Thursday, November 17, 2011

Yelp!

Yelp is aptly named. It sounds like onomatopoeia for when one of those yappy dust-mop dogs is frightened by a falling leaf. 

I have a strategy for Yelp so I don't leave the site feeling like I had doo-doo flung at me by strangers; I only read the good and average reviews. More often than not, the negative reviews are some yahoo that may or may not have stepped into the reviewed establishment one time where they suffered some grievance that can rage from stubbing their toe to being served "unripe peaches." 

The latter grievance is in a review for one of my favorite brunch establishments, Marmalade. Marmalade does not serve peaches, it garnishes its plates with mangos. Yes, this bright crayon was not only rating his meal a one star because he could not correctly identify a mango but the mango is a free garnish, not part of his meal. The mango should be a, "Wow, what is this delicious bit of color on my plate that I did not pay for? A peach? Hmm. Tastes odd. Oh well, I did not ask for a peach so I will not complain about its lack of peachy-ness." Instead, it was a several paragraph diatribe about how offensive this "unripe peach" was to this man's fine palate. Fine my left cheek; he couldn't identify a mango.

Knowing such odd grievances abound, after I reviewed my yoga studio (after a year of attendance and visiting multiple other studios both in and out of my area for comparison) I had no intentions of visiting its Yelp page again. That changed when one of my yogi friends sent me a review she figured out was about me. The gripe: "The first time I went, someone was menstruating and leaking all over their white towel." Everyone with me, "EWwww! Gross!"

Exhibit A: The Review

Now, let's examine this comment. 
  1. The goal of the class is to remain focused on self. I have to assume this was a real gusher in order to distract this poor yogi. So, what is the likelihood that a woman was having a full-out waterfall and not doing anything about it? 
  2. It is not the studio's fault if one of the students is menstruating. 
  3. It wasn't menstruation. I can, fairly confidently, confide that my yogi friend was most likely correct that I was the offending yogi and therefore assure you all it was not blood of any form.

You all may have noticed from my illustrations that I have a red strip of hair where bangs usually go. The first day or two after I have dyed my hair it can bleed. When I attend class after my dye job I notify the teacher that, "I am not bleeding from my head, my hair may drip today and promise to keep it on the towel."  In all my years, I had never even considered that this drip of color might be interpreted as a shunning of feminine products (although, possibly, the thought should have crossed my mind).

This review forced me to reconsider the evidence. Through most of the standing series, there is no contact with my head to the floor, or even a good clear shot from the hair to the ground so no spots appear. The first pose to mar my pristine white towel is comically perfect for the supposed 'period incident.' Standing-separate-leg-stretching pose (wow, is that a mouthful). For those not familiar, one separates their legs, stretches down and grabs their feet. The object of the pose is to get your head on the floor directly between your feet. Most days I can do that. My head hits the floor, directly in the center between my feet and stamps a red blotch there. We all come up together and, voil√†!, The person behind me sees a period mark directly below my crotch.

Evidently, in this pose I look like Megan Fox. If you need me, I'll be in separate leg stretching.

The red spot will get progressively larger for the remainder of class; rabbit being the biggest spot-expander as I try to position my head on the floor, close to my knees, directly below my airborne buttocks. The precise nature of the series movements dictate that my butt will be on that red spot anytime we turn and lay in savasana, enforcing the impression that the spot may be coming from those quarters. 

My favorite part is the closing of this review. The review closes with, "Namaste." I was under the impression that namaste meant, "The lightness in me bows to the lightness in you." A beautiful phrase honoring and acknowledging that there is good in everyone. Evidently, I was wrong. Namaste is a proper closing for openly criticizing others in a semi-annonomous way when you say nothing nice at all. Well, joanne y., namaste.*

*Pretty sure I get -10 karma points for that one. Oh well. I'll get a kitten out of a tree later or something.

6 comments:

  1. If she had been minding her own business, she would have never noticed your 'bloody' towel. She was missing the point entirely, and that is most likely the reason she couldnt stay in class. All in all - Her focus needed more focus.

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  2. Oh man! I can't say it wouldn't have crossed my mind for a second if I'd seen the red towel but I would have figured it out. I have had a few classes where I worried that I might bleed through.

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  3. While I totally support your negative karma reaction, saving kittens is a great karma booster. Kinda like how going to the wax trax concert weekend renewed my 'cool' card for a while.

    Go forth and find kittens!

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  4. Oh, how I love the passive-aggressive "namaste"! That is a classic. It never fails to fill me with a mild feeling of irritation, like one small fingernail on a blackboard. But it's still awfully funny.

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  5. Amen, Stacey. My 'cool' card has long since lapsed. Im playing charades tonight with friends, pretty much ensuring that I will never be a 'cool' card holder again.

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  6. HAHA! @dancingj, "the passive-aggressive namaste" I am in love with this. It deserves its own acronym. From here on out I will address all snotty "namaste's" by the name "tPAN."

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