The Creative Nest

I do pickup. Not because it's nice. Because the total at the end is smaller and I need every dollar of that savings to keep not happening. In store, I'm standing in the oil aisle holding a bottle of olive oil I'd never have bought, waiting behind a man with a cart full of things that are all on his list and none of them are on mine. He's reading the label on a bag of rice. I'm holding oil I'm going to return later, or at least move to the back of the fridge where it will live until it expires and then move to the back of the fridge again. Delivery is worse. The driver photographs my bag on the doormat like it's evidence, then it's out there all night getting rained on while I'm inside refreshing nothing. Pickup is curbside, which means I sit in the parking lot at 6:40 in the dark with my hazards on, watching a guy in a vest load bag number four into a car three rows over. The app says *Your shopper is on the way*. The app said that fourteen minutes a...

I have a question. When did tipping become something we are apparently expected to do everywhere? I feel like I blinked and suddenly the little tip screen followed me out of the restaurant and into every corner of my life. I understand tipping at a restaurant. Someone brings me food, keeps my drink filled, clears my dishes, and makes sure I don't have to get up every five minutes. Fine. I understand the arrangement. But lately, I feel like I need to be prepared to tip simply because I had the audacity to purchase something. I walked into a store, picked something off a shelf, carried it to the register myself, stood in line, waited my turn, and handed the cashier my money. The cashier rang it up, put it in a bag, and then spun that little screen around toward me with the tip options staring back at me. Eighteen percent. Twenty percent. Twenty-five percent. Excuse me? A tip for what? I did most of the work here. At this point, I would like a tip for successfully navigating the store...

You know that feeling when you sit down to write an email and actually put some thought into it? I mean real thought. You organize your thoughts, explain the situation, include the important details, provide context, and maybe even reread the whole thing three times because you want to make absolutely certain the person on the other end cannot possibly misunderstand what you're saying. You carefully choose your words, make sure the information is in the right order, and perhaps even add a little background information because you know that without it, your question might not make sense. Eventually, you hit send and sit back feeling pretty good about yourself. “Okay,” you think. “That was clear. There is absolutely no way this could be misunderstood.” And then the response arrives. You open it, read it once, and immediately get that strange feeling in your stomach. You read it again because surely you must have missed something. Then you go back and reread your original email bec...