sale price of her three dozen cans of low-magnesium Friskies. Just then I got called over by a cashier who'd opened up another lane. So, yeah, I got out of the store before the other guy, but I feel cheated of a more clear-cut victory. Am I being petty?
Liner Nate
Dear Nate,
Not at all. Having honed the skill of cashier selection over the course of long personal experience, it's understandably frustrating for you to be prevented from fully expressing these skills. In suddenly resolving the story in your favor, the deus ex machina of a new cashier deprived you of the victory that would have felt more genuine for having come through your own powers of discernment.
Since we're on this topic, let's all take this opportunity to remind ourselves to beware of the insidious ageism that may creep into the cashier-selection process. Feel free to steer clear of coupon-wielding seniors in line ahead of you, but take care to do this without resorting to negative feelings about their inability to complete a single transaction that doesn't involve calling the assistant manager over for a debate about the fine print.
While we are being aware of that, Nate, your job is to beware of the corrosive power of regret in your life. Put out of your mind the cashier who might have been and be grateful for the cashier who is.
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
The little optical-illusion spinny thing in my garden has stopped spinning.
Unspunster
Dear Unspunster,
You had some good times, didn't you? "It keeps the birds away, too," you were heard to remark as you happily allowed your tired eyes to be mesmerized by the spinny thing reflecting another summer sunset. We love things, and things don't last. That's the tragedy of human existence.
But I'm going to ask you to ask yourself a difficult question: How much was the spinny thing really fooling your eyes anymore? How much was it fooling anyone's eyes? Sure, for a while it looked for all the world like a magically hovering helix that rotated into existence at its base and upward into nothingness at its top. But you've had it so long that at this point even toddlers and cats turn away yawning.
I suggest you move on to a mobile. That one guy who used to sell sturdy outdoor mobiles made from old cookware and stuff—I think he's still got a stall at the Fremont Sunday Market. We may be mired in muck and cold, but it's not too early to start getting your garden ready for spring by removing that pointless manic twirling. There's no funny business with a mobile. Just a slow, whimsical harmony with evening breezes. What better way is there to celebrate our new administration than by saying farewell to deception and spin?
Dear Uptight Seattleite,
Why does everyone want to sit in a booth?
Waitress Juanita
Dear Juanita,
Eating at a restaurant is special to the extent that it's fancier than eating at your own house. And just as restaurant food is fancier than the food you cook, a booth is fancier than your dining table. It's like a misting of banana oil for your butt. Without it, a restaurant loses 50% of its allure.
The preposition that "booth" takes points to the other reason it's special. You can't sit or lie "in" anything but a booth. Of course there are hammocks, I guess. We had one when I was a kid. I only remember lying in it once, back in the summer when we first got it, staring at tree branches against the sky. It's hard to get in those things. They're tippy. You have to sort of trust and get in all at once. I'm pretty sure there's a lesson in there for us. After that first summer, our hammock was always wet and full of leaves. Then one day it was gone. Not sure about the lesson there.
It's easy to get into a booth, though. Its soft yet firm receptivity offers just the right amount of friction as you slide in. Once you're in, you can say you're "ensconced." The passive voice makes it sound like there's something the booth is doing to you. I've always been sort of thrilled by the idea of the booth taking control and ensconcing me. Sometimes it's still warm from its last occupant. I find that sort of unsettling. But the booth is soon filled with a warmth that's all mine.
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