Etiquette

Train etiquette: grooming

by Cellobella on Sunday, January 23, 2011 · 1 comment

You will agree that polish removal was in order though I suspect.

So the other day I was about to leave for class when I noticed that my toe nail polish was, really, unacceptably chipped.

It was too late to do anything about it so instead I popped my swisspers (premoistened nail polish removal pads) into my bag and left.

On the train with no book to occupy my time and with my unkempt toes shouting “look at me” at me I thought well I may as well clean them off.

So I did.

Half way through the first big toe I realised that I might have been crossing an undefined but known train etiquette rule.

But by then my polish looked even worse and as I was already across the socially correct line I figured I may as well stay there and at least end up with more socially acceptable toes.

Luckily, or at least to my knowledge, noone I knew was on the train so I was spared that embarrassment.

I don’t think the same rules apply to finger nails.

I think you could definitely get away with cleaning your nails on the train.

Filing them is okay too.

And of course applying nail polish would also be okay if a trifle tricky giving the moving nature of the train.

There’s just something icky about toes.

The train is a No Toe Zone.

I’d rather they smoke

by Cellobella on Tuesday, April 7, 2009 · 5 comments

I hate it when people smoke around me – I hate it.

It makes my hair smell, my clothes smell.  I feel dirty.  I could be getting lung cancer.

So who made me say to Groover over lunch on Sunday: “I’d rather they smoke”?

A group of mothers with babies.

babywoe

No they weren’t breastfeeding.

Well they may have been but I don’t find that offensive, just normal.

And I don’t have a problem with lactating women going out to share a Sunday lunch of fish and chips with their friends.   No really, good on them.

What I do have a problem with is trying to sip my lemon, lime and bitters with the cloying smell of Johnson & Johnson babywipes mixed with baby poo wafting over me.

SERIOUSLY GROSS PEOPLE!

We’d got there late.

The pub was full to overflowing and the only table free was one in the corner next to a large table of mums and babies.

Personally I’d rather sit near the lactation crowd than a bunch of yobbos or even parents with active 4 year olds, so I was pleased when they pulled their stroller closer to them, unblocking the path to the table, and we sat down.

“Ohhhh isn’t she cute”, I said to Groover as we sipped our drinks (Does one sip beer… should I say slurped?), “Remember when ours were that little…”

We gazed fondly over at the crowd as we relived those fast dimming memories, and I also reflected on playgroup lunches… the sort you have when you become a member of the Bub Club.

Hugamuga was at work, and Dippity was volunteering at a local fair so we relished this unexpected opportunity for a middle-of-the-day date.

We started chatting about this and that… Groover’s new business, holiday fantasies, what we were going to do over Easter, the grocery shopping…

When…

“What is that smell?”

I was back – 11 years ago – that revoltingly familiar poo/babywipe combination.

I couldn’t taste the lemon or the lime or the bitters.

The window above our table was locked shut.

The stroller had slid back between the tables.

I was trapped.

And the mother had laid her baby down on the padded bench seat and was changing it’s nappy.

At the table.

In the restaurant.

While other people were eating.

How can she think that’s okay?

On which planet is that okay?

Tell me I’m not alone in thinking that there are places to change baby’s nappies and peak hour dining on a Sunday afternoon is NOT one of them!

I’d have honestly preferred her to light up a cigarette.

For one, the smell would not have been so offensive.

And also, I’d have felt less inhibited about telling her to stop.

Mothers.  They can be intimidating.  I know.  I am one.

A dress a day

by Cellobella on Tuesday, October 21, 2008 · 10 comments

I’ve come to a fashion decision.  

Well, it’s not so much a fashion decision as a clothes decision.  A practical, “Bloody hell! Nothing to wear again!” decision.

I’ve decided I’m going to give up on separates for work and instead buy five dresses which will end up being my uniform.

Okay five to start with.

I’ve already started – not with the dress pictured.

The other day I was flicking through the David Lawrence sales rack and came across a belted black dress marked down.

It fitted well and is perfect for work.

It washes easily and is a snap to iron.

I don’t have to match it with anything, and it looks smart.

I tend to wear it on Mondays.

On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays I stare gormlessly into my wardrobe and try and patch together something that looks okay.

The dress is so easy I reckon it’s the way to go.

However finding a source of perfect dresses is not proving as easy as I hoped, and then my colleague turns up yesterday in a dress I would have bought in a snap (from Cue) had I seen it first but of course now I can’t because we sit next to eachother and wearing the same dress would be naff.

Groan.

I’m a bit fussy.

First of all I have winter colouring so all those nasty shades of yellow and brown are OUT.

Secondly I prefer V necks on me.

Thirdly I like it to be fitted to the waist and reach to my knee – but not to go below it.

And finally – it can’t be too expensive.

These conditions do seem to knock out most of the stock I’ve seen in shops.

In fact it’s proving so problematical I’m thinking of making one myself.

(although Mum, you know it is my birthday on Monday…)

Have you seen anything out there?

Speaking of sitting next to someone in the same dress, years ago, when Groover worked in Sales and had a box at the Hopman Cup, I experienced this first hand.

The box was small and seated four.  

I was wearing a peacock blue fitted dress – a stunning dress – not a dress you could ignore – I felt thin and special in it (actually I was pretty thin at the time) and as I sat there – I watched this lady ascend the stairs to our grandstand.  She was wearing the same dress.

“Ha ha I joked to Groover, I hope she isn’t your guest.”

“No she’s not.”

“Oh phew… how embarrassing to have to sit here all afternoon wearing the same dress…”

“She’s his wife.”

At the first break I excused myself and drove home to change.  

Groover to this day, thought I was over-reacting.

The wife thanked me.

Has that ever happened to you?  What did you do?

Text message etiquette – a basic rule

by Cellobella on Wednesday, October 1, 2008 · 4 comments

I love getting text messages… that little “beep beep” is a welcome sound.  Somebody loves me I think (unconsciously) as I race to my phone and check it.  Especially after hours when the message is more likely to be a personal one and less likely to be transmitter down or I’m sick and can’t come in.

Today I got a message cancelling a meeting – problem was, the message was not signed.  I had two meetings.  I had NO IDEA who was cancelling what!

Now people isn’t this just basic courtesy?

An initial would be nice if not your whole name.  Some indication of the sender would be helpful.

It’s like you answer the phone and the person starts talking at you without introducing themselves – assuming you’ll recognise their voice, except it’s worse.

At least you have a chance of recognising an individual voice pattern but unless you store everyone’s number that you’ve ever met in your head whether or not you’ve seen their number, it’s a bit rich to assume they will know it is you.

Now I can forgive this more with my friends – most of their numbers are in my phone anyway so their name pops up – but don’t assume this is so.  I have one friend  whose number for some reason refuses to be recognised by my phone – and I continually get bizarre messages which don’t make sense unless I realise they are from him via the number.  Damn technology for letting me down.

So here endeth my lesson.

An initial.  A name.  Some indication of who you are at the end of your text.  It’s just being polite.

CB

xx

The etiquette of dropping in

by Cellobella on Monday, June 2, 2008

Bringing muffins can leave you with egg on your faceA comment from Kelley made me think about “The Drop In”. She hates them.

I like them. Generally love them in fact. But I can see why she might not.

Three simple rules

There are a few things you need to consider:

  1. Know your friend

    Is she a casual dresser? Does she keep her house in a reasonably good state? Does she care what state it is in when people come calling? What is happening in her life now? If she has a new boyfriend – she might not appreciate the casual visitor at 9am on a Sunday morning.

  2. Choose a respectable hour

    In other words – don’t drop in too early or too late. You may not be greeted with the friendliness you expect. :)

  3. Be prepared for rejection

    Okay this sounds a bit harsh because they are not rejecting you per se, but they might be unable or unwilling to see you right then. I don’t care how far you’ve come – it doesn’t matter that you’ve caught two trains and three buses to get there. Lets face it – this was your choice. And not everyone likes surprises.

    You never know… you might have put your friend in an awkward situation. Maybe they were about to meet up with another friend who you don’t get on with – maybe that friend is already in the kitchen. She might have her new man in the boudoir – or her old one. Maybe she is just very busy and has organised her day to get stuff that has to be done, done. Maybe her hair is in rollers and her house is a tip and she just doesn’t want to be seen like that.

    …guilt leads to resentment and anger…

    Whatever. Don’t take it personally. Don’t make your friend feel guilty because they can’t see you – no matter how trivial you think the reason is – because guilt leads to resentment and anger – and do you really want them to resent you?

    Yes, even if you bring muffins – be prepared for rejection.

    4. The safest thing to do is to CALL FIRST.

    Having said all that – I do still love the drop-in. Especially on a day like today when I’m bored and looking for something to do.

    Maybe I could come round and visit you?

Check out my meme post on Aussie Bloggers

by Cellobella on Sunday, February 10, 2008

We love them, we hate them – so what’s the deal with memes?

Why do we feel guilty if we choose to pass?

Should you tag individuals or just leave the invitation open?

Does getting a meme make you feel like this?

Perth

Join in the discussion at Aussie Bloggers – To meme or not to meme

Freedom through eye-wear

by Cellobella on Wednesday, October 3, 2007

Still on public transport in Melbourne – I’ve caught a train and a tram now – it occurs to me that society wouldn’t function as well if it wasn’t for sunglasses. Sunglasses, especially those with reflective lenses, allow you to examine your fellow passengers without feeling self conscious or rude.

Well perhaps a little self conscious…

What freedom it is to stare at another person, a person you don’t know and may never know. Is that a mole on their neck or the edge of a tattoo or just a speck of dirt? Why did she choose to wear that particular shade of green with that orange skirt… I wonder if they’ve noticed they haven’t done the buttons up quite right this morning. Oooh I love those reading glasses… I wonder what brand they are… I wonder what you do, sitting there all cool and self-important, earpieces in, D&G oversized sunglasses covering most of your face… hang on…

Could you be looking at me?