When we moved into the Motel 6 last year, we had to go thru this major lease-signing ordeal with an illustreous member of the property management staff named *Sheila*. It was August, we had just closed on our house, had 24 hours to vacate, it was about 700 degrees outside, and instead of lounging by the pool with a fresh cocktail w/umbrella garnish, we had to move. *Sheila* was one of those people who was very into following the rules. (I, on the other hand, usually can't give 2 sh*** about rules, especially when I am being told I must follow them.) As H, Sheila, and I foraged our way thru the War and Peace-sized lease agreement, I found I myself rather irritated at the way Sheila annunciated each and every syllable. Perhaps it was the stress of the move or the heat or the thought of leaving my beloved home for this 10-month adventure in living. Whatever it was, I was, by the end of the afternoon, starting to imitate Sheila right back at her when I an-sw-ered a qu-es-tion. H was kind of laughing nervously b/c he knows how I can get when I am in this state of stress and I am not kind.
At last we had our keys and we began to move our household. We had moved most of the big furniture and we were making huge progress cramming the rest of our belongings into this teensy space when I mentioned to H that I kept smelling this nasty odor. After some investigation, we discovered the carpeting was saturated with cat pee. Let's just say at this point, I was not so happy nor was I so kind. I phoned the apartment office and *Sheila* answered. I explained the situation, invited her down for a whiff, and asked how soon someone was coming to replace the carpeting. In her ph-oe-nic voice she said, "Well, I don't think there is anything we can do." Wrong answer Sheila. Being Saturday, Sheila didn't think any carpet could be replaced and we should probably just continue moving our entire life into the cat pee-filled apartment and wait until, say, MONDAY. I thought not. Several phonecalls back and forth escalated into Sheila contacting the property manager who happened to be on vacation somewhere...probably a sunny place slamming back umbrella drinks. Property-Manager-Woman sprung from her chaise lounge and coordinated new carpeting, compensation, etc from her tropical paradise holiday. In the course of events, I not only tore Sheila a new hole, I voiced my concerns about said employee to vacationing Property-Manager-Woman. H was stunned. He later told me I was a woman possessed. Let's face it, I may have been somewhat unreasonable; however, it was to be our *NEW HOME*. (So stated in the apartment complex brochure.)
Fast forward to today: I had to run to Target on my lunch hour and, in a bit of a rush, dashed to the cashier who had the shortest line. When I heard the "...and how-are-you-to-day?", I realized I had dashed right into NewCashier Sheila's lane! I not only wondered if she recognized me w/out 4-letter words spewing viciously from my mouth, I wondered why her name tag said *Kitty*??? Did she change her name b/c word on the street is that she had more than one bad experience with a Motel 6 resident? How clever of *Sheila/Kitty*...bet no one else will pick up on the voice-thing and recognize her, tho!