We're good. Thank you. Buzz off.

I firmly believe that most of us strive to be permanent citizens of Happy Mediumville.

And no, I do not refer to seeking a community of contented clairvoyants.

I just mean, a place (any place, but especially those establishments we favor with our trade) featuring appropriate observance of garden-variety courtesies and considerations (the kind you'd expect; nothing more) but devoid of schmaltzy expressions of gratitude embroidered with quasi-sincere endearments flung repeatedly upon one's increasingly stunned and speechless consciousness like a rain of sticky used lollipops.

Allow me to elaborate.

Several weeks ago TG and I were out tooling around and we stopped by a store where I'd bought something I needed to return.

I went straight to the cashier -- as one is prone to do in such cases -- where I was greeted immediately and most effusively by the young lady on duty.

Well heLLO dear!!!!!!! she began. I'm so so SO glad y'all are here!!!!!!

The words were uttered with the sort of throbbing emotion one might expect upon discovering a flood victim clinging to the finial of their house's weathervane in the waning twilight of a bitterly cold day as you happen along in a dinghy equipped with an Evinrude E-TEC, padded seats, toasty-warm blankets, hot apple cider garnished with cinnamon sticks, gourmet snacks, and free wi-fi.

I'd never seen the lady before in my life, so: Oh, I thought. You are? Okay. I'm reasonably glad I'm here too.

I smiled, looking just to the left of her actual face lest I be blinded by the display of ultra-force delight writ large in her over-bright eyes which veritably hyper-glowed, presumably in honor of our presence.

Where can I get a case of whatever you're on? I may or may not have snarkily thought to myself.

Don't get me wrong; it is nice to be warmly welcomed. I become annoyed when, in a retail situation, it's all but impossible to find someone on the payroll who is willing to assist you, much less pretend to be glad you're there.

Or that you even exist, or that your existence may be construed to serve some purpose, or that perhaps you have a dollar or ten or eighty to spend.

Then when you do locate an "employee" and begin speaking, asking your question or whatnot, you are nearly always treated to the sight of their backside as they scuttle away from you as though you just that morning got back from trundling Ebola patients around West Africa on your shoulders, declaring as they go that they don't even work in this department. 

I think the more accurate statement would be that they don't even work. Full stop.

There is apparently no incentive anymore for hardly anyone to be solicitous and helpful and yes, even a tad deferential, when somebody presenting as a customer -- without which, places which hope to sell things would be up a creek without a paddle, am I right -- requires something more than simply having been allowed to walk into the store and breathe the air.

So yes, when you encounter someone on the other side of the cashier desk who crackles with enthusiasm, it can and often does represent a delightful change of pace.

Even so. Like all things -- be they edible or less tangible -- buried beneath a metric ton of treacle, it has the potential to get out of hand faster than you can say pass the Splenda.

Go to the cabinet and grab your bottle of pancake syrup. I'll wait. Turn that thing bottoms-up and just gulp away like it's a cure for all that ails you.

See what I mean? A trifling amount of sweet-sweet goes a long long way.

Personally, I love vinegar. But that's a post for another day. And I will thank you not to snicker.

People say you catch more flies with honey but to quote my TG: Who needs flies?

Anyway I was in the aforementioned store for approximately twenty minutes, looking here and there for this and that, and the girl who was so glad that TG and I were there was right on my heels the entire time.

She enthused once more -- then once agin, then again, and then yet again -- that she was so glad we were there. So delighted we'd stopped by. So excited she'd gotten to help me. 

For a total of at least a dozen times. Make that a baker's dozen.

These repeated declarations of ecstasy were punctuated with utterances of dear and sweetie so many times, I began to be concerned that in some life I no longer remember, I truly knew this young lady and we'd been best of friends, or maybe I'd once saved her life or at least loaned her my jumper cables.

The last time she said she was so glad we'd come in that day, she fairly muttered it to herself, but in my direction. And do you know what I did? I laughed out loud. I probably shook my head too, in amazement.

When I left I told her, chin up chickie, and gave her a little side hug. I felt perhaps she needed it.

So then only a few days later, Erica and I went to one of our favorite restaurants for dinner. We had the nicest waitress.

And I do mean the nicest.

Because if she came by our table once to check and see: Y'all good? once, she did it eighty-five times during the course of our meal. Each time, her question was accompanied by a hopeful thumbs-up.

Now, I hasten to add that I prefer to have an attentive server. My measuring stick for whether they're any good is if I have to actually ask for a coffee refill, or if my cup is kept brimming with hot/fresh.

But there has to be somewhere between a bone-dry coffee cup and your server practically parking her carcass tableside to take your gustatorial temperature every sixteen seconds, where we can all agree to live together in peace.

Imagine: You are sitting across from your dinner companion and you've been out and about all day and you're famished and what you want more than a Chanel wardrobe is to consume your meal in relative calm and comfort, while conversing with said companion.

Instead of being allowed to do that, however, you are accosted after every third bite -- and I do not exaggerate -- and asked: Y'all good? And being forced to bob your head up and down to the point of passive whiplash in assent because of course you cannot actually answer since you are attempting to carry out the objective of your visit: finish your dinner.

The ninth or tenth time (one loses track) our waitress buzzed by and asked us: Y'all good? I looked at Erica -- mid-bite, mind you, for both of us -- and I opened my eyes real big as if to say What in the name of all that makes any sense to anyone does a person have to do to be granted a smidgen of privacy in which to eat their grilled chicken tenderloins around here?

Erica, mouth full, widened her eyes too and nodded in agreement because she'd been trying to tell me a story but had been interrupted so many times, she'd finally given up. It would have to wait until the drive home.

I briefly considered asking our server if she is familiar with the definition of insanity -- something I often think of asking certain people -- or, in the alternative, quoting a classic movie line a la Greta Garbo: I vant to be alone.

But I was afraid it would all be lost on her. Besides, she was too nice.

That's something which never troubles me in Happy Mediumville. I'm so glad I'm here.

Comments

[Glenda]

You're so right. Too much of a good thing can be as bad as not enough. The pictures are adorable.

[Sally]

Well, as a certain famous person once said (and I don't remember who, so must not be too famous) "You can't win for losing."

I love your photos Jenny. :)
xoxo

[Jennifer]

@Sally ... I'm an unabashed curmudgeon but that's not why I never confuse overkill with sincerity. In relationships, whether they be momentary or lifelong, I prize genuineness above everything. xoxo

[Donna (Texas)]

You do Not want to be a pest at my table...and we've had our share. I believe in good service but overuse of said service and I see your tip, shrinking! On one occasion I have even said, "Enough!"
Look in, (DON'T SPEAK) You see we are good? Leave the check and beat it! Ughhhh!
hughugs

[Jennifer]

@Donna (Texas) ... you're my kind of gal and my kind of dinner companion. But then we knew that. xoxo

[Barb]

Do those roosters have legs? Also, where is that bear going? We're in the city for a couple days. (Babysitting tomorrow night.) Since I'm normally sheltered from shopping/restaurant experiences by my hermit-like existence, I'm painfully aware that too much effusive service of the dear/sweetie variety sets my teeth on edge. However, no service tries my patence to its breaking point. In both instances, I might transform from a sweet old lady into something fearful. Nobody wants that! Just keep a nice balance, please! (I almost used a string of exclamation points but stopped myself in light of your last post.)

[Jennifer]

@Barb ... Those roosters sure do have legs, pillowy ones, and big resin feet. The bears are going to Minneapolis for a convention. They're terrified of bus travel but as they refuse to fly, that's all there is. Also I agree that no service is more horrible than too much, but only by a forkful or two. I once was at a restaurant with my TG and I asked our server (a young male) for lemons. He didn't bring them and didn't bring them, so I asked again. He still did not bring them, so I asked again. I asked at least three times, maybe four, for a few paltry slices of lemon. The last time I asked, as he walked away I said to TG, why on earth won't he bring me those lemons? Well, the server heard me and he came back and got IN MY FACE and told me how busy he was and that was why I didn't have my lemons. My TG, being exceedingly nonconfrontational, said nothing. But the "server" got nothing for a tip, too. Meanwhile, have fun in the big city! I am a semi-hermit too, except when I force myself to visit the cemeteries. Stay warm!!!!!!!!! Haahaahahaa xoxo

[Lady Fi]

Oh, I do love good manners and a warm welcome - but it has to be genuine.

I'm loving your photos!