Gonna be wipin' your weepin' eyes

It is trite to say that everyone and everything is affected by this recession, but I can't help but notice new examples of this platitude on a daily basis. The daily, free trip giveaway on Regis and Kelly used to be a pretty sweet deal, but they stopped informing people before they called them to ask the prize-winning question. Now, half of the people are not home when they call them, without notice, to ask the question, which, in the end, means far less trips are given away now. Far less winners are made. The ones they do reach are often only home because they've been unemployed for months, sometimes years, and can't find work.

Yay, here's your consolation prize: escape to an extravagant vacation in Hawaii, all expenses paid, and try not to think about your current shit lot in life. Hooray!

My city paper, especially on Sundays, is noticeably about 50% slimmer now. There are packs of abandoned dogs and cats that run down our midtown streets.

Still, there is no place more depressing during an economic crisis than a party store. I went into the Party Central yesterday to find kitsch material for the upcoming massive birthday party. Amidst the overpriced tiki garb and the Nascar birthday banners, the shelves were only half-stocked. The prices were haphazardly, if at all, slapped against cellophane wrappers. It was as if the owner is embarrassed to even ask for the marked amount for such a non-staple item. I mean, who needs confetti and balloons in order to survive?

I always feel a little guilty when I walk into a deserted store, and the three-person staff desperately hovers in hopes of "helping" me. I get called "Mam" a lot in these instances, and that only makes the entire effect that much more disconcerting.

The 50s-aged male owner/manager--something I ascertained from his instructions to Doris as to how she should arrange said Nascar birthday banners--asked me three time if I was finding everything okay. Really, I only stayed in there so long because I was ashamed to walk out with nothing. He just seemed so desperate to outfit me with all my party needs. I'll admit that the real-to-life-sized Elvis wall stickers were tempting...

I was jostled out of my strategizing about exiting the store--this is just another one of my anxious habits--when the owner's cell phone erupted with "Mustang Sally." It rolled and rang and vibrated three repetitions, all the while Doris was shouting for Bill to return and answer it, but he just kept hovering over me in hopes of helping along my purchase. It was horrible. I left the moment he entered the stockroom, and I didn't look over my shoulder when Doris--in her 50s as well--said, "Have a nice day, Mam."