Unexplored Territory

Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Stamping ... the next contact sport

Duel to the death. That was what I felt like between two women who were flexing their stamping muscles during my final class on Saturday at CKU.

This is how it went down...

I chose a seat in the middle of the table because I didn't want people hitting me with their belongings as they tried to get past me. I wanted to be that person.

A woman sat down on my right who was with her friend. Another woman sat down on my left who was with noone but herself.

We had a bag of stamps. I am just not a stamp person. There are too many. Too many overwhelming choices out there. I don't collect them just to have them. That would be my mother. If I wanted something, she would probably have it. I just don't make cards. I don't use stamps, unless they are alpha stamps, in my scrapbooking.

We also had a few different colors of stamps. Nothing overwhelming ... just what was needed to finish the four cards we were charged with making.

Then the sh** hit the fan. We had to become As or Bs. Three of us in a row were Bs because of how things worked out. I found the acrylic stamp. No problem. The watercolor crayons were beckoning to the woman on my right.

Can you please pass the crayons (to the woman on my left).
Well, I will be using them.
Well, you aren't using them now. Could you please pass them down?
Once I am finished with them, I will.
Hmmmmph.
Are you talking about these (placing hand on pots)?
NO. THOSE aren't the crayons. THOSE are paint pots. THOSE are the crayons (pointing to the very obvious tin of Stampin' Up crayons).
Oh. Sure. You can have these (passes the tin over).

About three minutes pass by, and the crayons are shared nicely. I get my card finished and just sit there. We were to then move on to the other card that the As were working on. Embossing. Using a heat gun. I KNOW how to do this. I have done this numerous times during my short-lived stamping life. I didn't want to because I just didn't want to do the card. It was ugly and I didn't have any use for it. So I sat there.

Increduously, the lady on my left asks me if I am going to complete the card, and is amazed when I tell her no. Whatever. I was more relaxed than those maniacs were.

Then the butterfly stamp debacle started.

SOMEone placed the WRONG lid on the brown stamp pad. The lid said it was denim blue. It ended up being brown. But this wasn't figured out until the left lady had already stamped her butterfly.

OH NO! THIS isn't the right color!!!! This is BROWN! This is supposed to be BLUE!

She immediately turns around and starts asking people behind us what their stamp pad colors were until she finally found the denim blue.

I said "just pass me the purple ... I'll have a purple butterfly."

Left lady thought that purple was an acceptable replacement, but still wanted that blue, so she turned her cardstock over and stamped again. Fine.

Right lady was amazed at my tag hole punch. It is a little rectangle hole punch that I bought at a Stampin' Up party.

Is this yours or theirs?
Mine.
May I use it?
Knock yourself out.
Oh. I like this. Where did you get this?
A Stampin' Up party.
Really? I can't find a reliable Stampin' Up representative. And then she proceeds to give me three minutes worth of how unreliable they are, and maybe she will just order from my rep. I wouldn't WISH this woman on my rep.

Five minutes later. ....
May I use your hole punch again? I think it would be perfect for this.
Yes you may.
Where did you say you got this again?
(rolling eyes) Stampin' Up.
Oh ... I just think this is perfect.
Ok ... gotcha. You are having a love affair with my hole punch. I understand. Really, I do. I had a love affair with Tim Holtz's scissors ... so have at it.

The class wound down. I was on edge because everyone was SO intense around me. They HAD to get EVERYthing done in a short amount of time, and I had had three two many classes like this today so I was fried.

Left lady had asked me to pass her something, so I did. She then exclaimed that I was the most laid-back, easy-going individual she had ever met. I didn't know whether I should have taken that as a compliment or a dig. I decided not to analyze it, and I started to leave.

Right lady asked me to take a picture of she and her friend. I said sure. I took the camera, but didn't bother to put my glasses on. I snapped the pic, and from what I could see in my farsightedness, the pic looked fine.

It didn't to her. And she let me know.

Oh ... this is TERRIBLE. Take another one. No please, no thank you, no manners whatsoever.

So I looked at her straight in the face and said...

No. I won't take another picture. You will need to find someone else whose patience you haven't worn thin.

Labels: CKU

3 Comments:

Anonymous said...: I would never have survived as long as you without walking away. I think I use up all my patience at work.

Love your response at the end!; 9:40 AM
Taoknitter said...: YeeHAW!! Good for you! I purposely do not do conferences like this...I would hurt someone. You were so patient!; 7:09 PM
Anonymous said...: Hehehe Mer..you described it perfectly!
Love it!
There are some definite freaks out there...; 6:52 AM

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I'm a mom of three peeps ... Queen Bee, The Door Man, and the Chandelier Monkey, and wife to Ace, the Helpful Hardware Man. I created this space to get away from the people known as my inlaws, and because life with three kids and a hubby is all Unexplored Territory.

The nine-year-old who seems to be growing older every minute, has an opinion and a comment for everything, and has a true servant's heart.

The seven-year-old who loves the organization of things, will someday be someone's therapist because of his kind soul, and will more than likely be living with us until he is 40 years old.

The five-year-old with the 13-year-old attitude, who has a dictator's personality, asks you to watch her all the time and say "hold on" to keep your attention, and will someday come home on the back of some dude's motorcycle with 10 tatts and a body piercing or two.

The man of the house, the fixer of things, the winner of prizes, and the only person in his family to escape the South.