The Square Peg

This is kind of a piggyback to the character vs talent post.

I've been thinking about celebrities and the expectations we have of them and wonder if it's possible we might be a little off base. Take Michael Phelps, for instance.

A while back I heard a lot of people talking about how disappointed they were to find out he had used drugs. I'm not condoning his drug use; like so many others, I assumed he followed the rules set forth by the Olympic Committee and was drug-free. And I feel badly for the kid; he made a dumb choice, the public found out about it, and he'll probably suffer consequences for his choice for a long time. BUT...

I never heard Michael say he was anything other than a competitive swimmer.

So, now I'm wondering why do we often assign certain morals to a person who has a particular kind of gift or talent? Isn't that presumptuous? I'm not talking about drugs because in the case of sports, it's pretty clear why the standards are set the way they are. I'm talking about other moral issues. Is it fair to expect someone who is clean-cut, a certain age, highly disciplined, or interviews well on TV to have a particular moral code of conduct? I know we hope people have certain standards because many times we long for a hero, and are inspired by people who raise (or set) the bar. But isn't it true that we sometimes put things on people unfairly by expecting them to be at a place they're not?

What if instead of having great expectations of people, we put grace expectations on people. What do you think?

Last night I got home from TN to find an updated list for my trip to the store this week.

The first item on the list was written before I left. Moose wasn't sure how to spell bouillon (he was close) but Drew changed the spelling to what you see above. And then he added his own items to the list.

The Aqua Reefer is actually Old Spice's Red Zone deodorant. The "flavor" is called Aqua Reef, but as Drewby does, he put his own spin on it. He also informed me he's all caught up on the House episodes for the season, which explains tuberculosis and the sarcoidosis since it's never lupus. But between Aqua Reefer and the item he wrote on the list a while back, I'm starting to wonder if I should be a little concerned about him. Can you recommend the name of the good counselor? :)

I work in a flooring store and a couple of customers came in today. The wife asked me how much our carpet costs. She wasn't asking about a particular kind of carpet, but she was standing near a display so I walked over to check the price tag on the rack she was standing next to. I leaned over to look at the tag when I smelled it. It wasn't the smell of cigarettes, but I couldn't put my finger on it right at first. Then it hit me.

It was weed.

After I quoted the price on the tag, the husband made an attempt to speak. When I raised up and looked at him, I could tell he was flying at an altitude way higher than the rest of us. He had a little bit of brown iris and an itty bitty pupil mixed in with the bloodshot in his eyes and he was having a some trouble holding himself up. And then he tried to speak again. It wasn't working very well. He kept doing this thing where he puckered his lips out but then drew them back in farther than normal and real quickly so he looked like he was chewing food, only he had no food in his mouth.

This is how the next few minutes went down:

Him: "Baby, how big you thank our libin' room is?"

Her: "I don't know; what fo?"

Him: "So we know how much carpet to git."

Her: "I done tole you, baby, we ain't doing the livin' room firs; we doin' the betroom."
Him: "No, baby, we said we doin' the libin' room."

Her: *moving her neck and pointer finger in the shape of the letter "z" but not in the same direction as each other* "No, we DID-INT; we said we doin' the betroom, and ats what we gone do."

Him: "Well, OK, tell her how big you thank the betroom is."

Her: *turning to me* "It's big enough to fit a king size bed in it."

Me: "Hmm, I'm not sure that's enough detail. It would be best if you measured and brought the numbers in to the store because carpet has to be laid so that it runs in the same direction. And if there's a closet in the room that needs carpet, we'd need to factor that in as well."
Her: "Well, OK, den. We'll come back."

Him: *as they're turning toward the door, he points outside the window* This is where I noticed that his little problem holding himself up had grown to a much larger issue. He looked like a buoy in the ocean bobbing back and forth. "How much is the blahblah outside?"

Me: "The what?"

Him: "The plahplah". (I can tell the word starts with a "p" but I'm not sure if it's "pillow", "panel", or "pallet". We had two pallets of panels sitting outside next to the steps though, so I presumed he meant them.

Me: "Oh, the pallets? Well, the prices vary, but there should be a sign on there. Let's go out and check."

Me again: *pointing to the big sign with large black letters on it* "It's $3.19 a square foot."

Him: "Hmmm, that's pretty low." *Compared to him, everything was low.*

Her: (she's standing at the car by this time, getting ready to get in the driver's seat) "Come on, baby, we got to go."

Him: "I'm comin', baby." To me he says, "we be back later to look at the plahplah again."

Me: "Sounds great. Thanks for stopping by. Be sure to bring your bedroom measurements with you."

Him: "blahblah OK. blahyou"

Working with the public is so strangely entertaining sometimes.