Hot and Bothered

When I get angry, I get hot. When I feel terribly embarrassed, I get hot. When I speak my mind on a topic about which I feel strongly, I get hot. So in spite of my India-thinned blood, I'm not cold one hundred percent of the time. (That being said, I must admit I'm still putting on sweaters while others nearby are wearing shorts.)

I had one of these "hot flashes" (not like yours, Mom) just last night.

It was 8 p.m. and I had just walked into Sam's Club, heading for the photo counter. I recently bought some nice picture frames for India pictures, and I was planning on ordering digital prints. A quick Sam's stop, and straight on to Ikea. But right from the get-go, it went all wrong.

Four of the five digital workstations were down. The fifth was just being booted up, and an older gentleman was watching it start. As I watched, he selected one envelope from a large stack of them he had stowed in the front of his cart. He pulled out a CD and an order form. It soon became clear that he was ordering prints for members of an entire class reunion. Not only was he printing all kinds of photos multiple times over, he was painstakingly typing each person's name and the title of the reunion at the bottom of each picture. Good golly.

After a brief chat with the photo lab technician, I realized my only option was to wait - and wait I did. After about fifteen solid minutes of standing in one place, I began to weary of the inactivity. So I stepped about ten feet across the aisle and sauntered around, looking at windbreakers and hooded sweaters and shirts. I ended up leaning up agains the jacket display, watching Slow Poke from a distance.

After awhile, I happened to look at the many TV screens across the way. Anything to keep my mind active. When I glanced back, there was a women just coming up to the photo workstation with a CD in hand. I quickly crossed the aisle and regained my place behind Mr. Poke.

"There's only one computer working," she informed me.

"Yeah, I asked about that when I got here," I responded.

"Looks like this guy has a lot to do," was her comment. "And I have a lot of pictures to edit and print, too, so..." she looked apologetic.

Apologetic? Yes! She was implying that perhaps I wouldn't want to wait for her to finish. Um, I wasn't planning on waiting for her. I was next in line. I began to feel a little warm. Then it occurred to me that, to her, it seemed that I had walked up just after she did. As I was considering which would be the politest way to let her know I was there first, she threw another surprise.

"I've been already been waiting for quite awhile," she said with confidence.

Excuse me? I watched you walk up here less than 90 seconds ago! I could feel myself flushing. I thought I'd nicely let her know the truth.

"Actually, I got here almost a half hour ago. I've been waiting the whole time."

I was nice. I promise. But she gave me a look that clearly spelled out her disbelief. She obviously thought I was lying. But I knew she was! I started thinking about taking off my sweater.

Right about then, Slow Poke finished up and moved his cart away from the workstation. Without waiting a millisecond, she wheeled her cart right in front of me. Oh, feel the heat rise! What is she doing?! But... still wanting to be nice... and really needing to leave... I decided to just ask. No accosting, no accusing, no attitude. Only asking.

"Ma'am, I only have a dozen or so pictures to order. Would you mind if I just did that really quickly?"

She put the CD into the computer. "Oh, I won't be very long." It was at this point I thought I was topping out at about 104* F.

Five minutes passed, and I absolutely had to leave. Ikea was closing soon, and that was my next stop. I was so hot and bothered that, powered by my own steam, I was almost all the way to the back of the parking lot before I realized I'd parked in the front row.

It took me several minutes to cool down again. And yes, I drove with the windows down.