let the tipping begin! (or "karma chameleon")

A few weeks ago I caught myself making a grave mathematical error about five beats after the person I was selling two CDs to caught me making a grave mathematical error. Ignoring the error would have saved him $20 and lost the band I was working for that same amount. Luckily we both realized my mistake. (Trying to balance too many things at once--a conversation, selling CDs for two bands in the selfsame minute, and such.)

I was really hard on myself for this mistake. Truly, I beat myself up for these things much more harshly than I think most people do. Time, learning, reading, and a little degree in gifted education (in which I learned a lot about perfectionism and how it manifests) has solidified what I didn't want to believe: I am a perfectionist, and this is not entirely healthy. Though I'm pretty secure with myself and have a shiny self-esteem (ahem--some scholars/psychologists might say that I am not too much of an inwardly-focused perfectionist), I really take it hard when I make a mistake in front of someone else. Falling on my butt, flubbing my words, etc.--that's usually fine, because I can laugh at myself first. But making a mistake that may make the other person perceive me as dumb? Oh, boy. That is really difficult to take.

That man at the rock show, the one I sold the CDs to for almost-free? Wow. He probably thought nothing of our interaction, probably thought what I would have if I were in his shoes: "that girl done got confused, guess I'd better tell her what's what." But that's not what I imagined, and not what I still imagine he was thinking. Oh, no siree. You see, he was thinking about how this little young thing in a dress was hired to sell CDs but can't even multiply by tens and do simple subtraction. He was wondering how much money I'd lost the band thus far. He was trying so very hard not to roll his eyes, thinking I might have looked a little cute but was probably not all that smart.

Let's face it, kids. Very few people in this world are as harsh as the way I imagine(d) that man to be in that moment. In fact, he handled the situation gracefully and I probably did as well. I am well aware that I need to get over making mistakes in front of people. People don't need to know that I'm smart. It's just...

Oh, shut up.


Anyhow. Today I went to the soon-to-be-closing nursery on the East Side of town, Charmar. The drought is making it so this quaint and usually successful family-run business is closing its doors in 17 days. (I originally heard about the store after they made the decision to close while listening to a local NPR story. I think that's right, but perhaps it was the UGA channel or 100.7. Whatev.) It's really a shame. I'd never been in before this afternoon, when I dipped in between tutoring appointments in the hopes of scoring one of their pretty Christmas trees. (30% off, and the only Christmas trees I've seen in town, truth be told. There were only five left when I was there. I think I'm a late bloomer.) When I handed the woman at the cash register a twenty and a ten to pay for the tree, which was $28.45, she gave me a ten and change in return. I rewound time in my head to be sure and then said, "Oh, um. I think I gave you thirty, not forty." "No, you gave me forty." "I'm pretty sure I didn't. It's hard to tell by my wallet since all the cash is jumbled together, but my ten is gone." She looked in the drawer, and sho' nuff, there was a ten dollar bill in the space where the twenties go. She reddened a bit and smiled gratefully. "Oh, THANK YOU!" "No problem," I replied, handing the cash back to her. She must have said thanks four more times, blushing all the while. I threw her a bone, mentioning I'd done a similar thing recently. That cured any awkwardness I'd sensed (maybe I was projecting it all the while?) and we chatted for a moment.

While I was there, three ladies bought plants for their houses and talked to the cashier/owner as they did so. "I just can't believe it," one woman in her sixties said, referring to the imminent closing of the store. "It just makes me start to tear up!"

"Well, don't start, 'cause then we start. We have eighteen days left now. Let's make them good."

A nice young feller carried my tree out to the car and lay plastic in the trunk so the needles wouldn't get everywhere. Feeling suddenly rich since I'd momentarily had a ten dollar bill and given it up so valiantly (ho ho ho), I whipped out a fiver and said, "Is it strange to tip? Is that done?" "It's not strange," he said, and I handed him some money and thought about holiday tipping and my blog and how much of a dork I am.

The end.

Go get yourselves a little plant or something.