Curbing attitude…

I am so tired! We have been working our butts off, putting together chairs, piecing together dog bone ottomans, painting curb address numbers, and walking, walking, walking the dogs. My feet are aching, but overall, I’m feeling pretty good.

Its been a minute or so since we have painted curb address numbers and I’ve come to realize that there are a few aspects of it that I

curb address numbers

curb address numbers

had forgotten…or temporarily misplaced in my mind…or possibly purposely forgot. Don’t misunderstand. I like doing curb numbers. I know when we head out that we will end the day with at least a little more money than we started out with, and that alone is a stress reliever worth its weight in gold. It’s the people, sometimes, that make me wonder in the midst of it if it is really worth it.

I’ve come to believe that people are more willing to hand you money as they drive by if you are out panhandling (yes, I have tried this before. Don’t judge me.) than they are if you are at their door offering a service. Ok. Not all people.

Some people are grateful that we are there, they have been waiting for us. Others are just not interested for whatever reason. Some are wearing capes of invincibility and will never, ever need emergency services at their home (and I hope they are right) and don’t care if the pizza is cold when it gets there or their package gets delivered to the wrong address or sent back. Ok. No problem. Thank you, next door.

Its the people that are completely rude, either in word or demeanor, that really test my ability to remember this is a numbers (sorry for the pun) game. Knock on enough doors and you will make some money. Its as simple as that. Its also as simple as saying no when my husband knocks on the door and asks if you would like your curb address numbers done or refreshed.

We have had people act as if we are there to scam them (how we would i can’t even begin to imagine), can’t believe we knocked on THEIR door, or treat us as if we have no business being anywhere near their neighborhood. We aren’t all dressed up when we head out because neither one of us wants to ruin any of our good clothes by accidently getting paint on them, but we aren’t slummed out either. We dress as nicely as the ‘job’ allows for. We smile. We are as polite as we can be, sometimes through clenched teeth.

A day of dealing with this attitude can exhaust me rather quickly. I just don’t understand it, I guess. I’m not sure I’ve ever placed myself higher than anyone else or, at least, never treated anyone like they were less than. How does someone get that way?

 

 

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About dragonflygypsyusa

Over-thinker with way too much availability to the internet to research whatever might come to mind, amateur photographer, dog enthusiast, learning every day, working on finding my undamaged self.
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