Requiem for an LBS, part 2

The Owner used to be a shrink. This is not the advantage it would seem to be, as you're never entirely sure if you're being manipulated or she's geniunely unsure if she should ask you something. And the tone of voice she uses is so precise to that one thing that no sooner has she opened her mouth than you know EXACTLY what is going to come out:

"But P.! How are we going to...."

There's no way of being able to capture in words (well, I could, but it's not the point of this blog) the sing-song-y helplessness, the moué of an ex-smoker's mouth, that she does this with. The look of helplessness that should not belong on the face of a woman who wears a ton of eye makeup and no blush or lipstick. It makes me yearn for the bitchy bosses of the past who did not hesitate to make it clear that what they wanted and when they expected it by. WHAM.BANG.WHOOP. There it was, loud and clear: "Get me the phone number." Like a REAL boss would do....

Instead, what I got this morning was a little-girl-lost look and what was either a very, very wimpy chewing out or some milquetoast attempt at regret: "You should have been at Festibike yesterday, giving out pamphlets to all the families that were there...all the mothers with kids." Festibike is basically the Madrid version of the Banff Bike Festival - any mom who takes her kids there probably bikes up the southern end of La Pedriza park and the Sierra de Guadarrama before breakfast. Either that or she's been hauled there by her husband. And I would have just been one more person handing out publicity bumpf. I can't think of a worse way of publicizing something that's NOT meant to go for the biking crowd. We should be approaching community groups, not some harried housewife who's trying to distract her eight-year-old from the Extreme BMX demonstration. And I'm sorry, but I do NOT work seven days a week for someone else. I made that very clear right off the bat.

She probably thinks I gave up hope. I'm not even sure I had it in the first place.