On the plus side, actor Tom Pelphrey is rocking his role as Ward Meachum, mentally unstable evil guy. After the Thunderer nonsense and Danny's meltdown, the plot holes and the simple stupidity of random events, Pelphrey is the main reason I continue to tune in.
Enough about that. Let me bring you up to speed in regards to my current novel. Narrative-wise, it’s going nicely. I’m on chapter nineteen and enjoying the process immensely. Speed-wise, I must admit, I’m falling further behind on an almost hourly basis. I’m only on chapter nineteen. In today's blog, I'd intended to explain why I’m moving so slowly, and why this is completely acceptable, but this didn’t quite work out. Sitting at the computer, I somehow wandered off-topic and here we are. If I’m to get a blog out today, this mashed-up silliness is it. Lacking an appropriate title for today’s piece, I’ve decided to use the title for the blog I’d meant to write. To save face, a wiser writer than me would tell you this is Part One of this particular journey. Next Thursday, if I manage to stay on point, you’ll get Part Two.
On Saturday, instead of writing, I ended up at a very fancy mall in a very expensive city. If you must know, I’d driven for hours to pick up a crazy-expensive under eye cream by Sephora, and I did this for two very good reasons. The most important reason is, this is the very best under eye cream in the world. The lesser and more aggravating reason is, the geniuses at Sephora didn’t care to put their product’s number on the tube that contains the product. So, if you’re me and you’ve thrown away the box, you can’t find the exact right item to order on-line. Instead, you have to drive for hours to a very fancy mall in a very expensive city so that someone who doesn’t need makeup can help you locate the box you need.
(TroiBelle, if you happen across this site, your make-up was wonderfully applied. I persist with my belief that you had no need for it. You’ve either aged amazingly or you’re fourteen years old, and really shouldn’t be worrying about eye shadows and wrinkle concealers. Thank you, by the way, for finding my “Make Up For Ever” #4. As you well know, I highly recommend the stuff. In another couple of decades, you might need the product.)
Here’s how I know my little and much-worn Hyundai had arrived at a fancier mall than I usually visit. I picked up my first clue when I realized that nobody but Glynn, me, and the mall’s janitorial staff had arrived at this destination in a Hyundai. Then, inside the mall’s entrance, I found Clue #2. It called itself, the MacarOn Café.
If you’re asking yourself, What is a MacarOn Café?, you’re not alone in this. It turns out, the MacarOn Café has an online presence, as well as an actual business site in NYC. I’m guessing there are outlets in Paris and, purely speculating, a couple of very popular stores in the Maharajah’s palace. And there was also this not-quite-a-cart-not-quite-a-store thing at this particular mall.
From a distance and in this photo, it appears the mall’s MacarOn Café sells nothing but a few selected soft drinks and a selection of macarons. Excuse me, I meant macarOns. No croissants, certainly no bagels; only lovely, colorful macarOns for those shoppers in need of a pastry fix once they’ve got their Make Up For Ever fix at the nearby Sephora store. I was not one of those shoppers. I wasn’t about to drop $32 on a make-up tube the size of my index finger and then suggest we use what remains of our retirement on baked goods. At least, not while one of my dolls remains in desperate need of a Vintage Barbie American Airlines Stewardess outfit.
If money is to be spent, spend it wisely, people.
Standing on the upstairs walkway, Glynn watched to see how many people stopped to pick up a treat at the café. In the twenty minutes he stood there – because that’s how long I was in Sephora. One does not drive for hours to dash in and out of a store – he said no one asked for a macarOn. No one even spoke with the gentleman inside the not-quite-a-cart. This disturbed my honey.
“The guy probably needs that job,” Glynn told me.
“What makes you say that?”
“Because he went on-line, filled out the application, was interviewed and took the job. He accepted a job at MacarOn Café, with visions of French cookies dancing in his head. There’s probably a commission thing going on here. If the commission is part of his paycheck, he’s going to starve.”
Glynn didn't know if the man worked off of commission or not, but okay. Personally, I didn’t think this particular employee might be a little peckish, but things would improve at the end of the shift. Day old macarOns might not be a complete meal, but I'll bet they're filling.
“Do you remember all of the bad jobs I had?” Glynn asked me. “We both had?”
There are some things you never forget. But that’s for next week.