This is it. This is the day, that I, as a consumer am taking back some of my rights. I have had a number of bad retail experiences( two just this week) and I realize that I am a powerless peon. One of the faceless masses who will never have any clout with retailers, but I am no longer going to play nice.

For those of you who don’t know me personally, I should tell you that I am the “good girl” – you know the one who never gets in trouble. I try to be kind and helpful and always make life easier for others. This is doubly true in retail situations.

I have worked with the public, in mostly blue collar jobs, since I was fourteen. I know it isn’t easy. I know people work hard, so I try to make it as easy as possible. I ALWAYS put my cart back at the grocery store(Even in the torrential downpours we often get here in Washington) I ALWAYS take my trash to the garbage at fast food places, I ALWAYS put things back in the correct place if I change my mind about an item mid-shop(even if it means going back to the other side of the store. I don’t tell you this because I want to brag. I tell you this so you can understand the level of frustration that has led me to my current decision.

Today, at Rite Aid, I bought a gallon of milk and a bottle of ketchup. I just made fantastic homemade corn dogs (remind me to share the recipe on a later blog- easy and delicious) and realized I couldn’t partake without ketchup. Anyway, I gave the clerk a ten. I know it was a ten because it is the only bill I had with me. My daughter also saw that it was a ten because at first I sent her in for the ketchup, and then I needed milk too, so I went after her. Short story long, I know without a shadow of a doubt it was a ten.  The total comes to $5.34. So, I give the cashier the ten and tell her I have the thirty-five cents for the change. I guess this terrible bit of math was too much for her, because she never gave me change. Which I figured out as soon as I got to my car. I went back into the store and told her she forgot my change, and this, dear reader is the real catch. She says to me. I thought I needed to give you a five. I had one out, but I saw that I typed five dollars instead of ten so I put it back. (May I submit this evidence to the court!)

She was very nice, but then her supervisor had to come over and they had to count out the till. Then they go in the back room for like fifteen minutes. The supervisor comes back and says, ” Sorry till is okay.” Great, but what about my five. Oh, there’s nothing they can do about that except charge me ten dollars for ketchup. So even though I know that it is wrong and the clerk knows it is wrong, and has admitted such, the numbers match so I’m out money. Nice. If the clerk hadn’t said she remembered the same thing, I would at least understand, but come one this is craziness. I was really fired up now. Probably because my wonderful corn dogs were getting cold. So I said,  ” Since this is all dependent on the count of the till, I assume that her till must come out every day 100% correct. Right?” No comment. Just guilty looks. Now I know this is just an accident, but two days ago I was in AM/PM. I bought a Starcraft cup so I could get my caffeine fix and my kids like the cup. They lady starts to charge me for a refill, but I’m the”good girl” so I correct her and pay full price. I come back yesterday and there is a huge line so I just go over and fill my cup. When I finally get to the checkout and say it’s a refill the lady( same one as yesterday) yells at me LOUDLY about not coming up to show her first.

“We sell that cup here,” she says indignantly.

“I know, I bought it from you yesterday, “I fire back. “There was no sign. This is my first refill here.” I stammer.

She continues to berate me for my refill misdeed. Mind you this is all for about 70 cents. So I finally escape from that fiasco, and now, today, I’m getting smeared at Rite Aid. The thing that makes me the maddest is that there isn’t a darn thing I can do about it. Well maybe egg the stores in the middle of the night so they have to pay an employee to clean it up.Or maybe I’ll just go put a hard boiled egg on one of their shelves so in about six weeks there will be this horrible smell no one can figure out.  But since I have been the”good girl” so long, I know I’ll never go through with it.

Instead I  have decided to create a new me. No taking my tray back, I’ll put crap I don’t want where ever I like, and my cart will free range in the parking lot. Then when I get terrible customer service I can just smile and say to myself. I deserved that one, and at least feel a little bit of justice.

Today, as we ran toward the car, ready for another day of school, work, and general craziness, we were stopped short. All the door of our vehicles were hanging open. This is very unusual here in rainy Washington state. My first thought was that the kids were really going to be in trouble if they let my battery die. After a second though, I realized that we had actually been robbed. Well, now I say robbed and then that’s not exactly accurate. They didn’t take anything. The would-be-thieves rummaged through every nook and cranny spilling out it’s contents all over the seats. The left check books, stereos, tapes, and other valuables. They did haul one sweatshirt down the block before leaving it, but other than that they really just cleaned the car for us.

We actually found a wallet that had been missing for months. Never had any money in it, so if they stole something out of it, it was probably only about sixty cents.  It kind of reminded me of when my parents built a new house the summer I graduated from high school and I, being the youngest, moved into my grandparents house with them until I would go off for college in the fall. My grandmother was a total neat freak. She thought the room was filthy if more than the bed touched the floor, including throw rugs.  She always thought that my room wasn’t clean enough, so she would pile everything onto my bed to be put away. She did not like a particular basket of trinkets I kept on my dresser and it ended up all over my pillow time and time again.

Today reminded me of her cleaning sprees. I wish I could thank my intruders for doing such a thorough job of sorting through things. I am not sure if I should be glad they didn’t steal anything, or insulted that our stuff wasn’t good enough. There is a certain freedom though, in owning the kind of crap that no one else wants.

Since I am new to the blogoshpere I thought I would take a minute to tell you about why I started this blog. I am soon-to-be published author. Hopefully, you are so delighted with my book, that you came here to seek the inspiration behind it. Realistically, if you just clicked the wrong button and ended up here, then this is an author blog. I will be putting out info on my projects as they, cross you fingers, move foreword. Thanks for checking out my website.

Many people I talk to think that writing is a talent. Bestowed to the few and lucky in a virtuous act at birth, or as a reward for some act of random kindness, like saving puppies or nuns from a burning building. Okay, so most people don’t actually think that last part. My point is, that writing is not a talent, although some natural talent usually starts the whole process. Writing is work.

Real, actual, difficult work. If all it took to write a book was a good idea then the shelves would be flooded with beautiful novels. What it takes to write a book is work. The idea is the easy part. The part you love, that you enjoy hatching in your brain for weeks, meeting characters and remarking in how clever you are. Then comes plotting, where you realize you need an actual story line with a beginning, middle, and ending that actually make sense all together. Finally, You come to the hardest part of writing. Sitting down and actually coming up with words on the page.

The difference between someone who always wanted to write a book, and someone who actually does it is just fifteen minutes. The first fifteen minutes you sit down and actually start to type followed by days, weeks, months, and yes, even years of sticking to it and putting more and more fifteen minute sessions in. After all that work you will have a full and complete first draft. Throw it in a drawer for a few months and reintroduce yourself to your friends and family. Then you get to start the editing process.