These are not my People
I’ve been spending a lot of time in rl this week, I have to finish packing and moving my mother, and then settlement on her home next week. She’s moving into a senior apartment where there will be eternal bingo and sunshine, I hope she’s going to like it. Yesterday we spent a fair amount of time there signing contracts and paying up. When you have to accomplish something like this there are certain behavioral expectations that are well, expected of you. If I decide to play along I wear the face above. You know, you dress appropriately, don’t pick your nose, those kinds of things. It’s not really the real you, but it’s the socially acceptable version of you that you dust off for certain occasions.
Unfortunately I was pressed for time yesterday and rather than get there late I came as I was, in my usual attire. Looking more like this, just not as well dressed.
Since I started working from home I’ve kind of gone native. I’m not much for beautying, I used to get frequent hair cuts and dye my hair but kinda let that go. WHAT!! I’m PREMATURELY gray. My mother says my father’s hair was completely gray at 24, so seriously it’s prematurely gray. The woman that cut my hair and bullied me into making appointments quit, I don’t know, three years ago. That was the end of the dying and the cutting so imagine one of those guys wearing jeans and a ten year old Alienware T-shirt and you’ve got me.
I’m getting to the WoW part, just hold on. Now I’m sure that being judgmental was a seriously useful survival trait back in the day but nowadays it gets a little trying. After eyeballing the Mad Woman of Borneo and her mother we were left to cool our heels in a lovely reception area that had a freaking huge piano playing show tunes. I thought I would die, I wanted to die. If that was my punishment for looking so unconventional, man, those old folk specialists know their stuff, sadistic fiends. I’m still having audio flashbacks.
Anyway, my mother started wandering around “meeting people” and I was left there to amuse myself. On long waits I amuse myself by playing the guess who plays WoW game. Before WoW I used to play the game where I’d imagine the people around me and myself were suddenly in one of those horror movies and I’d try to guess who would be the hero, who would be the first to get killed, etc. Now it’s the WoW game.
Admittedly this was a little tougher than usual since I was in a Senior Living complex, but hey still doable cause you can include the people who work there too. People kept coming by assuring me someone would be with us in a moment. They were frighteningly cheerful. Imagine a squee wrapped in furry pink polka dots and velvet ribbons. These are not my people.
We were finally collected and first, given a tour. We came to the computer room, I inquired about the activities. This woman was late twenties I’d say, and replied that you’d be able to use the computers to browse the internet for news and such. I asked about games and got a blank stare. These are not my people.
No where could I find a possible WoW player. Not that they weren’t there, but if they were, they were exceedingly skillful at hiding behind their socially acceptable facade. Finally finished, we walked back to my car. The place is new and there’s construction being completed on the outside. I got hit on by a construction worker. God love ’em, you can always count on them. They weren’t really rude enough though. I miss my people. I am so ready to login and queue for the headless horseman where no one will say hello and if anything goes wrong blame will be flying. Oh, it’s good to be home. These are my people.