The End of an Era
I have reached another milestone in the writing of my stories. This is the last massage parlor story. The massage parlor is open. I am finished. Well, sort of.
I will need to go back and replace the toilet room doors, and the tank on one toilet, and, oh yeah, half of the ceiling tile. Then I will be finished, but they are open for business.
I know they are open for business because there is a bunch of people in massage parlor uniforms that have been standing in the way of the last minute construction workers, telling us we need to be quiet.
I read an advertising sign on the door of the services offered this business. They offer waxing. I take great offense to them telling the construction workers that their tools are too loud when they are pulling out customers’ hair by the roots. Talk about loud!
I probably should explain the reasons I’m not quite finished with the project. Let’s talk about the toilet room doors first. The company that was supplying the doors misread the blueprints and ordered the wrong doors. They misread the blueprints because two different doors were described on the blueprints. The door supplier guessed the wrong doors. Admittedly, he should have asked which door to use, but the story does not end there.
The door supplier ordered the “correct” doors and we a waiting for the new doors to arrive. The “incorrect” door have been installed temporarily until the new doors arrive. Again, that is not the end of the story.
Someone from the corporate offices likes the “incorrect”, which are now the “correct” doors. Are you confused? Welcome to the mall.
If you’re wondering about the changing the toilet tank, that’s easily explained. The flush handle is on the wrong side. Yep, evidently some of you are very picky about what hand you use to flush the toilet. Me? Usually, when in a public restroom, I flush the toilet with my foot (either foot) and get the heck out of there. Just saying.
The massage parlor has black ceilings. I guess (but do not know) that black ceilings keep people calm when they are getting their hair pulled out of regions that they shouldn’t be showing to others anyway.
While the workers were installing the ceiling tiles I noticed the ceiling started to look different. The men were using two different materials. When I asked why the materials changed, the workers reminded me English was not their first language. After a few minutes of pointing and gesturing the men noticed what they were doing. Honestly, I think they saw what they were doing before I did, but they were installing what materials they had. When they get the correct materials we will change the tiles after store hours. Yep, we will be working the night shift in a massage parlor. Sounds kinda dirty, doesn’t it?
OK, as Ivy is reminding me these stories are supposed to be about a yarn store, a family owned yarn store in Northern Colorado. Did I mention we are natives? Well, Ivy and I are, I think Elaine was born in another country. This information has nothing to do with the story, I’ve seen bumper stickers and license plates of people saying they’re natives and I don’t like being left out.
Sorry, I was doing so well keeping my focus. Then, Ivy told me to write about the store and I freaked out a little.
It is getting close to the Christmas holiday, so Ivy is nagging me to stated dyeing yarn. Ivy has all these great Christmas ideas, with absolutely no concern for the toilet handle in the massage parlor.
For the next few weeks, while I am waiting for toilet tanks, tile and doors, I will be sneaking over to YOUR DAILY FIBER, dyeing secret stuff. It’s not really secret, but you guys are going to need to go to the store to see it.
Elaine is doing something she is calling Christmas Cast-on. Ivy gets to help her, but I’m not involved. My ideas are most likely too good and they would need to give me credit, which they are not willing to do. I feel like I might be drifting.
Come see us at the store. I will be the guy in the back, with dye on my hands.
Did I mention, I was asked to build a cellular phone store in the mall complex? Yep, me and “smart” phones!
Our crazy lives!