I do not show skin. Like, ever. I don’t wear shorts, my bathing suit is a modest 80s boy bottom, I don’t wear skirts that go above the knee and I don’t show cleavage.

Today, at work, I was wearing a long sleeve button down with a pullover sweatshirt over it, an ankle length corduroy circle skirt and fuzzy boots. It’s a super comfy and warm outfit.

A Mennonite woman stopped and told me, “You’re dressed so lovely… And so modestly, too.”

I do pride myself on my strength of character. I don’t wear Daisy Dukes, I have never been seen in public in my pajamas, I do not yap about my personal life to strangers, I’ve never posted a video of me dancing on a bar on YouTube. (I’ve danced on a bar – there’s just no video of it.) However, I have tattoos that I am proud of and have plans to get more. I have had my navel pierced – twice. Until a few months ago, my hair was dyed bright cherry red (and it was not my choice to change it). I am fairly liberal. I believe in ghosts and aliens and past lives.

So is being called modest a compliment or a sign I am getting old and complacent?

I still love my corduroy skirt, though.

Tonight I was doing my usual job of attending the check-your-own-damn-self-out lane. I saw a guy – nondescript, overweight, late 30-ish – set a bag of dog food and a box of fireplace starter logs on one of the terminals belts. “Oh, please don’t scan the shipping label on the box and make me walk out there,” I thought to myself. It was prescient thinking as there was no way I would have touched that box after I got a closer look at him.

When he was scanning his items, he turned slightly and I could see blood pouring out of his nose. He was using his sleeve and hands to wipe the running blood. His gray sweatjacket and the dog food bag (poor doggy) was streaked with blood. His chin and cheeks were smeared with blood. He did not seem alarmed, embarrassed or apologetic. He did not hurry or ask for tissues.

I am not afraid of blood or vomit, but I was so alarmed by the sight of actual hot human blood being smeared around my workplace that I was almost catatonic for a few moments. When I noticed that there was blood on the floor and the terminal, I called a manager over to get maintenance. When no one showed up another manager donned gloves and used paper  towels and Windex to clean up the blood. I kept repeating, “We need a bloodborne pathogens kit and a bucket of water with 1 part bleach and 10 parts water.”

After 45 minutes of staring at a plastic bag stuffed with blood soaked paper towels, the maintenance lady finally showed up, mopped with dirty water and did a half-assed job of wiping off the terminal. I pulled rubber gloves on, sprayed the entire area with Lysol and refused to take off my gloves for the rest of my shift.

It’s one thing to not see a contaminant, but after you’ve seen a full on human hemorrhage in your workplace, how can you ever touch it again?

And should I rat all these people out for not following biohazard cleaning protocol?

*From G4′s “Web Soup”

One of the recent signs of the end of polite human society is the inability of people to respond to a common nicety.

“Hi, how are you?” is usually followed by a barked command or a complaint or silence.

A smile is generally greeted by a blank stare.

For the record, when someone says ‘Thank you”, you should say “You’re welcome.”

It’s disheartening that retail workers are expected to greet, thank and smile at customers, but the customers don’t have to give us the same courtesy.

Yesterday, I was talking to a co-worker about having to always work holidays. I said I hate the lead-up to the day: “Have a good holiday”, “You’re closed on (insert holiday name here), aren’t you?”, “I hope you don’t have to work on the holiday”, etc.

Jenny said she hates when she is working on the holiday and people come in saying: “It’s a shame you have to work today”. She said she wants to reply, “Well, if you kept your asses home, I wouldn’t have to work!”

I hope it’s slow tomorrow. I want to catch up on my People Magazine reading…

Today’s events included going to the downtown Riverwalk. Here’s a few pics:

When there’s no one around to take your picture, take a picture of your feet together. You will always remember where your feet were at that particular time. In this case, this is the reflection of our feet in the shiny guardrail around the river.