“It's not like I'm the only person in the building who smokes pot!”

No – those aren't my words. First to begin, I would not say “pot”. And secondly, I'm not an obnoxious cell phone user.

I had the pleasure of sitting in front of one of those people on my way home this evening; those people who make you wish you could launch razor thin tranquilizer darts into their voice box from the back of your head silently and surreptitiously.

The irony of my unwanted interaction with the offending passenger reads like poetry. I was on my way home from a forum on the importance of public space. Up for discussion was who can do what where; who pays to maintain the where; who determines the what; and the fundamental difference between the private and public realm. And up in the private space of my thoughts all I could hear was her - the bane of my streetcar ride home.

People have written about public cell phone use etiquette ad nauseam. Why do I have enough rant worthy material for a blog post?!

Voice level, subject matter, language – they all matter when your audience is stuck with you in a confined public space.

I don't care that you're soooooo tired, especially when I'm soooooo tired (and sick!) and just trying to unwind in spite of your presence. Manners maketh the wo(man).

Maybe if “the old lady” in your building did call the police to bust you for smoking pot, we would never have met.

Independence and the vacuum cleaner

You know your life passport has a valid visa to adulthood when you rush out of work to buy a vacuum cleaner on sale.

She's a tiny beauty, just like the first place I get to call my very own. But, she almost didn't make it home with me.

I arrived at the store well in advance of closing, but failed to consider the masses who also retrieved the sales flyer in their mail the day before the end of the sale as I had.

Precious minutes sailed by as I frantically fumbled around browsing shoppers for the correct aisle. I finally relented and relied on the guidance of a customer service attendant to set me on course – then panic set in. The shelf was empty. There were 26 in stock when I checked at lunch!

I gripped the crumpled flyer in my hand, as my eyes darted from the empty shelf to every other vacuum brand in stock except the one I had my sights set on. My trance was suddenly broken by the feeling I was being watched. As I met the downcast gaze of another customer, I noticed she had my vacuum in her hands. If you ever doubted whether women mark and guard their territories, enter the shopping zone during a sale. I wanted to ask her where she got the prized item but badmind took over. Why didn't she just tell me, eh?!? Clearly she is trained in the art of mind reading with her eyes all shifty-like.

When our dance in the aisle ended, I noticed two boxes resting neatly above eye level. Rejoicing on the inside, I felt comforted knowing that I too would get to leave the store a vacuum owner.

Collection of cleaning apparatus - complete; new passport stamp – check.