Breaking Glass
So I have this weird reaction to the sound of glass breaking--for me it's probably the most sickening sound ever. I don't think I have any memory of a traumatic childhood event that would explain it, or anything, though. I have a sense that maybe it goes back to something that might have happened in a previous life. I do sometimes think I have vague images of lives I've lived before this one, like seeing myself as a Midwestern housewife in the '40s or so, or as a Celtic ladies' maid in 19th century England, and maybe it is one of those things.
Anyway, I was shopping this afternoon, I was actually having a pretty good day... one of the things I was getting was a 6-pack of champagne for my sweetie. Well, there is this stockperson that works at our store who is developmentally disabled (or whatever the current PC term is) and he couldn't seem to figure out how to get it back into the bottom basket of the cart; instead he ended up ripping the wine carrier and dropping the champagne bottles on the floor, several of which exploded in a fizzy shower of glass. -_-;;;
The store replaced the product, obviously, and I didn't even get anything on me and nobody got hurt at all, but it still freaked me out. I've been home for over a half-hour now and I've still got that weird unsettled feeling like something terrible happened and I'm just waiting for the consequences, like I'm thinking to myself, "Oh man, now I'm in for it."
Writing about it is calming me down some, and I think it's nice that my sweetie happened to be planning to take me out to sushi tonight, so I will be having comfort food in a while. I still don't like it though. I think I would feel rude to ask for that stockperson not to handle my stuff, but he ruins things!
Anyway, I was shopping this afternoon, I was actually having a pretty good day... one of the things I was getting was a 6-pack of champagne for my sweetie. Well, there is this stockperson that works at our store who is developmentally disabled (or whatever the current PC term is) and he couldn't seem to figure out how to get it back into the bottom basket of the cart; instead he ended up ripping the wine carrier and dropping the champagne bottles on the floor, several of which exploded in a fizzy shower of glass. -_-;;;
The store replaced the product, obviously, and I didn't even get anything on me and nobody got hurt at all, but it still freaked me out. I've been home for over a half-hour now and I've still got that weird unsettled feeling like something terrible happened and I'm just waiting for the consequences, like I'm thinking to myself, "Oh man, now I'm in for it."
Writing about it is calming me down some, and I think it's nice that my sweetie happened to be planning to take me out to sushi tonight, so I will be having comfort food in a while. I still don't like it though. I think I would feel rude to ask for that stockperson not to handle my stuff, but he ruins things!