Monday, December 11, 2017

Becoming a Regular

Sometimes I don't make any sense.

I love the idea of being in a small town, and I love the idea of being a regular somewhere. I like knowing that my order at the Chinese take out will be $12.25. I like knowing the routine at my nail salon and which scent I can chose for the footbath. I like knowing the people we use for services.

However, apparently I don't love it in practice. I'm not totally sure why. Do I honestly think that the people at the Chinese take out place are judging how often I order?  Do I think the manicurist is concerned with the dirt under my nails? Do I think that our landscaper is gossiping about how many weeds we have?

So I end up totally awkward. I won't get Chinese food, even though it's what I want, because I'm afraid to have to make small talk with the friendly girl at the checkout who knows that I like to get egg rolls, soup and fried rice on Monday nights.

Seriously, it's ridiculous. I don't make sense, and I know it.

I was a regular at a car shop, where I got my oil changed. The guy there was great - I feel like he knew my car. I could go in when something sounded weird, and he would look at it right away. Then he left, and I didn't feel like I liked the guy who replaced him, and I found another place to get my oil changed. This guy got to know my car too, but for some reason, I kind of resented that. He wasn't saying anything that wasn't true, but I hate that he knew that my car wasn't well kept and looking new.

Then I didn't love that when there was an issue, he wasn't helpful at all and didn't seem to have interest in resolving anything further. So, now here I am again.

And I think it may be time to put those insecurities aside, and become a regular again.

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