The good thing about having lazy pigs for co workers is that I can hide things from them in plain sight. For example: I prefer to use the bottled water from the big despenser for making ice (I don't need to drink DC tap - I get enough lead from my steady diet of paint chips). I know damn well these people will not go through the modified effort to use a different water source to fill the ice cube trays. Granted, this is assuming they will fill the ice cube trays at all.
Luckily, this laziness can translate in my favor: If I put the bottled water ice underneath a currently frozen ice cube tray they will use the one on the top, and should they replace the water in it, will put it right back on top, leaving me with a constant stash of fresh ice cubes craftily hidden in the stack of trays. Ingenious.
I was at the supermarket on Monday picking up a few things for the week. Like all Mondays of a three-day-weekend, it was just like Sunday night in there, with every sucker (including myself) in the area picking up last-minute stuff. I joined what appeared to be the shortest line, with an old man at the front finishing up, and a middle-aged woman loading her stuff on the already full belt. I caught up on the latest in the Jennifer/Brad/Angelina story and waited as the obviously exhausted checker slugged through the groceries.
By the time there was enough room on the belt to put my stuff, there was already someone behind me, kind of wriggling her way up to the belt and craning her neck around me. I got the divider bar and put it at the end of the stuff, and the lady behind me sighs and says shortly, "thanks." I kind of look at her confused, realize what she means, and explain that I haven't even gone yet. "oh."
One would think this would inspire the woman to carry her ass to the back of the cart, bust out a Mademoiselle and wait her damn turn.
One would think. She stood there, staring at the belt, so close to me that if I turned around fast enough, I'd hit her with my hair. Eventually, I turned around and stared at her. She looked confused.
"You must be European," I said.
"European? No." pause "I don't know why you'd think that."
"Well, wherever you're from, in America it's considered rude to stand this close to another person. We tend to give each other more personal space."
She seemed confused, but I think she eventually got it, and took her place at the back of her cart.