Walgreens, you make me happy when skies are grey/gray…
The Walgreens where I live, in Columbia, is a very happy place.
It is very American to me – in a good way. The music, what’s on the shelves, the people who shop there, the folk who work there – all of that makes it just Walgreens. I’ve no idea what other Walgreens are like in the country, but this one is just top notch! It has all sorts of bits and bobs in there and they are sooooo helpful to try and find something for you, but without being in your face.
Oh my, I think I actually look forward to going to Walgreens. And, a bit like the Target shopping experience, I always come out with stuff I didn’t go in there for. Oh crap, I forgot the milk.
When the staff in Walgreens say ‘you’re welcome’ and ‘have a great day’ I feel like they really do mean it, and, do you know what, after having been in Walgreens, I rather think I shall! 😉
A question was posed today by BBC America to us Brits over here: What’s the most bizarre or hilarious thing that’s happened to you since you landed on U.S. soil?
I can think of so many!
But these are my top two for today 🙂 …..
USA Pants vs UK Pants (May 2013)
Harry and I attended a most excellent blog event at Greenberries with a new bunch of Americans ladies one evening this week and Harry was enjoying the attention as the only child there.
Harry decided to stand up and tell a short story to the crowd, flitting with ease between his British and American accents.
‘So he can speak in both accents?’ ask the lovely, smart American ladies.
‘Oh yes,’ I say, proudly. ‘Harry, say something in American.’
So Harry points to his trousers and declares in his American accent:
‘These are my pants.’
Then he PULLS DOWN HIS TROUSERS/PANTS, points to his underpants and declares in his best British accent: ‘And these are my pants.’
My most excellent, talented son 🙂
Mailbox (August 2012)
We have a mailbox (just like in the movies) at the end of our street, and we need a key to open it.
It appears to me that they key is not working. I try many keys. I wonder if a neighbour might intervene.
Throughout the day I try and try again.
To my husband I say, the key for the mailbox is not working.
You just go round to the front of it, he says, and we’re box number six.
Oh, I say, I’ve obviously been trying the back of it.
That’s the postman’s/mailman’s (note) side, says he.
In my defense, I’ve been very, very busy and am very, very tired. I have since found out it is a federal offence to attempt to access the mailman’s side. Oopsie!