Omaha
No offense to anyone out there (okay, I really don't care much if anyone is offended), but Omaha, Nebraska sucks big ones.
Correction...Omaha-ans suck.
Let me regress...
The husband and I attended the Nebraska Herpetological Society's Spring Breeders Expo this past weekend (layman terms: lots of squirmies and lickies and bitey-things for sale all in one place), which was held in, you guessed it, Omaha. I had never been to Omaha. Shit, I'd never been to Nebraska. Let's just say my expectations weren't high, but I was certainly surprised in the experience as a whole.
Picture it: You go into a conference room at a large (by Omaha standards?) hotel, and the room is set up with tables and booths of reptile/amphibian/tarantula/breeders and all-of-the-above supply vendors. The walls are lined, and there's another ring of tables in the center of the room. Lots and lots of vendors/breeders at this show, as the Nebraska Herp Society only has 2 expos a year. We got there early but the place filled up quick, and it soon became a struggle to make the proper rounds to see who had what and then go back around to make any necessary purchases.
To make matters worse, there was a bleach-fried-hair little biotch who seemed to be keeping pace with me to nearly every table. I'd approach a table, and she'd squeeze her too-tight-illegal-in-Virginia-low-rise-jeans covered ass right in front of me. EVERY table, she'd just wedge me right out. And I'm not a little girl to be wedging around. I'm getting pissed, and becoming all too aware of how many people are in that little room with all of those squirmies, and am silently cussing myself for not packing some Ativan in my pocket before I locked my purse in the trunk.
She does it over and over and over, and finally I point her out to the hub, making "help!" eyebrows and mouthing to him my plan to make her eat the collared lizard that she's showing to her little frat-boy boyfriend.
Finally, the table where I'm about to make a purchase...a beautifully striped amel corn snakeling, and they're asking only $30. Here she comes, with a bag full of containers of all of the critters she's probably going to go home and forget about in a week. Didn't turn on her blinker. Didn't make a sideways "excuse me" (of course, why would she? just because I was having a conversation with the breeder, right there?).
She gets in close to this final table, and my big ass is ready to take action. Slightly at first, I press up against the pointy little elbow she has jutting in my direction. I've broken my nose twice while moshing (okay, once was from a crowd surfer, but still), so I'm not terribly afraid of putting momentum behind what Krispy-Kreme gave me and make my presence known. I was just trying to avoid conflict up to this point, which is the usual route (at least until my hub is out of sight). It's after that when I channel my mother and the Kentucky breaks out.
This time, I was outdone completely. I'm woman enough to admit it.
Like I said, I'm pressing on her elbow, trying to move her over. I clear my throat, since I was, until her arrival, having a conversation.
And then she did it.
SHE FLICKED HER HAIR ON ME.
I'm not talking about a tarantula flicking hair (likethis). I'm talking about nasty-dirty-frizzy-fried-gross human hair, being flicked over one's shoulder and directly into the face AND MOUTH of the larger, now literally gagging, woman standing directly behind.
Getting light headed from anger, disbelief, and utter nausea, I reach for the hub and he knows by looking at me that we've gotta go before I get arrested.
We made our way out of the show and Omaha before any true conflict erupted, as I was simply dumbfounded and the hub was ready to go before any more money was spent. We did, however, bring home two new babies, both from more local (not Nebraskan!) breeders who happened to be there. So far, they're worth it. They sure as shit better be.
Correction...Omaha-ans suck.
Let me regress...
The husband and I attended the Nebraska Herpetological Society's Spring Breeders Expo this past weekend (layman terms: lots of squirmies and lickies and bitey-things for sale all in one place), which was held in, you guessed it, Omaha. I had never been to Omaha. Shit, I'd never been to Nebraska. Let's just say my expectations weren't high, but I was certainly surprised in the experience as a whole.
Picture it: You go into a conference room at a large (by Omaha standards?) hotel, and the room is set up with tables and booths of reptile/amphibian/tarantula/breeders and all-of-the-above supply vendors. The walls are lined, and there's another ring of tables in the center of the room. Lots and lots of vendors/breeders at this show, as the Nebraska Herp Society only has 2 expos a year. We got there early but the place filled up quick, and it soon became a struggle to make the proper rounds to see who had what and then go back around to make any necessary purchases.
To make matters worse, there was a bleach-fried-hair little biotch who seemed to be keeping pace with me to nearly every table. I'd approach a table, and she'd squeeze her too-tight-illegal-in-Virginia-low-rise-jeans covered ass right in front of me. EVERY table, she'd just wedge me right out. And I'm not a little girl to be wedging around. I'm getting pissed, and becoming all too aware of how many people are in that little room with all of those squirmies, and am silently cussing myself for not packing some Ativan in my pocket before I locked my purse in the trunk.
She does it over and over and over, and finally I point her out to the hub, making "help!" eyebrows and mouthing to him my plan to make her eat the collared lizard that she's showing to her little frat-boy boyfriend.
Finally, the table where I'm about to make a purchase...a beautifully striped amel corn snakeling, and they're asking only $30. Here she comes, with a bag full of containers of all of the critters she's probably going to go home and forget about in a week. Didn't turn on her blinker. Didn't make a sideways "excuse me" (of course, why would she? just because I was having a conversation with the breeder, right there?).
She gets in close to this final table, and my big ass is ready to take action. Slightly at first, I press up against the pointy little elbow she has jutting in my direction. I've broken my nose twice while moshing (okay, once was from a crowd surfer, but still), so I'm not terribly afraid of putting momentum behind what Krispy-Kreme gave me and make my presence known. I was just trying to avoid conflict up to this point, which is the usual route (at least until my hub is out of sight). It's after that when I channel my mother and the Kentucky breaks out.
This time, I was outdone completely. I'm woman enough to admit it.
Like I said, I'm pressing on her elbow, trying to move her over. I clear my throat, since I was, until her arrival, having a conversation.
And then she did it.
SHE FLICKED HER HAIR ON ME.
I'm not talking about a tarantula flicking hair (likethis). I'm talking about nasty-dirty-frizzy-fried-gross human hair, being flicked over one's shoulder and directly into the face AND MOUTH of the larger, now literally gagging, woman standing directly behind.
Getting light headed from anger, disbelief, and utter nausea, I reach for the hub and he knows by looking at me that we've gotta go before I get arrested.
We made our way out of the show and Omaha before any true conflict erupted, as I was simply dumbfounded and the hub was ready to go before any more money was spent. We did, however, bring home two new babies, both from more local (not Nebraskan!) breeders who happened to be there. So far, they're worth it. They sure as shit better be.
posted by Dora Maar at 1:11 PM
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