Yoga folks is scary, yo.
So, I'm out getting lunch for the writers. Nine times out of 10, restaurants will be running behind on my order. It's usually a biggish order, since some people like to piggy back on our order (THEM: "OOOOOH! You're going to that place? I love that place! Since you're going there already, could I just..." ME: "Sigh. Sure."). So, I make sure to tell the restaurants I'm going to get there a good fifteen minutes before I'm actually going to get there. Which gives them PLENTY of time to make the food.
Aside: Don't get me wrong. I love love love my job. I'm not a clock-watcher. I don't tend to count the days 'til the weekend. But this week, I've just been really tired and run down and can't seem to catch up on sleep. And finding out on Wednesday morning that it wasn't, in fact, Friday morning, as I thought it was when I woke up, was heartbreaking.
So, it's been a long week. And I'll admit I didn't see the sign that the parking area was for the Yoga place until The Incident. I just parked in a spot and headed to the restaurant down the way. Where I waited for 20 minutes (even after the 15 minute padding) to even see the food where I could then double-check everything was right, which always takes a good five-10 minutes. I'm carrying the food out of the place and heading toward the parking area, when I see it.
A note on my car. I can see, even from my distance, that it looks angrily written. In Sharpie. I get closer, and see that it's from the Yoga folks whose parking lot I've parked in. And that they are threatening to tow me. Or something. I don't actually get to read the whole thing, because the owner comes RACING out in her cotton/spandex mix and starts yelling at me for parking there. Apparently they have a class, and her students need a place to park.
We're talking about ONE PARKING SPOT.
But, I apologize profusely. I mention something about the food being late. Which brings on a new bout of screaming. I just apologize again and head back to the restaurant to collect the remainder of my food.
When I come out this next time, there are a couple of Yoga students next to my car. They're all holding their yoga mats (all in bright, non-soothing colors). They're all in their yoga gear. They look like a yoga gang. 4 rlz. They're all yelling at me. I apologize again. Indicating my food, and saying the restaurant was late and...
IT WAS ONE PARKING SPOT.
But apparently, these three women had to find street parking. They apparently had NOT done the math.
One. Fucking. Parking. Spot.
But seriously guys, I thought I was going to get a beat down. With a purple (or orange) yoga mat.
Finally, I got fed up with their drama and pushed past them. To them I said,
"Hope you gals have a great class and you find some fucking zen; you clearly need it."
After I sped off, I was feeling pretty zen myself. Apparently mouthing off to Beverly HIlls' housewives has a calming effect on me.
Aside: Don't get me wrong. I love love love my job. I'm not a clock-watcher. I don't tend to count the days 'til the weekend. But this week, I've just been really tired and run down and can't seem to catch up on sleep. And finding out on Wednesday morning that it wasn't, in fact, Friday morning, as I thought it was when I woke up, was heartbreaking.
So, it's been a long week. And I'll admit I didn't see the sign that the parking area was for the Yoga place until The Incident. I just parked in a spot and headed to the restaurant down the way. Where I waited for 20 minutes (even after the 15 minute padding) to even see the food where I could then double-check everything was right, which always takes a good five-10 minutes. I'm carrying the food out of the place and heading toward the parking area, when I see it.
A note on my car. I can see, even from my distance, that it looks angrily written. In Sharpie. I get closer, and see that it's from the Yoga folks whose parking lot I've parked in. And that they are threatening to tow me. Or something. I don't actually get to read the whole thing, because the owner comes RACING out in her cotton/spandex mix and starts yelling at me for parking there. Apparently they have a class, and her students need a place to park.
We're talking about ONE PARKING SPOT.
But, I apologize profusely. I mention something about the food being late. Which brings on a new bout of screaming. I just apologize again and head back to the restaurant to collect the remainder of my food.
When I come out this next time, there are a couple of Yoga students next to my car. They're all holding their yoga mats (all in bright, non-soothing colors). They're all in their yoga gear. They look like a yoga gang. 4 rlz. They're all yelling at me. I apologize again. Indicating my food, and saying the restaurant was late and...
IT WAS ONE PARKING SPOT.
But apparently, these three women had to find street parking. They apparently had NOT done the math.
One. Fucking. Parking. Spot.
But seriously guys, I thought I was going to get a beat down. With a purple (or orange) yoga mat.
Finally, I got fed up with their drama and pushed past them. To them I said,
"Hope you gals have a great class and you find some fucking zen; you clearly need it."
After I sped off, I was feeling pretty zen myself. Apparently mouthing off to Beverly HIlls' housewives has a calming effect on me.
posted by BooM @ 3:11 PM
2 Comments:
At October 07, 2009 10:42 AM,
junglenugget said…
Yeah it's awesome how the food is always late and they always get a couple of orders wrong. Awesome. And it's always the orders for the really really picky people that get screwed up. And then you have to get in the car and drive like madman(or madwoman) back to the place and pick up the right orders, and then you don't even get to eat because... ok I'll stop now. Because we're still lucky to have these jobs.
At October 22, 2009 7:37 PM,
Anonymous said…
Oh that story made me laugh; yoga gangs are the worst. I got yelled at for talking too loud when I went to my first yoga class and asked where the reception desk was... and trust me, I am NOT a loud person. There's nothing quite like the rage of an entitled person's sanctity being threatened by us mere plebes.
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