What I'm saying is that there comes a point when you can either cry or laugh. Both take the same amount of energy, but laughing is a lot more fun. Crying, though, is a lot more cathartic.
I have been "on" since 6:30am. I woke to darkness outside at 5am, the moon half full and dimly lighting my room. I woke before Sasha, who slept peacefully on the end of the bed as I got dressed. I poked him in his belly until he woke up, then he went to sit in front of his food bowl. Oh - it is SO HARD to be a cat some days.
Joe and I set up our booth and prepared ourselves for the edina realtors, who came in droves and dropped their business cards like 2nd tier bloggers drop names. Some didn't even look or listen, they just automatically assumed that we were raffling something away (we weren't) or had free stuff (we didn't). The descended upon us like ants upon small Brazillian towns, only this time we didn't have MacGyver to flood them out. Some were nice, though, and listened as I gave my spiel and were excited about the new product. Others couldn't have cared less. At about noon, Joe left to finish work at the office, and I was left to deal with the last rush and the take down. With two of us, the crowds of middle aged Midwesteners who had just sat through an hour long presentation on how to BE THE BEST REALTOR THEY CAN BE were manageable, but with just one, they threw their cards at me and stole all my pencils.
I started the take down at 4pm, and was on the road from the St. Paul River Centre back to the office in Minneapolis by 4:30, doing my best not to let the traffic piss me off. When I'm cranky, it feels like people are stupid drivers just to piss me off. It's intentional, like they all have this radar tuned into my personality temperament that day. When it's pushing towards overload, they clog the highways with their passive aggressive driving techniques.
Of course, I know this is all very silly and not true.
I got to the office at 5:15 and Kevin helped me bring up all the junk. Because we are cheap, we don't have a dolly. I was balancing all our stuff on two of the most crappiest office chairs in the world. These chairs make ergonomists cry and then cut themselves to make the pain go away. These chairs almost made me cry and contimplate having an "accident" which involved them, the stairs, and possibly one of the bitches from Edina Realty that decided they could just shove us in a back room instead of the hallway booth we were SUPPOSED to have, which we PAID for.
On my desk was a note from Rachael explaining how I fucked up on 4 orders because I don't know what year we live in. I saw the note and just lost it, laughing and doing a horrible impression of the lecture Rachael is going to give to me which, I know, is totally justified. But as I stood in front of my desk at about 5:30 tonight, tired, cranky, and completely spent, I just couldn't handle it. I laughed until Kevin thought I was going to climb to the roof and start shooting people.
But now I'm home. I do enjoy selling, and the trade shows are fun - if only to people watch. As I've said before, realtors are the bottom of the rung here. ANYBODY can be a realtor. At the Burnett home show, it was populated by young men, the outline of their white hats still fresh on their hair, and by young women whose skin was tanned to leather and dyed orange by the fake bake. With Edina, a lot of them came from Middle Wisconsin which, for those who don't know, is stuck somewhere in the 80s when it comes to sweaters and hair. Joe and I played "Who's from Minnesota, Who's from Wisconsin" and had a wonderful time.
Someone, get me out of the midwest.
New Lost tonight, in which our fearless leaders stumble into a chapter from Lord of the Flies (what? You say they've been there all season? YOU LIE), and I think I need a good, long, soak in the tub.