Cellphone Miseries

Ok. So I've been noticing this more and more lately. Cell phones.
and the immeadiate and deadly rude use of it in a public place. Particularly in my store. More to the point, when they're at the cash register, with me. Ok. So first I go through the 'is it me?' phases. Do I stink? Have they been here before, and I just didn't have enough stimulating conversation for them? Am I just plain creepy? These and other questions will inevitably pop into my brain when confronted with me losing a chance for small talk to a piece of coloured plastic electronickery. And, do you know, I just love being Told to pust said merchandise into a bag, or being Told to get certain said merchandise. Because when any action is put to me when the customer is only half paying attention, or is put to me as a side thought deterred from his more important conversation about supper, and who he/she/it saw last night, that action becomes a demand, a telling to, and not a request. and that irks me to no end. So my course of action? Talk as loudly to the customer as I can, while he is on the phone, so that if he can not tell the importance of conversing with a flesh-and-blood person instead of a voice carried through satellite waves, then at least the person on the other line will have enough sense to ask to call later. or stop talking. The other thing I do is wait. just wait. I wait until they're done their conversation, or until they have enough sense to put the guy on hold, or the phone down, and apologise. Sometimes I help the people behind them, or clean things, but mostly I just stare and wait. So really. I ask any of you who read this. If you happen upon a store and are just coming to the checkout when the phone rings,
PUT THE BLOODY THING DOWN!
thank-you.

So this is my first time! yippee. I thought I'd get into this, just because my personal life just doesn't seem to be very personal anymore, so why not post it all on the Internet?
so Ok. Here's my life story in a bottle. Grew up in saskabush, went to high-school in Calgary(originally against my will) and then straight after high-school, went to this resort called the crossing, and this is where I met the father of my child, T. now T is an alright kinda guy, but a little immature. okay, a lot immature! but that's alright, no ones perfect. so after the crossing closes down and we decide to move in together, a little over three months into our little reality TV 'relationship', up pops a positive. Yay? now it is. Then? ask me later. so 10 months later(that's right people they lie when they say 9!) little Logan pops out, and we move to grand ol' Meota, cuz dear grand mammy has passed away. Lung cancer. And little Logan becomes the Miracle that is the reincarnation of Grand mammy... so one 'happy' little year passes by with us all cozy-like in meota, helping grandpa as he battles his demons. Watching Daddy as he runs away to work. Watching that cozy big family as they drink their way to freedom. Then after Grandpa passed on, we moved to Saskatoon.(AAH Home! sweet home.) And Two years, five months, and Four moves later, Here We are. Logan and I. Still in Saskatoon! Hot Damn! Seems you just can't keep me away. Now the only reason that I feel the need to put so much more detail into those times with baby, as opposed to before baby, is because those times, out of all I have experienced, have impacted me the hardest, and have made me the cynical B**** that I need to be to get me by. Sans T.
well as for another rant(whew! the first ones always seem to be the hardest) I don't think we'll see one for awhile, but there will be a plenty in the adventures of the tiny Pianist!
Ta-Ta