Now, I have to admit, I’ve done some stupid things in my life, but nothing like this. This guy has got some big balls or he is a complete idiot.
Here’s the story....
D and I are waiting outside the mall entrance this afternoon to meet up with T and G for lunch at the food court. There are 2 sets of double doors at the entrance to this mall. 4 doors all together.
A beautiful woman walks up to the entrance with her husband pushing their kid in a stroller right behind her. At the same time a very good looking blonde lady walks up to the same entrance from a different direction but approaches the other set of double doors.
The wife opens what would be door #1 on the far left for her husband to push the stroller through. At the same time, the good looking blonde opens what would be door #3 on the other set of doors to the right and looks over at him.
This man is directly lined up with door #1 and is just feet away from being inside when he sees that the other woman was holding the door open and waiting for him to push the stroller in her door.
I understand that in most cases, important, life changing decisions have to be made in the blink of an eye. Some of these decisions can be very difficult to make and some come with experience and are very easy to make. This, my friends, was a very easy one to make and could have life altering effects on this man.
This man stops the stroller just feet away from the threshold of his wife’s door, shuffles his feet backwards, turned the stroller in the direction of the other woman and pushes his stroller out and around and into the door the other woman is holding open for him. All while his wife, still holding the first door open, watches him. As this man enters the door, he makes eye contact with this woman, smiles, and thanks her for holding the door!
This man actually STOPPED just FEET away from being intelligent. He’s a dead man walking. This man is so dead. How stupid can one be? His wife was standing there with the door WIDE open and he was right in front of it. He could have let go of the stroller and it would have rolled right in. But no! There stand a good looking blonde holding another door open and he took it. Actually had to back up! WITH HIS KID IN THE STROLLER! What an idiot.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
Snip, Snip
I got there 10 minutes early. I was ready. The waiting room was full. I thought for sure I was going to be a while. As I was signing in, the receptionist took my name, pulled my chart and told me to ‘come on back!’ Not sure what everyone else was waiting for, and I wasn’t going to ask. It IS a Urologists office after all.
As we are walking down the hallway, the cute 21ish ‘receptionist’ asks if I’m ready to do this. “I was ready years ago! Just never needed to get it done.” Now that I’m divorced, and don’t want anymore, I’d like to get it done.” “I see” she says.
She gets me into the room and asks if I have any questions, and then tells me to get undressed except I can leave my socks and shirt on, then get on the table and she’ll be back to get me ready.
I’m up on the table with the paper blanket over me for a matter of seconds, and she strolls back in and starts small talk with me as she is preparing the ‘tools’ for the doc. She stands next to me and says “ok - you ready to get this started?” “Lets get-er-done!”
She pulls the paper down off of me. As she does this, I like any other guy would, watch her face for the expression. (I do have an ego here, and she, I’m sure, has seen plenty, so I’m looking for the reaction.) No reaction. Nothing. No snicker, no raise of the eyebrow, nothing. My ego was neither crushed nor ballooned. I was disappointed I got nothing, but happy she didn’t express what I knew she did when she turned to the sink to get the sterilizing solution warmed up for me.
Seemed like she was taking forever at the sink. The room was cold and she actually mentioned that she was sorry that. “the doctor likes it cold like this.” Now I knew what was going on. I wanted to make reference to the shrinkage factor when cold becomes a factor, but I didn’t.
As she continues to take forever at the sink, she mentions she is trying to warm the water up for me, but it is not very warm. “Your killing me!” I say. “The room is cold enough and you got me naked over here, now your going to put cold water on me!? Your smashing my ego you know,” She laughs and says, “your fine. Really” She rubs the ‘site’ down and covers me up with a surgical ‘napkin’ and says she’ll be back in a few minutes with the doc and get this over with.
I wasn’t nervous. Uncomfortable maybe, but not nervous. They had a little radio in there playing some soothing Jazz music for me, so I just lay there trying to relax, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
15 minutes later, an older nurse knocks and walks in. “Sorry, just passing thru real quick. Just got to clean some things up. So how was it? You doing ok?” “haven’t started yet.” I said. She says “you’re kidding!? You should be done already. When I get done here I’ll go get them for you.” “Thanks” I said. She starts up some other chit-chat and then after a few minutes leaves.
15 minutes later, ANOTHER older nurse knocks and walks in. “Don’t mind me” she says. “Just got to clean some things up and I’ll be out of your way” “Am I in the break room?” I ask. “She laughs and says “it would seem like it, wouldn’t it? This is the room with the sterilization in it.” “I see.” She asks me how it was and how I’m doing. “I’m a little cold laying here in my vulnerable state with this napkin over me waiting for the doc to come in and do his thing.” “He has not come in yet?” “nope” “well, I’ll go out there and see what’s going on and get him in here.” I say thanks and she takes another 5 minutes then leaves and says she will get the doc.
By this time, I am getting really tired of just laying there. I actually start to fall asleep. Here I am, naked, with a napkin over me, in a chilly room, falling asleep.
10 minutes later, (a total of 45 minutes now if your not keeping track) the first ‘older’ nurse comes in and says “so how did it go?” “No Doc yet” I said. “That’s crazy she says. After I finish here, I’ll go see what is going on.” Again, I ask about the ‘break room’ theory and start talking about jokes of the procedure and she chit-chats more about her husband and what he thought of the procedure and what not, then says she will go get the doc.
It has now been 1 full hour since the cute 21 yr old nurse left and said she would be “right back with the doc.” The cold room and vulnerable position I am in has taken its toll on the shrinkage factor. I’m starting to wonder if the procedure can even be done at this point. They’ll have to bring in a search and rescue team in first!
As I think this, the doc flings the door open and steps in with the 21 yr old right behind him. They are chatting something about some actress being cute or not. He says sorry it took so long. He was called in on an emergency surgery. “I’m never called in on emergencies, but I am the doctor on call this week, so I had to go.” “All good” I say. I wanted to ask what the emergency was but not only was he and the nurse in a deep conversation, but he is a urologist, so I really didn’t want to know.
They start the procedure and all goes well. All the while, he and the nurse are talking about Hollywood smut and cracking jokes. Kind of hard to stay still while laughing. After all, he does have a sharp knife and a pair of scissors inside my testicles. I really, really don’t want to move at all.
The doc sews me up and goes on his way like I am on an assembly line, and he has a quota to meet. I’m sure the emergency set him back a few patients. It is getting late and the clock is ticking. Crunch time!
The nurse covers me with a blanket, finally, and grabs a cold pack and laterally drops it on my boys. She DROPS IT! On purpose! Has she no compassion!? Has she no idea what that does? She obviously doesn’t have a pair and thinks that just because mine are still numb that it doesn’t matter. Well, I’m here to tell you, numb or not, IT MATTERS!
“Oh – that wasn’t good” I said. “Sorry about that” she says, “here’s your book, need anything else?” “Yeah – grab my phone for me please”. She hands me my phone and says she will be back in after about 20 minutes to check on me.
10 minutes later, she walks back in and says, “Ok – you ready to go?” “ya – right, I’m ready.” I said 100% jokingly. “ok. Get your close on and here is your ‘post-op’ instructions.” As she takes my ice pack off and stores it back in the freezer. “Are you kidding?” I say. She says, “Why” You not feeling ok?” “No, I’m fine, but it was my understanding that I was going to be here for at least 30 min. after the procedure.” She says, “yeah- but you look like your doing well, so you can go.” “It’s been 10 minutes!” “you can stay if you want” she says, “but you look good enough to go.”
By this time I knew what was going on and they obviously needed the room for the next lucky contestant. So I got dressed and was on my way, looking forward to the next visit in 8 weeks when I have to come back in and leave a deposit of junk to be tested to see if it worked. That will be good.
Stay tuned…
As we are walking down the hallway, the cute 21ish ‘receptionist’ asks if I’m ready to do this. “I was ready years ago! Just never needed to get it done.” Now that I’m divorced, and don’t want anymore, I’d like to get it done.” “I see” she says.
She gets me into the room and asks if I have any questions, and then tells me to get undressed except I can leave my socks and shirt on, then get on the table and she’ll be back to get me ready.
I’m up on the table with the paper blanket over me for a matter of seconds, and she strolls back in and starts small talk with me as she is preparing the ‘tools’ for the doc. She stands next to me and says “ok - you ready to get this started?” “Lets get-er-done!”
She pulls the paper down off of me. As she does this, I like any other guy would, watch her face for the expression. (I do have an ego here, and she, I’m sure, has seen plenty, so I’m looking for the reaction.) No reaction. Nothing. No snicker, no raise of the eyebrow, nothing. My ego was neither crushed nor ballooned. I was disappointed I got nothing, but happy she didn’t express what I knew she did when she turned to the sink to get the sterilizing solution warmed up for me.
Seemed like she was taking forever at the sink. The room was cold and she actually mentioned that she was sorry that. “the doctor likes it cold like this.” Now I knew what was going on. I wanted to make reference to the shrinkage factor when cold becomes a factor, but I didn’t.
As she continues to take forever at the sink, she mentions she is trying to warm the water up for me, but it is not very warm. “Your killing me!” I say. “The room is cold enough and you got me naked over here, now your going to put cold water on me!? Your smashing my ego you know,” She laughs and says, “your fine. Really” She rubs the ‘site’ down and covers me up with a surgical ‘napkin’ and says she’ll be back in a few minutes with the doc and get this over with.
I wasn’t nervous. Uncomfortable maybe, but not nervous. They had a little radio in there playing some soothing Jazz music for me, so I just lay there trying to relax, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
15 minutes later, an older nurse knocks and walks in. “Sorry, just passing thru real quick. Just got to clean some things up. So how was it? You doing ok?” “haven’t started yet.” I said. She says “you’re kidding!? You should be done already. When I get done here I’ll go get them for you.” “Thanks” I said. She starts up some other chit-chat and then after a few minutes leaves.
15 minutes later, ANOTHER older nurse knocks and walks in. “Don’t mind me” she says. “Just got to clean some things up and I’ll be out of your way” “Am I in the break room?” I ask. “She laughs and says “it would seem like it, wouldn’t it? This is the room with the sterilization in it.” “I see.” She asks me how it was and how I’m doing. “I’m a little cold laying here in my vulnerable state with this napkin over me waiting for the doc to come in and do his thing.” “He has not come in yet?” “nope” “well, I’ll go out there and see what’s going on and get him in here.” I say thanks and she takes another 5 minutes then leaves and says she will get the doc.
By this time, I am getting really tired of just laying there. I actually start to fall asleep. Here I am, naked, with a napkin over me, in a chilly room, falling asleep.
10 minutes later, (a total of 45 minutes now if your not keeping track) the first ‘older’ nurse comes in and says “so how did it go?” “No Doc yet” I said. “That’s crazy she says. After I finish here, I’ll go see what is going on.” Again, I ask about the ‘break room’ theory and start talking about jokes of the procedure and she chit-chats more about her husband and what he thought of the procedure and what not, then says she will go get the doc.
It has now been 1 full hour since the cute 21 yr old nurse left and said she would be “right back with the doc.” The cold room and vulnerable position I am in has taken its toll on the shrinkage factor. I’m starting to wonder if the procedure can even be done at this point. They’ll have to bring in a search and rescue team in first!
As I think this, the doc flings the door open and steps in with the 21 yr old right behind him. They are chatting something about some actress being cute or not. He says sorry it took so long. He was called in on an emergency surgery. “I’m never called in on emergencies, but I am the doctor on call this week, so I had to go.” “All good” I say. I wanted to ask what the emergency was but not only was he and the nurse in a deep conversation, but he is a urologist, so I really didn’t want to know.
They start the procedure and all goes well. All the while, he and the nurse are talking about Hollywood smut and cracking jokes. Kind of hard to stay still while laughing. After all, he does have a sharp knife and a pair of scissors inside my testicles. I really, really don’t want to move at all.
The doc sews me up and goes on his way like I am on an assembly line, and he has a quota to meet. I’m sure the emergency set him back a few patients. It is getting late and the clock is ticking. Crunch time!
The nurse covers me with a blanket, finally, and grabs a cold pack and laterally drops it on my boys. She DROPS IT! On purpose! Has she no compassion!? Has she no idea what that does? She obviously doesn’t have a pair and thinks that just because mine are still numb that it doesn’t matter. Well, I’m here to tell you, numb or not, IT MATTERS!
“Oh – that wasn’t good” I said. “Sorry about that” she says, “here’s your book, need anything else?” “Yeah – grab my phone for me please”. She hands me my phone and says she will be back in after about 20 minutes to check on me.
10 minutes later, she walks back in and says, “Ok – you ready to go?” “ya – right, I’m ready.” I said 100% jokingly. “ok. Get your close on and here is your ‘post-op’ instructions.” As she takes my ice pack off and stores it back in the freezer. “Are you kidding?” I say. She says, “Why” You not feeling ok?” “No, I’m fine, but it was my understanding that I was going to be here for at least 30 min. after the procedure.” She says, “yeah- but you look like your doing well, so you can go.” “It’s been 10 minutes!” “you can stay if you want” she says, “but you look good enough to go.”
By this time I knew what was going on and they obviously needed the room for the next lucky contestant. So I got dressed and was on my way, looking forward to the next visit in 8 weeks when I have to come back in and leave a deposit of junk to be tested to see if it worked. That will be good.
Stay tuned…
Wednesday, July 11, 2007
The shot of a lifetime.
I went golfing over the weekend with my 14 year old son Jordan, my brother, Terry and his brother-in-law, Wayne. Here is a recap of the only event that afternoon worth mentioning.
Back 9, 18th hole. 147 yard, Par 3. Last hole of the round.
I’m first in my group to attempt to hit the ball. That’s right, attempt. That’s how good my game was going that day.
I grab my 6 iron. Now, for those that don’t know what this means…if I was any good, a 6 iron should carry my ball about 160-170 yards. And with this shot, I should be using an 8 (130-140 yds) maybe even a 7 iron (140-150 yds). No, I need to use a 6.
I stepped up on the tee box. Set my ball a little higher on the tee than I normally do. Just to get it up in the air a little higher. I figured I would not use all of my 6 iron so I could have better control.
I lined up my feet to the pin, set up the club on the ball and took a deep breath. Looked down the fairway to the pin one last time. Brought my club back and watched the club hit the ball. The hit felt good. I really got the ball on the sweet spot on the club. The ball went sailing down the fairway.
As I watched the ball fly, it wasn’t turning to the right in mid air like it normally does. It was actually going straight! Straight to the flag! The longer I watched it, the farther it seemed to be going. I mean, farther than I normally would have hit it. I must have really gotten a hold of it on the ‘sweet spot’ of the club.
As the ball came down, I seen it hit right in front of the green in line with the flag and bounce up. That was the last I seen of it. It must have gone behind the green. I grab my tee and as I walk off, I ask if anyone seen where it went. Wayne says he thought it went in the hole. Jordan says he heard a noise like it hit the flag. Terry wasn’t sure where it went. Wayne again, tries to assure me it went in the hole. ‘I’m pretty sure you just got a hole in one!” he says. “Don’t do that to me Wayne. Not cool at all!”
As they finish up, Wayne keeps telling me he is pretty sure it went in. We walk down the fairway and I am patiently waiting for the others to finally hit their balls up to the green so I can go look for mine.
As I get to the green, I start looking towards the back of the green by the parking lot for my ball. Nothing. I scan the surrounding rough grass and fringe. Nothing. I continue to look around as I walk up to the flag. Still I see nothing. As I get closer, I see the back side of the inside of the hole behind the flag pole, and no ball. I get up to the hole and look directly in and there sits my ball in the front side of the hole. A hole in one!
I did it. I actually got a hole in one. Un-freaking-believable! My game was over. Didn’t need to get my pitching wedge out. Didn’t need to get my putter out. Didn’t get the disappointment of getting another double boogey on a par 3. I got an eagle! First ever!
So now, I have 2 choices.
1- Hang up the clubs. I’ve done what most will never do in their life time.
2- Keep trying to get another one to see if any skill was involved.
I think I will choose the later. What, am I crazy!? Of course I am. I can’t quit golf! Are you kidding me? Never. I could get a hole in one on every hole and not quit golf. It may get boring, but I’m not quitting!
Back 9, 18th hole. 147 yard, Par 3. Last hole of the round.
I’m first in my group to attempt to hit the ball. That’s right, attempt. That’s how good my game was going that day.
I grab my 6 iron. Now, for those that don’t know what this means…if I was any good, a 6 iron should carry my ball about 160-170 yards. And with this shot, I should be using an 8 (130-140 yds) maybe even a 7 iron (140-150 yds). No, I need to use a 6.
I stepped up on the tee box. Set my ball a little higher on the tee than I normally do. Just to get it up in the air a little higher. I figured I would not use all of my 6 iron so I could have better control.
I lined up my feet to the pin, set up the club on the ball and took a deep breath. Looked down the fairway to the pin one last time. Brought my club back and watched the club hit the ball. The hit felt good. I really got the ball on the sweet spot on the club. The ball went sailing down the fairway.
As I watched the ball fly, it wasn’t turning to the right in mid air like it normally does. It was actually going straight! Straight to the flag! The longer I watched it, the farther it seemed to be going. I mean, farther than I normally would have hit it. I must have really gotten a hold of it on the ‘sweet spot’ of the club.
As the ball came down, I seen it hit right in front of the green in line with the flag and bounce up. That was the last I seen of it. It must have gone behind the green. I grab my tee and as I walk off, I ask if anyone seen where it went. Wayne says he thought it went in the hole. Jordan says he heard a noise like it hit the flag. Terry wasn’t sure where it went. Wayne again, tries to assure me it went in the hole. ‘I’m pretty sure you just got a hole in one!” he says. “Don’t do that to me Wayne. Not cool at all!”
As they finish up, Wayne keeps telling me he is pretty sure it went in. We walk down the fairway and I am patiently waiting for the others to finally hit their balls up to the green so I can go look for mine.
As I get to the green, I start looking towards the back of the green by the parking lot for my ball. Nothing. I scan the surrounding rough grass and fringe. Nothing. I continue to look around as I walk up to the flag. Still I see nothing. As I get closer, I see the back side of the inside of the hole behind the flag pole, and no ball. I get up to the hole and look directly in and there sits my ball in the front side of the hole. A hole in one!
I did it. I actually got a hole in one. Un-freaking-believable! My game was over. Didn’t need to get my pitching wedge out. Didn’t need to get my putter out. Didn’t get the disappointment of getting another double boogey on a par 3. I got an eagle! First ever!
So now, I have 2 choices.
1- Hang up the clubs. I’ve done what most will never do in their life time.
2- Keep trying to get another one to see if any skill was involved.
I think I will choose the later. What, am I crazy!? Of course I am. I can’t quit golf! Are you kidding me? Never. I could get a hole in one on every hole and not quit golf. It may get boring, but I’m not quitting!
Thursday, July 5, 2007
I have a dream....
What a fun time the forth of July is. Parades, BBQ’s, beers, ice cream, and fireworks. Love the fireworks (and the beer of course). Crowds of people gathering and the many different locations to let off and watch fireworks. Amazing how they get the different colors and shapes to the explosions that are ignited at the beginning of the fuse in each firework we light.
The symbolism of these fireworks are of the rockets and bombs that burst in the air used to fight for our freedom here in the U.S. That’s not to say that is where they are originated from, but it symbolizes defending our country. Very patriotic for a day we celebrate our independence on.
That brings me to my point. The day that we celebrate our independence on.
Now, I’m just as patriotic as the next guy. I’ve hit the parades, ate the hot dogs and burgers, drank the beers, (love the beers), ate the ice cream and done the fireworks with the kids until midnight. Good times. But getting up to go to work the next day is a bitch! Why the hell are we up going full speed 8 hours before we are supposed to be to work? That really sucks! We should be up ALL night celebrating! Letting off fireworks! Getting drunk! Playing card games! Cooking up Brats! Not trying to get to bed so we aren’t dragging ass the next day at work.
Of course this only applies to the forth landing on a week day, Sun-Thur. as apposed to the weekend, Fri-Sat. Because I work blue collar white man hours, Mon-Fri. (see disclaimer).
We have other holidays that we celebrate the night before, so why not the forth? New years day is celebrated right at midnight. Christmas is celebrated in the early morning hours. Not to mention Santa Clauses visit the night before. So why not have the celebration of our independence be celebrated on the very beginning minute on the forth of July? That’s right…12:00 am, July forth!
This can’t be that big of a deal can it? I mean, we are still celebrating on the forth. Just doing it at a different time of the day. This way, we can work all day, get home with the family, load them up in the wagon, and pick that nice spot in the park to watch the fireworks at 10pm, ON THE 3RD, until 10:30ish or so, then go be home and ready to do your own firework show at midnight! Stay up all night with the kids/adults and party your brains out until the wee hours of the morning. Spend all day the 4th recovering, and be ready to hit the keyboard first thing on the 5th.
Not too much to ask is it?
Lets all band together. Spread the word, and get this in the works for next year! (even though it’s on Friday in 2008, we can still do it on the 3rd, Right?)
Thanks for your support!
-L
The symbolism of these fireworks are of the rockets and bombs that burst in the air used to fight for our freedom here in the U.S. That’s not to say that is where they are originated from, but it symbolizes defending our country. Very patriotic for a day we celebrate our independence on.
That brings me to my point. The day that we celebrate our independence on.
Now, I’m just as patriotic as the next guy. I’ve hit the parades, ate the hot dogs and burgers, drank the beers, (love the beers), ate the ice cream and done the fireworks with the kids until midnight. Good times. But getting up to go to work the next day is a bitch! Why the hell are we up going full speed 8 hours before we are supposed to be to work? That really sucks! We should be up ALL night celebrating! Letting off fireworks! Getting drunk! Playing card games! Cooking up Brats! Not trying to get to bed so we aren’t dragging ass the next day at work.
Of course this only applies to the forth landing on a week day, Sun-Thur. as apposed to the weekend, Fri-Sat. Because I work blue collar white man hours, Mon-Fri. (see disclaimer).
We have other holidays that we celebrate the night before, so why not the forth? New years day is celebrated right at midnight. Christmas is celebrated in the early morning hours. Not to mention Santa Clauses visit the night before. So why not have the celebration of our independence be celebrated on the very beginning minute on the forth of July? That’s right…12:00 am, July forth!
This can’t be that big of a deal can it? I mean, we are still celebrating on the forth. Just doing it at a different time of the day. This way, we can work all day, get home with the family, load them up in the wagon, and pick that nice spot in the park to watch the fireworks at 10pm, ON THE 3RD, until 10:30ish or so, then go be home and ready to do your own firework show at midnight! Stay up all night with the kids/adults and party your brains out until the wee hours of the morning. Spend all day the 4th recovering, and be ready to hit the keyboard first thing on the 5th.
Not too much to ask is it?
Lets all band together. Spread the word, and get this in the works for next year! (even though it’s on Friday in 2008, we can still do it on the 3rd, Right?)
Thanks for your support!
-L
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Sticky Situation
My 13 year old daughter really wanted a pet of her own. I’m not talking a dog, or a cat. We have those. She was thinking something more like a rat or a snake. So, I took her down to the pet store to take a look at some of the snakes and rats and to get an idea on prices for them. After we were done, she was set on the idea of getting a small snake. Simple enough. I told her as soon as she got the tank set up for it, we would go pick it up. We already had a tank and stuff for it, just needed to set it up.
The next day, I get a phone call from her saying she got a snake. Her and her friend found a garter snake somewhere and brought it home. They found the tank I had and assembled it with a heating rock, sand, water dish and light.
Later that night, she calls me downstairs to help her with the snake. I’m thinking maybe she wants to hold it, or clean the water out or something. Maybe, it got out and she needs help finding it and putting it back.
I go downstairs and she tells me she thinks the snake is dead.
“Why would think that?” I said. “What is the snake doing?”.
She says “he is just laying there not moving. He is stuck to the tape.”
“Tape? What tape?” I said.
“The tape I used to cover the hole in the light cover.”
The light is a small fluorescent light for a fish tank. The cover for the light has a large hole in the back for a filter to fit in, maybe 1” wide by 6” long. She says the snake crawled up the cord for the heating rock, and out the hole behind the light. So to fix this, she got some tape out of my tool box (black electrical tape) and put multiple strips of it over the hole until it was all covered so the snake has no hole to get out of.
Putting on my CSI hat, this is my conclusion:
The snake worked its way up the cord and to the top where it got out last time, however, this time it tried to push the tape out of the way with its head, doing this to the under side of the tape (aka: sticky side). Logically, its head became stuck to the tape. (almost as dumb as a cat.)
Without having any arms or legs to use, the snake slithered its body up to the underside of the tape in attempt to pry its head off. In doing this, the entire snake had fallen victim to the stickiness of the tape.
The time of the incident is not known, as my daughter was not keeping an eye on the snake all day. However, it was discovered in the predicament a few short moments before I was notified.
At this point, I knew I had only two options.
1- Attempt to carefully peel the snake off the tape.
2- Ball up the tape with the snake lifelessly attached to it and toss it.
As I investigated the snake, I didn’t see any movement from him indicating any signs of breathing or life itself. However, I couldn’t just let my daughters pet she had put so many meaningful minutes into all be in vain.
So, being the good dad that I am, I put on my “Emergency Response Team” hat and went to work.
Starting with its head, I started to pull it away from the tape. As I did this, the tape held on to the skin of the snake. This was not good. I continued to pull hoping that maybe the tape would eventually let go. This was not the case. I figured the snake sheds its skin anyway, right? So I am just helping it along. Maybe a little pre mature to start shedding, but what do you do? The snake had to come off if it was going to have any chance at all.
Once the snake was completely off, I knew right then and there it was gone. However, I laid the body in the water with its head up on the heating rock and told my daughter to keep an eye on him to see if he moves at all.
After 30 minutes of checking in on him, I pronounced him dead. I figured this would devastate her, however, she is a tough kid and really didn’t have enough time to bond with the poor little sucker anyway. She just took him to the garbage outside and tossed him away like he was an old shoelace.
Since then, she has not mentioned a word about getting another one. Maybe she has had her fill, but I’m not going to ask.
I put my “beer drinking” hat back on and went back to life.
The moral of the story here is, be careful how you solve problems. You could find yourself in some pretty sticky situations if your not careful. (having arms and legs wouldn’t hurt either).
The next day, I get a phone call from her saying she got a snake. Her and her friend found a garter snake somewhere and brought it home. They found the tank I had and assembled it with a heating rock, sand, water dish and light.
Later that night, she calls me downstairs to help her with the snake. I’m thinking maybe she wants to hold it, or clean the water out or something. Maybe, it got out and she needs help finding it and putting it back.
I go downstairs and she tells me she thinks the snake is dead.
“Why would think that?” I said. “What is the snake doing?”.
She says “he is just laying there not moving. He is stuck to the tape.”
“Tape? What tape?” I said.
“The tape I used to cover the hole in the light cover.”
The light is a small fluorescent light for a fish tank. The cover for the light has a large hole in the back for a filter to fit in, maybe 1” wide by 6” long. She says the snake crawled up the cord for the heating rock, and out the hole behind the light. So to fix this, she got some tape out of my tool box (black electrical tape) and put multiple strips of it over the hole until it was all covered so the snake has no hole to get out of.
Putting on my CSI hat, this is my conclusion:
The snake worked its way up the cord and to the top where it got out last time, however, this time it tried to push the tape out of the way with its head, doing this to the under side of the tape (aka: sticky side). Logically, its head became stuck to the tape. (almost as dumb as a cat.)
Without having any arms or legs to use, the snake slithered its body up to the underside of the tape in attempt to pry its head off. In doing this, the entire snake had fallen victim to the stickiness of the tape.
The time of the incident is not known, as my daughter was not keeping an eye on the snake all day. However, it was discovered in the predicament a few short moments before I was notified.
At this point, I knew I had only two options.
1- Attempt to carefully peel the snake off the tape.
2- Ball up the tape with the snake lifelessly attached to it and toss it.
As I investigated the snake, I didn’t see any movement from him indicating any signs of breathing or life itself. However, I couldn’t just let my daughters pet she had put so many meaningful minutes into all be in vain.
So, being the good dad that I am, I put on my “Emergency Response Team” hat and went to work.
Starting with its head, I started to pull it away from the tape. As I did this, the tape held on to the skin of the snake. This was not good. I continued to pull hoping that maybe the tape would eventually let go. This was not the case. I figured the snake sheds its skin anyway, right? So I am just helping it along. Maybe a little pre mature to start shedding, but what do you do? The snake had to come off if it was going to have any chance at all.
Once the snake was completely off, I knew right then and there it was gone. However, I laid the body in the water with its head up on the heating rock and told my daughter to keep an eye on him to see if he moves at all.
After 30 minutes of checking in on him, I pronounced him dead. I figured this would devastate her, however, she is a tough kid and really didn’t have enough time to bond with the poor little sucker anyway. She just took him to the garbage outside and tossed him away like he was an old shoelace.
Since then, she has not mentioned a word about getting another one. Maybe she has had her fill, but I’m not going to ask.
I put my “beer drinking” hat back on and went back to life.
The moral of the story here is, be careful how you solve problems. You could find yourself in some pretty sticky situations if your not careful. (having arms and legs wouldn’t hurt either).
Thursday, June 14, 2007
Dear God....
So - there is this really, REALLY, religious guy that works here. Not Catholic or Mormon. Not sure what he is, but it’s not any of the dominant religions. Not that it matters anyway, and he don’t push it on anyone. I didn’t even know until Dalton just told me this story…..
We'll call this guy Jeff. He is working on a project with D and they have a TON of work to do by Friday of next week. Jeff is really concerned how they are going to get all the work done by then. So, as he is in D’s cubicle, he asks D if he would join him in prayer to ask for help to get the work done on time.
D is not a religious man. His wife is Catholic, and she rarely goes to church. But D is not a part of it. He’s not against it, just not a part of it.
So to be nice, D obliges him and Jeff, right there in D’s cubicle (across from the company printer mind you) faces D, kneels down on his knees and grabs D’s hand and starts praying. Out loud. I commend the guy for looking to God for help. I do to, but not at work kneeling in front of a co-worker sitting in his chair and holding his hand.
As this is going on, D can barely contain himself. He is nearly busting out in laughter. Just then, another co-worker walks by…Darrel. He is about 50ish and very quiet with dry since of humor and don’t know D at all. Darrel, without slowing his walking pace down one bit, without missing a beat, grabs his print off the printer, glances over at Jeff kneeling in front of D, holding his hand, praying out loud, and says, “Do your spouses know you two have come out of the closet?”
Well, D lost it. He busted out and apologized to Jeff. Jeff looks up at D, still on his knees, face turning all red, and says, “I better go have a talk with him.”
This place is so damn funny.
We'll call this guy Jeff. He is working on a project with D and they have a TON of work to do by Friday of next week. Jeff is really concerned how they are going to get all the work done by then. So, as he is in D’s cubicle, he asks D if he would join him in prayer to ask for help to get the work done on time.
D is not a religious man. His wife is Catholic, and she rarely goes to church. But D is not a part of it. He’s not against it, just not a part of it.
So to be nice, D obliges him and Jeff, right there in D’s cubicle (across from the company printer mind you) faces D, kneels down on his knees and grabs D’s hand and starts praying. Out loud. I commend the guy for looking to God for help. I do to, but not at work kneeling in front of a co-worker sitting in his chair and holding his hand.
As this is going on, D can barely contain himself. He is nearly busting out in laughter. Just then, another co-worker walks by…Darrel. He is about 50ish and very quiet with dry since of humor and don’t know D at all. Darrel, without slowing his walking pace down one bit, without missing a beat, grabs his print off the printer, glances over at Jeff kneeling in front of D, holding his hand, praying out loud, and says, “Do your spouses know you two have come out of the closet?”
Well, D lost it. He busted out and apologized to Jeff. Jeff looks up at D, still on his knees, face turning all red, and says, “I better go have a talk with him.”
This place is so damn funny.
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
What's in a name? Well let me tell ya!
Nicknames are fun to have. Sometimes, people have to do something and their friends give them a nickname for what they did. Here’s a good example…Jason (not his real name, mind you) was on a trip with a bunch of us friends and we all stopped at a little ma-pa restaurant to get some grub. Jason ordered a simple grilled cheese sandwich. He was asked if he wanted that on wheat or rye bread.
He said “White please.”
The girl replied, “we don’t have white. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was beside himself. “You don’t have white bread?”
“No” the 14 year old girl said. “we don’t have white bread. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was pissed. Gary said, “what’s wrong with wheat bread?”
“I don’t like wheat bread” Jason says, and he turns away and walks to the table with everyone else without ordering. And now, he is in a pissy ass mood.
Hey – if a 30 year old guy don’t like wheat bread, the guy don’t like wheat bread. I get it. Hell, I don’t like chocolate and haven’t eaten it since I was like 10! (I know…I’m not human.)
Gary then asks the girl if they serve burgers on wheat or rye only.
“No. We have white buns with seasame seeds on them. Would you like one?”
“No….” Gary says, “Get Mr. White Bread a slice of cheese, stick it on a bun and microwave it for 10 seconds and I’ll give it to him. And yes, I’d like a burger on a bun as well. Thanks!”
She smirks and goes about what she was told. Gary then brings Jason his lunch, and hands it to him saying: “here’s your grilled cheese ‘white bread’!”
Now, I have a nickname I have created, but I didn’t create for the intention of being a nickname for myself. It is more of a description of my birthday that I created similar to Christmas. However, friends have coined it as being my nickname.
Let me explain….
Christmas is an annual holiday that marks the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Better known as Jesus Christ. The word Christmas is a contraction meaning “Christs Mass.” Christians are raised to try to be “Christ like”. Since I am Christian, I am trying to be “Christ like”. And what better way to be Christ like than to have a day like Christs? So, I have contracted my name “Larry” with “Mass” to get “Larmas”. This self proclaimed ‘holiday’ is celebrated on my birthday, June 16th.
Now keep in mind…I am not, by any means, trying to take anything away from, mock, or degrade the birth of Christ in any way shape or form. (see my disclaimer) I am simply trying to be Christ like and have my own holiday.
I don’t want to leave any religion out of my holiday. So, everyone is invited to celebrate Larmas in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being.
For those that celebrate Christmas by the exchanging of gifts, this is the rule:
When Christ was born, he got gifts. Now he is gone, everyone exchanges gifts with each other. This will happen with me as well. I get the gifts, and when I die, gifts will be exchanged.
Jews have the festival of lights that lasts for eight days. Eight days! This is insane! It is not fair that the Jews get over a week to celebrate as they see fit on Larmas. So, EVERY ONE gets to do what they want in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being for eight days!
These days are now defined as the Saturday before the 16th, to the Saturday after the 16th. (the last Saturday is commonly known to slip into Sunday morning nearly every single year – this is just fine, because….it’s Larmas and everything is ok on or around Larmas.)
Simple enough huh? Everyone is included. No matter the race, religion or education, when Larmas comes around, you can celebrate it anyway you see fit for your own personal happiness and well being for eight days.
This holiday falls at the perfect time of the year too. Right in the middle of the traditional Christmas’. This way, those of us in the northern hemisphere of the planet can celebrate a similar holiday in the summertime as the southern hemisphere gets the snow during the holiday. Perfect!
I would like to get this holiday known world wide so everyone benefits, and eventually we all can get a day off work (or 5) for the celebration. So, spread the word of Larmas to your loved ones and friends around the world!
Happy Larmas!
He said “White please.”
The girl replied, “we don’t have white. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was beside himself. “You don’t have white bread?”
“No” the 14 year old girl said. “we don’t have white bread. Wheat or rye?”
Jason was pissed. Gary said, “what’s wrong with wheat bread?”
“I don’t like wheat bread” Jason says, and he turns away and walks to the table with everyone else without ordering. And now, he is in a pissy ass mood.
Hey – if a 30 year old guy don’t like wheat bread, the guy don’t like wheat bread. I get it. Hell, I don’t like chocolate and haven’t eaten it since I was like 10! (I know…I’m not human.)
Gary then asks the girl if they serve burgers on wheat or rye only.
“No. We have white buns with seasame seeds on them. Would you like one?”
“No….” Gary says, “Get Mr. White Bread a slice of cheese, stick it on a bun and microwave it for 10 seconds and I’ll give it to him. And yes, I’d like a burger on a bun as well. Thanks!”
She smirks and goes about what she was told. Gary then brings Jason his lunch, and hands it to him saying: “here’s your grilled cheese ‘white bread’!”
Now, I have a nickname I have created, but I didn’t create for the intention of being a nickname for myself. It is more of a description of my birthday that I created similar to Christmas. However, friends have coined it as being my nickname.
Let me explain….
Christmas is an annual holiday that marks the birth of Jesus of Nazareth. Better known as Jesus Christ. The word Christmas is a contraction meaning “Christs Mass.” Christians are raised to try to be “Christ like”. Since I am Christian, I am trying to be “Christ like”. And what better way to be Christ like than to have a day like Christs? So, I have contracted my name “Larry” with “Mass” to get “Larmas”. This self proclaimed ‘holiday’ is celebrated on my birthday, June 16th.
Now keep in mind…I am not, by any means, trying to take anything away from, mock, or degrade the birth of Christ in any way shape or form. (see my disclaimer) I am simply trying to be Christ like and have my own holiday.
I don’t want to leave any religion out of my holiday. So, everyone is invited to celebrate Larmas in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being.
For those that celebrate Christmas by the exchanging of gifts, this is the rule:
When Christ was born, he got gifts. Now he is gone, everyone exchanges gifts with each other. This will happen with me as well. I get the gifts, and when I die, gifts will be exchanged.
Jews have the festival of lights that lasts for eight days. Eight days! This is insane! It is not fair that the Jews get over a week to celebrate as they see fit on Larmas. So, EVERY ONE gets to do what they want in anyway they see fit for their own personal happiness and well being for eight days!
These days are now defined as the Saturday before the 16th, to the Saturday after the 16th. (the last Saturday is commonly known to slip into Sunday morning nearly every single year – this is just fine, because….it’s Larmas and everything is ok on or around Larmas.)
Simple enough huh? Everyone is included. No matter the race, religion or education, when Larmas comes around, you can celebrate it anyway you see fit for your own personal happiness and well being for eight days.
This holiday falls at the perfect time of the year too. Right in the middle of the traditional Christmas’. This way, those of us in the northern hemisphere of the planet can celebrate a similar holiday in the summertime as the southern hemisphere gets the snow during the holiday. Perfect!
I would like to get this holiday known world wide so everyone benefits, and eventually we all can get a day off work (or 5) for the celebration. So, spread the word of Larmas to your loved ones and friends around the world!
Happy Larmas!
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Thursday, May 17, 2007
I hear the tequila inside me say....
My 30th B-day party was quite the bash…
The day started out on the golf course where 8 of us gathered together for a morning round of cigars, beer and golf. 9am, out on the 3rd hole I shank 3 balls in the river. Not good. 5th hole, lost 2 more out of bounds. 6th hole, lost another out of bounds. 9th hole – a 400+ yrd straight shot and I kill it! Best hit of the day. Straight down the fairway, less than 100 yrds from the green with a clean shot ahead. My second shot, I kill it! Fantastic shot…30+ yds past the green. Shit! Didn’t get any better on the green either.
The best thing about that round of golf was hanging out with the guys, smoking the stogies. We all gathered at Todd's house (yes, his name has been changed to protect the innocent), later that night for a beer tasting contest. The fee to get into the party was a 6 pack of unique beer. We must have had at least 20 different types of beer there. Not to mention all the liquor for the non beer drinkers. (aka 'White Bread')
The BBQ lemon pepper chicken and steaks Todd and his wife made were to die for.
As the night moved on, we were all getting our lips on the different kinds of beer we had to prepare for the test. We had a lot of studying to do before the final exam just hours away. We all continued to kick the beers back and smoking on stogies all night.
Then – the testing began. My turn came up, and I knew I had this in the bag. I grab the first cup. Knock it back, and swish it around. Then the second…third, forth, I knew what all six of them were. That was a lot easier than I thought. I grab my cigar and my beer and stroll back out to the back yard as the next contestant strolled in. I was counting on winning the main prize. (whatever it was.)
Finally, after what seemed to be hours of deliberation, the results of the test were released. The little 22 yr old girl that don’t drink very much and don’t smoke cigars had all 6 right!
There's going to be a tie between me and her! I just knew it.
Now, I don’t remember if anyone else got all 6 right. I just remember I didn’t. I got a whopping zero! None if them! I was shocked. I wanted a recount. Maybe they screwed up my ballot. I didn’t leave any hanging chads. How could this be!?
Oh-well, where’s the leftover beer, I’ll drink it!
It was starting to get pretty late. The party was still in full swing. I go down to the bar and White-Bread offers up a shot of tequila. He and my wife (now ex-wife ladies) strong armed me into having one. I fought vigorously for several seconds, then the pressure got to me. I sent the rest of my beer down and grabed the shot. We all kick em back and mine went down very fast. I don’t really like tequila so I don’t drink it. Ever. And the events that came about shortly after reminded me as to why I don’t like it.
Just as fast as the shot went down, I felt it coming back up. I set the shot glass down and started scrolling through my mental notes as to where the bathroom was. ‘Just to the left in the hall’ I thought. As I turn to run, I realize there is a sink in the kitchenette that is much, much closer. However, this sick is behind to ladies who are engaged in conversation and oblivious to the fight that is going on inside me. I have to make a choice. The bathroom – nearly 20 feet away, or split the ladies and hit the sink a mere 5 feet away.
I hear the tequila inside me say, ‘The sink!’. Off I go to the sink. As I head in that direction (again, a mere 5 feet away mind you) I speak very politely to the ladies, ‘excuse me please.’ They both take a step back as I approach and it was a good thing they did, because the tequila thought that me saying 'excuse me' was the secret code for ‘ok – it’s clear! You can come out now!’ I had barely got to the ladies, still at least 3 feet from the sink when the tequila/beer/cake/chicken all started its journey out of me, thru the air, past the ladies and into the sink. I see the two ladies do what Keanu Reeves did in the Matrix. I was very impressed. I don't think they were.
I was told that one of them was about to put a chip in her mouth just as I had done this. After I parted them, she politely set the chip back down in the bowl and walked away. Literally with not facial expression at all. (maybe this is funny only to those of us that were there....)
About 2 minutes later, after the laughter somewhat started to settle, someone herded me into the bathroom and sat me in front of the toilet, where I continued my praying. It felt like days. Weeks, months. Holy crap I felt like shit.
After I picked up my stomach and some of my lungs off the rim of the porcelain God, I realized I had a mess to clean up in the sink. I wobble my way out there, and Todd had his bio hazard suit on and my mess nearly cleaned up. I said ‘sorry buddy, I can do that’ and he looked at me with the eyes of death and said, ‘I got it man, don’t worry about it’. But his eyes…they told a different story. One like..’you are never coming over to my house again you drunk bastard!’ I’m sure he will tell you different, but I felt so bad.
After that, I don’t remember a damn thing. I have no recollection of getting home or the entire next day. I all remember is everyone saying, ‘It’s not a party until Larmus pukes!’
All in all, I think it was a great party and I would like to thank those that cleaned up after me when I obviously couldn't. And I apologize for all that.
Party on!
The day started out on the golf course where 8 of us gathered together for a morning round of cigars, beer and golf. 9am, out on the 3rd hole I shank 3 balls in the river. Not good. 5th hole, lost 2 more out of bounds. 6th hole, lost another out of bounds. 9th hole – a 400+ yrd straight shot and I kill it! Best hit of the day. Straight down the fairway, less than 100 yrds from the green with a clean shot ahead. My second shot, I kill it! Fantastic shot…30+ yds past the green. Shit! Didn’t get any better on the green either.
The best thing about that round of golf was hanging out with the guys, smoking the stogies. We all gathered at Todd's house (yes, his name has been changed to protect the innocent), later that night for a beer tasting contest. The fee to get into the party was a 6 pack of unique beer. We must have had at least 20 different types of beer there. Not to mention all the liquor for the non beer drinkers. (aka 'White Bread')
The BBQ lemon pepper chicken and steaks Todd and his wife made were to die for.
As the night moved on, we were all getting our lips on the different kinds of beer we had to prepare for the test. We had a lot of studying to do before the final exam just hours away. We all continued to kick the beers back and smoking on stogies all night.
Then – the testing began. My turn came up, and I knew I had this in the bag. I grab the first cup. Knock it back, and swish it around. Then the second…third, forth, I knew what all six of them were. That was a lot easier than I thought. I grab my cigar and my beer and stroll back out to the back yard as the next contestant strolled in. I was counting on winning the main prize. (whatever it was.)
Finally, after what seemed to be hours of deliberation, the results of the test were released. The little 22 yr old girl that don’t drink very much and don’t smoke cigars had all 6 right!
There's going to be a tie between me and her! I just knew it.
Now, I don’t remember if anyone else got all 6 right. I just remember I didn’t. I got a whopping zero! None if them! I was shocked. I wanted a recount. Maybe they screwed up my ballot. I didn’t leave any hanging chads. How could this be!?
Oh-well, where’s the leftover beer, I’ll drink it!
It was starting to get pretty late. The party was still in full swing. I go down to the bar and White-Bread offers up a shot of tequila. He and my wife (now ex-wife ladies) strong armed me into having one. I fought vigorously for several seconds, then the pressure got to me. I sent the rest of my beer down and grabed the shot. We all kick em back and mine went down very fast. I don’t really like tequila so I don’t drink it. Ever. And the events that came about shortly after reminded me as to why I don’t like it.
Just as fast as the shot went down, I felt it coming back up. I set the shot glass down and started scrolling through my mental notes as to where the bathroom was. ‘Just to the left in the hall’ I thought. As I turn to run, I realize there is a sink in the kitchenette that is much, much closer. However, this sick is behind to ladies who are engaged in conversation and oblivious to the fight that is going on inside me. I have to make a choice. The bathroom – nearly 20 feet away, or split the ladies and hit the sink a mere 5 feet away.
I hear the tequila inside me say, ‘The sink!’. Off I go to the sink. As I head in that direction (again, a mere 5 feet away mind you) I speak very politely to the ladies, ‘excuse me please.’ They both take a step back as I approach and it was a good thing they did, because the tequila thought that me saying 'excuse me' was the secret code for ‘ok – it’s clear! You can come out now!’ I had barely got to the ladies, still at least 3 feet from the sink when the tequila/beer/cake/chicken all started its journey out of me, thru the air, past the ladies and into the sink. I see the two ladies do what Keanu Reeves did in the Matrix. I was very impressed. I don't think they were.
I was told that one of them was about to put a chip in her mouth just as I had done this. After I parted them, she politely set the chip back down in the bowl and walked away. Literally with not facial expression at all. (maybe this is funny only to those of us that were there....)
About 2 minutes later, after the laughter somewhat started to settle, someone herded me into the bathroom and sat me in front of the toilet, where I continued my praying. It felt like days. Weeks, months. Holy crap I felt like shit.
After I picked up my stomach and some of my lungs off the rim of the porcelain God, I realized I had a mess to clean up in the sink. I wobble my way out there, and Todd had his bio hazard suit on and my mess nearly cleaned up. I said ‘sorry buddy, I can do that’ and he looked at me with the eyes of death and said, ‘I got it man, don’t worry about it’. But his eyes…they told a different story. One like..’you are never coming over to my house again you drunk bastard!’ I’m sure he will tell you different, but I felt so bad.
After that, I don’t remember a damn thing. I have no recollection of getting home or the entire next day. I all remember is everyone saying, ‘It’s not a party until Larmus pukes!’
All in all, I think it was a great party and I would like to thank those that cleaned up after me when I obviously couldn't. And I apologize for all that.
Party on!
Wednesday, May 16, 2007
Would ya get the door please!
A buddy of mine I work with told me some events that had happened between he and another co-worker here in the office that turned out to be a great little story. Yes, I’m going to share it with you…
The doors to our company which take up the entire 2nd floor of a 4 story building are always locked. All of them. So, when you come in after lunch, or to go out to the public restroom, you have to have your key to unlock the door to come in. These locks are not the electronic locks either. We’re talking conventional door knob key. If you forget your key, you knock and peek thru the side glass from the foyer in hopes someone is walking by on the other side that will hear you and let you in.
This buddy of mine..Dalton, was on a deadline on his project he was working on. So, needless to say, anything he is doing, needs to be done quickly to save time as to not miss his deadline. As he is in the office, walking down the main hallway with a bunch of papers in his hands ready for the delivery to another co-worker, he passes the employee entrance door and notices thru the sidelight window another co-worker (will call her Sharon) struggling to find the right key on her key ring to open the door while she is struggling to hold on to books and papers.
Dalton sees this going on as he is about to pass the door, and takes a step towards the door, because just for one brief second he was going to be a gentleman and go out of his way (all of an arms length away) to open the door for her. But Dalton refocuses on his task at hand and his duty to get the work passed off in a timely matter and passes on doing his God given duty to open a door for a lady. A struggling lady that is about to drop everything she is holding to find the damn key and unlock the door.
Their eyes meet just long enough for Dalton to look away and step up the pace down the hallway to make up the .02 seconds he just lost with the hesitation he made.
The slight hesitation Dalton made was very obvious to Sharon as Dalton would come to find out in the days to come….
The first incident happened a couple of days later. A company wide email was sent out announcing the company summer picnic at the local amusement park. The company will provide all you can eat lunch for everyone regardless of age, and 1 park pass for each member of the family. Any additional friends or relatives would have to pay a fee. So the company needs a count of how many family and how many friends.
Dalton replies with needing 4 tickets for his family. One for him, his wife and his 2 children.
After that email, a clarifying email was sent out to the company that simply said children under 3 are free. (emails are in red, my comments in parentheses)
Dalton replies with:
I will need 3 tickets.
Dalton (self)
'Spouse' (wife)
‘Boy A’ (son age 4)
Thanks,
Dalton
(because 'Boy B' -2 yrs old, is free now...right?)
Then another company email was sent out clarifying that if children under 3 wanted to ride rides, they would need to be counted as well. This is where the emails start between Dalton and Sharon….
Sharon:
To clarify tickets for 3 & under children:
Children 3 & under are free to get in AS LONG AS THEY DON”T RIDE ANY RIDES. Anyone that wants to ride any rides needs a stamp and tag on their wrist. So I will give you a ticket for your 3 & under if you want them to be able to ride. BUT, I will not be giving you a meal ticket for 3 & under, because they do eat for free.
Dalton:
Please add one ticket to my packet.
‘Boy B’ – age 2
Thanks,
Dalton
Sharon:
Is he your son?
(his original email stated 4 family members. Then he changed it to 3 members because the 4th was free, now that the 4th is NOT free, he needs to add one to his packet. What’s wrong with this lady?)
Dalton:
Yes, I have two sons.
‘Boy A’ – 4 yrs old
‘Boy B’ – 2 yrs old
Sharon:
If you want the two year old to ride more than the merry go round, I will give you two tickets.
(No shit!? What the hell do you think he’s trying to do here?)
Dalton:
Yes, I would like two child tickets.
Sharon:
So how many tickets do you need?
(are you kidding me!? She is really trying to get under his skin here…)
Dalton:
Me (one adult)
‘Spouse’ (one adult)
4 yr old son (one child)
2 yr old son (one child)
This is a total of 2 adults and 2 children. All of which are my immediate family.
Sharon:
Ok – thank you.
(did that actually make sense that time?)
The next day, Dalton and another co-worker were talking in the break room and Sharon came in. she looked directly at Dalton as she came in. Dalton said hi and she then looked to the co-worker and said Hi to the co-worker. Totally blowing off Dalton. (bitch!)
Stuff like that went on for over a week. Walking past each other in the hall and she would not even look at him. Even if he said hi. He has to work directly with her on some aspect of the projects, but she would not talk to him at all. Then finally, Dalton did something that changed Sharon’s whole outlook on him.
Another project deadline was nearing, and Dalton was finishing up his work in great fashion with plenty of time to spare. Sharon mentioned to Dalton that she didn’t have time to send information to the other office for their graphic designer to do a cover sheet for the project and asked Dalton if he could do something simple for her.
Dalton flew into action and did what he does best, with little or no effort at all. Took him no time at all. With time to spare, he showed her what he had done and she was shocked. Could not believe that he had that kind of talent. She said they didn’t get that kind of stuff from the graphic designer. No longer would they have to send stuff to her.
Dalton had noticed some pictures of her grandkids and child and started asking about them. She was all to happy to talk about them. Mentioned her son was in the military and has 2 purple hearts. Dalton saw this as an opportunity to have something in common with her, so he mentions his cousin that is in the military (that he never talks to) serving in Iraq, and how he was in the same vehicle as a news reporter while on TV.
Since then, all has been good between the two. She even went to the person that original referred Dalton to come to work there and said. “Thank you so much for getting Dalton to come to work here. It is so great to have him here!” haha – ‘so great to have him here’ she says. That’s a recovery if I ever heard one.
Thoughts of Dalton not opening the door will never cross her mind again. I’m sure in her mind, that event never happened.
Way to go Dalton! You’re my hero! You managed to save yourself a lifetime of regret, humiliation and daggers being thrown at you from Sharons eyes every day.
You da man!
The doors to our company which take up the entire 2nd floor of a 4 story building are always locked. All of them. So, when you come in after lunch, or to go out to the public restroom, you have to have your key to unlock the door to come in. These locks are not the electronic locks either. We’re talking conventional door knob key. If you forget your key, you knock and peek thru the side glass from the foyer in hopes someone is walking by on the other side that will hear you and let you in.
This buddy of mine..Dalton, was on a deadline on his project he was working on. So, needless to say, anything he is doing, needs to be done quickly to save time as to not miss his deadline. As he is in the office, walking down the main hallway with a bunch of papers in his hands ready for the delivery to another co-worker, he passes the employee entrance door and notices thru the sidelight window another co-worker (will call her Sharon) struggling to find the right key on her key ring to open the door while she is struggling to hold on to books and papers.
Dalton sees this going on as he is about to pass the door, and takes a step towards the door, because just for one brief second he was going to be a gentleman and go out of his way (all of an arms length away) to open the door for her. But Dalton refocuses on his task at hand and his duty to get the work passed off in a timely matter and passes on doing his God given duty to open a door for a lady. A struggling lady that is about to drop everything she is holding to find the damn key and unlock the door.
Their eyes meet just long enough for Dalton to look away and step up the pace down the hallway to make up the .02 seconds he just lost with the hesitation he made.
The slight hesitation Dalton made was very obvious to Sharon as Dalton would come to find out in the days to come….
The first incident happened a couple of days later. A company wide email was sent out announcing the company summer picnic at the local amusement park. The company will provide all you can eat lunch for everyone regardless of age, and 1 park pass for each member of the family. Any additional friends or relatives would have to pay a fee. So the company needs a count of how many family and how many friends.
Dalton replies with needing 4 tickets for his family. One for him, his wife and his 2 children.
After that email, a clarifying email was sent out to the company that simply said children under 3 are free. (emails are in red, my comments in parentheses)
Dalton replies with:
I will need 3 tickets.
Dalton (self)
'Spouse' (wife)
‘Boy A’ (son age 4)
Thanks,
Dalton
(because 'Boy B' -2 yrs old, is free now...right?)
Then another company email was sent out clarifying that if children under 3 wanted to ride rides, they would need to be counted as well. This is where the emails start between Dalton and Sharon….
Sharon:
To clarify tickets for 3 & under children:
Children 3 & under are free to get in AS LONG AS THEY DON”T RIDE ANY RIDES. Anyone that wants to ride any rides needs a stamp and tag on their wrist. So I will give you a ticket for your 3 & under if you want them to be able to ride. BUT, I will not be giving you a meal ticket for 3 & under, because they do eat for free.
Dalton:
Please add one ticket to my packet.
‘Boy B’ – age 2
Thanks,
Dalton
Sharon:
Is he your son?
(his original email stated 4 family members. Then he changed it to 3 members because the 4th was free, now that the 4th is NOT free, he needs to add one to his packet. What’s wrong with this lady?)
Dalton:
Yes, I have two sons.
‘Boy A’ – 4 yrs old
‘Boy B’ – 2 yrs old
Sharon:
If you want the two year old to ride more than the merry go round, I will give you two tickets.
(No shit!? What the hell do you think he’s trying to do here?)
Dalton:
Yes, I would like two child tickets.
Sharon:
So how many tickets do you need?
(are you kidding me!? She is really trying to get under his skin here…)
Dalton:
Me (one adult)
‘Spouse’ (one adult)
4 yr old son (one child)
2 yr old son (one child)
This is a total of 2 adults and 2 children. All of which are my immediate family.
Sharon:
Ok – thank you.
(did that actually make sense that time?)
The next day, Dalton and another co-worker were talking in the break room and Sharon came in. she looked directly at Dalton as she came in. Dalton said hi and she then looked to the co-worker and said Hi to the co-worker. Totally blowing off Dalton. (bitch!)
Stuff like that went on for over a week. Walking past each other in the hall and she would not even look at him. Even if he said hi. He has to work directly with her on some aspect of the projects, but she would not talk to him at all. Then finally, Dalton did something that changed Sharon’s whole outlook on him.
Another project deadline was nearing, and Dalton was finishing up his work in great fashion with plenty of time to spare. Sharon mentioned to Dalton that she didn’t have time to send information to the other office for their graphic designer to do a cover sheet for the project and asked Dalton if he could do something simple for her.
Dalton flew into action and did what he does best, with little or no effort at all. Took him no time at all. With time to spare, he showed her what he had done and she was shocked. Could not believe that he had that kind of talent. She said they didn’t get that kind of stuff from the graphic designer. No longer would they have to send stuff to her.
Dalton had noticed some pictures of her grandkids and child and started asking about them. She was all to happy to talk about them. Mentioned her son was in the military and has 2 purple hearts. Dalton saw this as an opportunity to have something in common with her, so he mentions his cousin that is in the military (that he never talks to) serving in Iraq, and how he was in the same vehicle as a news reporter while on TV.
Since then, all has been good between the two. She even went to the person that original referred Dalton to come to work there and said. “Thank you so much for getting Dalton to come to work here. It is so great to have him here!” haha – ‘so great to have him here’ she says. That’s a recovery if I ever heard one.
Thoughts of Dalton not opening the door will never cross her mind again. I’m sure in her mind, that event never happened.
Way to go Dalton! You’re my hero! You managed to save yourself a lifetime of regret, humiliation and daggers being thrown at you from Sharons eyes every day.
You da man!
Thursday, May 10, 2007
Cover the Crack!
We have all heard the slogan, ‘Say no to Crack!’…right? This is a great slogan. And we all know that it has turned into a term that we use when we see a plumber.
Nobody wants to see a guy bent over with his shirt crawling up the middle of his back, suspenders not quit doing the job intended, allowing the hair on his lower back that covers the path to his ‘grand canyon’, to pop out, making it obvious Mr. Plumber is strutting around as Mr. ‘Commando’ that day. Sick! Kinda funny, but sick. Even with his tighty whities hugging is 48 inch waist line hanging inches below the top of the ‘canyon’ he so proudly displays, it still is not a good sight.
I feel the same goes for women…for example….I was at the food court in the mall the other day looking for a place to eat. As I am strolling along the main walkway, looking for a table amongst the sea of people sitting and eating, I notice a slender lady sitting across from a girl about 5 yrs old. As I am walking past her, with her back to me, the crack she is displaying becomes extremely noticeable. The white hip huggers she was wearing had somehow pulled themselves down at least 3 inches below the top of her separation line with no barrier between the hip huggers and her showing. She was in fact, going commando that day. Now, one may think that guys would say that was hot. However, I am here to say that what I saw, was not hot. It was on the verge of disgusting. Here she sits with half her shit splicer showing itself to the main walk way in the food court while she eats with her little 5 yr old girl. Keep in mind, she was no whale by any sorts. Maybe pushing 90 lbs. Tiny thing. But what she had going on was not good.
Now, different situation….Say in your office you have an attractive woman reaching down in the supply cabinet for a ream of paper and her shirt rides up, along with her tiny g-string she is wearing. Now, that is hot. However, if there were no g-string, and that crevasse shows itself with no decoration to speak of, well to me, that’s just not right. The crack HAS to be covered. Whether it be with a tiny string, or a long trench coat.
Cover the crack!
Nobody wants to see a guy bent over with his shirt crawling up the middle of his back, suspenders not quit doing the job intended, allowing the hair on his lower back that covers the path to his ‘grand canyon’, to pop out, making it obvious Mr. Plumber is strutting around as Mr. ‘Commando’ that day. Sick! Kinda funny, but sick. Even with his tighty whities hugging is 48 inch waist line hanging inches below the top of the ‘canyon’ he so proudly displays, it still is not a good sight.
I feel the same goes for women…for example….I was at the food court in the mall the other day looking for a place to eat. As I am strolling along the main walkway, looking for a table amongst the sea of people sitting and eating, I notice a slender lady sitting across from a girl about 5 yrs old. As I am walking past her, with her back to me, the crack she is displaying becomes extremely noticeable. The white hip huggers she was wearing had somehow pulled themselves down at least 3 inches below the top of her separation line with no barrier between the hip huggers and her showing. She was in fact, going commando that day. Now, one may think that guys would say that was hot. However, I am here to say that what I saw, was not hot. It was on the verge of disgusting. Here she sits with half her shit splicer showing itself to the main walk way in the food court while she eats with her little 5 yr old girl. Keep in mind, she was no whale by any sorts. Maybe pushing 90 lbs. Tiny thing. But what she had going on was not good.
Now, different situation….Say in your office you have an attractive woman reaching down in the supply cabinet for a ream of paper and her shirt rides up, along with her tiny g-string she is wearing. Now, that is hot. However, if there were no g-string, and that crevasse shows itself with no decoration to speak of, well to me, that’s just not right. The crack HAS to be covered. Whether it be with a tiny string, or a long trench coat.
Cover the crack!
Monday, April 9, 2007
'It's not a party unless ....'
Parties are fun. Especially when the people you are with don't judge you or anyone else that is there. Just a bunch of cool friends hanging out, and having fun. No drama....sigh....good times...
Speaking of good times...Here's one:
Some friends of mine called a party to their house one winter day. It must have been new years or something. I Don't really remember.
I get there, and the party was already happinin. Shots were flying, beers were being downed, board games with alcohol were being played, music going...typical fun party. I had a few jello-shots to chase my beers down and a few shots of this, and a few of that. Then, the party moved downstairs and into the garage.
The house is a split-entry house, so you go down 4 or 5 steps, and your on a landing to the front door, then you go down 4 or 5 more stairs and you are on the bottom floor of the house. Straight across from the stairs is the bathroom. To the right is the TV room, and to the left is the door to the garage.
The garage has a typical 'male' setting. No car, dart board, work bench, yard tools hanging, you know, typical garage. Me, Dalton, (names have been changed to protect the guilty) his date Amber, Jason and his date Heidi are standing around in our own little conversation when Jason leaves to go to the bathroom. Heidi asks if any one needs another beer. 'I do!' I say as I start to down the last half of my someteenth beer. She grabs me a bottle and even twists the top off for me. 'Your awesome! Thanks!' I say. She smiles and says 'Your pretty alright your self...and your welcome!' and with that, I focus back on the conversation that was going on, when not 2 seconds later, the rest of my night began to come to an end...
As I stand there, holding my beer, I see Heidi, out of the corner of my eye, lift her beer as if she is going to drink it. Now, I don't know why, maybe the beer gods were watching, but I suddenly gripped my beer tighter, as if it was going to drop out of my hand, but I am now thankful I did! Next thing I knew, Heidi had 'tapped' my bottle and it started to foam over. (if your not familiar with 'tapping', this is when one idiot hits the top of a bottle with the bottom of their bottle. This causes the beer to foam up and shoot up and out of the bottle. It literally shoots up. 6-8 inches. So it can cause a mess if your not on top of it and start chugging it to prevent the mess it will make.)
My quick thinking saved the garage floor. I wrapped my lips around the top of my bottle and started chugging. Chugging foam that is. When you chug foam, it normally tends to fill every crevis in your stomach, throat, nose, ears, then your eyes and lastly, your mouth. This is exactly what happened. As it had gone through all the above, then into my mouth, I thought I had it all under control. I looked at my bottle and seen it was still foaming. I went to drink more of it, but as I tried to open my mouth, Daltons eyes were getting bigger and he started to move back away from me as he seen bubbles coming out of my nose. Heidi was crying she was laughing so hard, and the foam in my stomach wanted out. Bad. So, it started coming out. I knew there was no turning back. My cheeks instantly filled up and I covered my mouth to prevent anyone in the room from being decorated with what I was about to release. I ran into the house and busted open the bathroom door.
Now, remember a minute ago, before I got this new beer, Jason had left to go to the bathroom. Well, I remembered this as soon as I busted open the door and seen him standing there with his hand just zipping up his pants. All I remember of this is the size of his eyes as I busted in the room and him backing up against the wall like I was a freight train he was avoiding.
I didn't make it to the porcelain god in time for the first wave. In fact, when I flung the door open, it was pretty much on its way out then. It flew out of my mouth, past Jasons face, across the bathroom and on the back wall of the shower and into the tub. By that time, I had my body wrapped around the toilet hanging on like it was an old girlfriend I didn't want to let go. You know how the rest of that goes.
I don't recall much of the rest of that night. I do recall some kind of wrestling match out in the snow in the front yard, but everything else is pretty much gone. This was the first of what was to be several incidents at parties where my insides decided they wanted to join in on the fun too. Thus, the phrase 'It's not a party unless Larmas pukes!' was coined.
So - with that said, I would like to thank those that cleaned up after me when I obviously couldn't. And I apologize for all of that.
Party on!
Speaking of good times...Here's one:
Some friends of mine called a party to their house one winter day. It must have been new years or something. I Don't really remember.
I get there, and the party was already happinin. Shots were flying, beers were being downed, board games with alcohol were being played, music going...typical fun party. I had a few jello-shots to chase my beers down and a few shots of this, and a few of that. Then, the party moved downstairs and into the garage.
The house is a split-entry house, so you go down 4 or 5 steps, and your on a landing to the front door, then you go down 4 or 5 more stairs and you are on the bottom floor of the house. Straight across from the stairs is the bathroom. To the right is the TV room, and to the left is the door to the garage.
The garage has a typical 'male' setting. No car, dart board, work bench, yard tools hanging, you know, typical garage. Me, Dalton, (names have been changed to protect the guilty) his date Amber, Jason and his date Heidi are standing around in our own little conversation when Jason leaves to go to the bathroom. Heidi asks if any one needs another beer. 'I do!' I say as I start to down the last half of my someteenth beer. She grabs me a bottle and even twists the top off for me. 'Your awesome! Thanks!' I say. She smiles and says 'Your pretty alright your self...and your welcome!' and with that, I focus back on the conversation that was going on, when not 2 seconds later, the rest of my night began to come to an end...
As I stand there, holding my beer, I see Heidi, out of the corner of my eye, lift her beer as if she is going to drink it. Now, I don't know why, maybe the beer gods were watching, but I suddenly gripped my beer tighter, as if it was going to drop out of my hand, but I am now thankful I did! Next thing I knew, Heidi had 'tapped' my bottle and it started to foam over. (if your not familiar with 'tapping', this is when one idiot hits the top of a bottle with the bottom of their bottle. This causes the beer to foam up and shoot up and out of the bottle. It literally shoots up. 6-8 inches. So it can cause a mess if your not on top of it and start chugging it to prevent the mess it will make.)
My quick thinking saved the garage floor. I wrapped my lips around the top of my bottle and started chugging. Chugging foam that is. When you chug foam, it normally tends to fill every crevis in your stomach, throat, nose, ears, then your eyes and lastly, your mouth. This is exactly what happened. As it had gone through all the above, then into my mouth, I thought I had it all under control. I looked at my bottle and seen it was still foaming. I went to drink more of it, but as I tried to open my mouth, Daltons eyes were getting bigger and he started to move back away from me as he seen bubbles coming out of my nose. Heidi was crying she was laughing so hard, and the foam in my stomach wanted out. Bad. So, it started coming out. I knew there was no turning back. My cheeks instantly filled up and I covered my mouth to prevent anyone in the room from being decorated with what I was about to release. I ran into the house and busted open the bathroom door.
Now, remember a minute ago, before I got this new beer, Jason had left to go to the bathroom. Well, I remembered this as soon as I busted open the door and seen him standing there with his hand just zipping up his pants. All I remember of this is the size of his eyes as I busted in the room and him backing up against the wall like I was a freight train he was avoiding.
I didn't make it to the porcelain god in time for the first wave. In fact, when I flung the door open, it was pretty much on its way out then. It flew out of my mouth, past Jasons face, across the bathroom and on the back wall of the shower and into the tub. By that time, I had my body wrapped around the toilet hanging on like it was an old girlfriend I didn't want to let go. You know how the rest of that goes.
I don't recall much of the rest of that night. I do recall some kind of wrestling match out in the snow in the front yard, but everything else is pretty much gone. This was the first of what was to be several incidents at parties where my insides decided they wanted to join in on the fun too. Thus, the phrase 'It's not a party unless Larmas pukes!' was coined.
So - with that said, I would like to thank those that cleaned up after me when I obviously couldn't. And I apologize for all of that.
Party on!
Wednesday, April 4, 2007
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Training
I'm in the market for finding a new job. I applied at this really cool company, but because I don't have a 'Bachelors' degree, I don't qualify. Never mind my 10+ years of OJT and experience. No degree, no job. They were going to pay for my additional training and everything!
So - with that in mind....it reminded me of a memo I once got about a new 'Training' policy I would like to share.
Here it is:
To: All Employees
From: Personnel and Training Dept.
RE: Special High Intensity Training Program
================================================
It is now, and always has been the policy of this company to assure its employees that they are well trained through our Special High Intensity Training program (SHIT). We have given our employees more SHIT than any other company in the United States.
If any employee feels that he or she does not receive enough SHIT on the job, or that he or she could advance to another position by taking on more SHIT, see your supervisor. Our supervisors are specially trained to see that you get all the SHIT you can handle.
Anyone who feels that he or she has not received sufficient SHIT should inform their supervisor so that they can be put at the top of his or her organizations SHIT list.
If you are not interested in enrolling for further training, contact: Head Of Training - Special High Intensity Training. (HOT SHIT).
Or, submit completed forms to this department indicating lectures you wish to attend using the Basic University Lecture List for Special High Intensity Training (BULL SHIT).
All of the above will be administered by or under the supervision of our Director In Personnel – Special High Intensity Training (DIP SHIT).
So - with that in mind....it reminded me of a memo I once got about a new 'Training' policy I would like to share.
Here it is:
To: All Employees
From: Personnel and Training Dept.
RE: Special High Intensity Training Program
================================================
It is now, and always has been the policy of this company to assure its employees that they are well trained through our Special High Intensity Training program (SHIT). We have given our employees more SHIT than any other company in the United States.
If any employee feels that he or she does not receive enough SHIT on the job, or that he or she could advance to another position by taking on more SHIT, see your supervisor. Our supervisors are specially trained to see that you get all the SHIT you can handle.
Anyone who feels that he or she has not received sufficient SHIT should inform their supervisor so that they can be put at the top of his or her organizations SHIT list.
If you are not interested in enrolling for further training, contact: Head Of Training - Special High Intensity Training. (HOT SHIT).
Or, submit completed forms to this department indicating lectures you wish to attend using the Basic University Lecture List for Special High Intensity Training (BULL SHIT).
All of the above will be administered by or under the supervision of our Director In Personnel – Special High Intensity Training (DIP SHIT).
Monday, April 2, 2007
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
10 hours to kill
I got a new job recently and started to go through all my files on my PC to clean off any personal stuff I may have had on it since I started back in 1998. I came across a little story I had wrote while I was on my way back from my first international business trip to Japan. Started reading it and thought you might enjoy it as well. So - here it is....
10 hours to kill. I’m on my way back from my first business trip to Japan and this is just about the longest time I’ve ever spent on a plane. Going to Japan from America, my flight was nearly 12 hours. Try sitting in a kitchen chair sandwiched between the wall and an old Japanese businessman for 12 hours. Now you feel my pain.
My laptop says it is 1 am, this would be MST. but my watch I have been wearing in Japan the past week says it is 5 pm. I’m not so tired now so I thought I would document a little about an average day I had at Daifuku eFA factory in Komaki, Japan.
As I came in to work this particular morning, I was kicking myself because I had forgot to pack my umbrella. I really needed it today. The 5-minute walk from the dorms to the train station was not too bad. However, the rain must have picked up during my 10-minute walk from the station to the office, and walking up to the doors of the ugliest building in Komaki, I noticed that Greg and I were the only ones with out one.
Just as I sit down to my computer, I hear over the intercom system what sounds like a doorbell tone, but more of a tune. Do de do do…do de de do. That is the 8 o’clock bell to get to work. 5 minutes later, a song starts to play and an old mans voice starts the morning exercise routine that lasts about 5 minutes. 15 minutes after 8, another tune plays to say if you are not here, you are late. This is when the office gets dead quite and the only sounds you hear is the sound of the heater blowing its hot humid air into the long narrow office, and the rain falling thru the exposed drain that is funneled down the exposed columns along the sides of the room.
The laptop I am working on has a 14” screen. Not too big, but definitely not the smallest one here. I am sitting at a small desk, maybe 2’ by 4’, with the drawers underneath it on both sides of my legs. It is a flat gray color. Very dull. My chair is not cushioned, but it is a cloth chair on wheels. At least 2 of the 5 wheels need attention badly. They are very squeaky as I roll around on the blue tile floor that looks like it is never seen a mop. My desk is in the middle of a row of 5 desks that are placed end to end and are facing another row identical to it. Behind the screen of my laptop is a gray 12” partition that separates my workspace from the worker in front of me. So each set of desks occupies 8 workers, and there are 8 sets of desks in the middle of this long office. At the ends of this office, there are cubicle walls, which are about 5’ tall and surround a large conference table. These are the ‘conference’ rooms.
Each worker has the same books and charts occupying nearly every inch of their workspace. The men are dressed in the same light two-tone green jackets identified as their uniform, and is only to be warn at work. All wear glasses that magnify the redness in their eyes that obviously comes from suffering for the company. Long messy hair and dirty pants tell me they are here for only one reason. To suffer just like their boss does. The men are expected to stay until their manager leaves. The manager is expected to stay until his manager leaves. He is expected to stay until his manager leaves, and he does not leave until 8pm because he too is suffering for the company.
The women her are machines. They are all to look the same in their uniforms, which are not to be worn to or from work, but only at work. They are to act like machines, which sit and do work. Machines don’t talk to anyone, they don’t look at anyone, they don’t read e-mails from friends, and they do not talk on the phone. They sit at their desk and work. If they get tired, they sit at their computer and close their eyes while they hold their head up with one hand hold the mouse with the other. This is ok, because they are at their desk, and appear to be working and suffering like the rest.
Do de do do….do de de do. That is the 12:00 tune saying it is lunchtime. The manager of the group walks over and turns the lights in the office off as nearly everyone else gets up and walks to the cafeteria across the shop. A few remaining employees check their mail, surf the Internet, or put their heads on their desks and sleep. I go to lunch.
We walk thru the darkened and deserted factory between the white lines that define the walkway, past the restrooms, outside and to the cafeteria building. I make a pit stop at the restrooms and try not to touch anything while in there. The toilets are really urinals embedded in the ground. This is typical Japanese. You really do have to squat to do your thing, the toilet paper is really wax paper on a 4” roll. And watch your wallet so it does not fall in either. The urinals are typical American urinals. No paper towels or rolls to dry your hands, so you use your handkerchief you are to carry with you everywhere for a number of reasons, one of which, to dry your hands. And to top it off, this restroom is worse than the one at the gas station in the middle of nowhere that never gets any attention.
Speaking of getting attention, every now and then, when I entered the restroom, there would be a tiny old Japanese lady hunched over wearing a dirty pink outfit, yellow rubber gloves holding a bucket and scrubbing brush, cleaning like she is suffering just like the office workers. She is just part of the restroom and no one pays any attention to her and you just go about your business. This is really interesting when you come across two of them together cleaning and chatting away like they are having coffee together and spreading rumors.
As I digress…I was off to lunch.
Entering the cafeteria I get thrown back to my school lunch days. Just like the person in front of you, you grab a tray off the stack, grab a pair of chopsticks from the large cup, and slowly shuffle your feet along until you get to the food. The food is prepared in small bowls and plates by tiny old Japanese ladies, who, as you approach them, the holler out loud, (in Japanese of course) “welcome to our cafeteria, thank you for coming in!” This, to the everyday employee, is expected and not appreciated. To me, it was fun to hear, and I liked to hear it. I grab my bowls of soup, my plate of breaded chicken with rice, and a small bowl of rice. I grab a cup and quickly, have to decide, “hot” tea today, or “cold” tea. I go for the hot because the drizzling rain still has not let up.
The room is filled with green jackets and dark blue uniforms sitting at separate tables. The men occupy about 90% of the cafeteria, while the women use 2 or three tables in the back corner where they can finally talk and gossip about their night last night and complain about their job. I have heard that in Japan if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, you don’t talk about your relationships. Only gossip about others. If a woman does have a boyfriend, she may get fired from her job. The reasoning behind this, is because she will eventually get married, have babies, and have to quit her job to raise her family like every Japanese woman should, (not all do however).
I try to make it back to my desk by 12:45. This gives me 15 minutes to check my mail and maybe a few websites. Before I know it…..Do de do do….do de de do. The lights come on, and workers start to wake up and start the second half of the day, which will be identical to the first half. At about 4:45, a few people start whispering and I can feel the excitement of 5:00.
Do de do do…do de de do. 5:00! If the girls have their work done, they can now go home. If not, they continue to work as the see other girls walking out from the corner of their eyes. For the men, you have at least one more hour to go. If you are feeling lucky, you can leave, but I am here on business, and I have work to do. I will be here for another 2 hours. This is not so bad because I really have no home to go to, and no one to meet me anywhere. So I’m ok with working late as long as I can still think straight.
Greg and a few others are discussing dinner, in Japanese of course, and plans are made to go to Japanese BBQ style restaurant. It sounds good with me, and I am excited to go. We bring our work to a break off point, and start gathering our belongings together to leave. 3 of us pack into the back of a really, really small, mini-van type, car as Greg and the driver sit up front. The driver is one of the girls that work in the office that Greg became friends with last December when he was here. It really freaks me out to be crammed in the back of a matchbox size mini-van going about 40 MPH in the dark, in the rain, down a road big enough for only one of these cars, but is laid out to be a two-lane road. On top of that, we are on the left side of the road where all the world drives except America. Now this is excitement!
Walking to our table, I see others eating from a BBQ pit built in the center of their table set up to cook your own meet on and season as you like. The meat is brought to us all sliced up and ready to be thrown on the grill. Our group is big enough to sit at a table with two pits. It seems to be instinct for the girls we are with, to take control of the mixing of the seasonings and cooking the meet. The obviously enjoy this. The beer starts coming in liter size glasses. I kid you not. Liters! Everyone raises their large glasses… Koumpai! Cheers in Japanese. We all touch glasses and drink. What great way to end the day.
Three hours and 38,000 Yen later (about $340) the Japanese manager we are with pays for dinner and Greg and I get taken back to dorms where we crash in our own rooms just big enough for a bed, a TV, a desk, and a closet to hang our clothes in.
I’m out by midnight, but 3:00 comes really quick and the jet-lag still is lingering enough to wake me and make me fight to go back to sleep. I eventually do, but now the thoughts of my alarm not going off frighten me and wake me at 5:30. An hour early. So I lie there and just rest until I pull myself together enough to go thru another day identical to yesterday.
10 hours to kill. I’m on my way back from my first business trip to Japan and this is just about the longest time I’ve ever spent on a plane. Going to Japan from America, my flight was nearly 12 hours. Try sitting in a kitchen chair sandwiched between the wall and an old Japanese businessman for 12 hours. Now you feel my pain.
My laptop says it is 1 am, this would be MST. but my watch I have been wearing in Japan the past week says it is 5 pm. I’m not so tired now so I thought I would document a little about an average day I had at Daifuku eFA factory in Komaki, Japan.
As I came in to work this particular morning, I was kicking myself because I had forgot to pack my umbrella. I really needed it today. The 5-minute walk from the dorms to the train station was not too bad. However, the rain must have picked up during my 10-minute walk from the station to the office, and walking up to the doors of the ugliest building in Komaki, I noticed that Greg and I were the only ones with out one.
Just as I sit down to my computer, I hear over the intercom system what sounds like a doorbell tone, but more of a tune. Do de do do…do de de do. That is the 8 o’clock bell to get to work. 5 minutes later, a song starts to play and an old mans voice starts the morning exercise routine that lasts about 5 minutes. 15 minutes after 8, another tune plays to say if you are not here, you are late. This is when the office gets dead quite and the only sounds you hear is the sound of the heater blowing its hot humid air into the long narrow office, and the rain falling thru the exposed drain that is funneled down the exposed columns along the sides of the room.
The laptop I am working on has a 14” screen. Not too big, but definitely not the smallest one here. I am sitting at a small desk, maybe 2’ by 4’, with the drawers underneath it on both sides of my legs. It is a flat gray color. Very dull. My chair is not cushioned, but it is a cloth chair on wheels. At least 2 of the 5 wheels need attention badly. They are very squeaky as I roll around on the blue tile floor that looks like it is never seen a mop. My desk is in the middle of a row of 5 desks that are placed end to end and are facing another row identical to it. Behind the screen of my laptop is a gray 12” partition that separates my workspace from the worker in front of me. So each set of desks occupies 8 workers, and there are 8 sets of desks in the middle of this long office. At the ends of this office, there are cubicle walls, which are about 5’ tall and surround a large conference table. These are the ‘conference’ rooms.
Each worker has the same books and charts occupying nearly every inch of their workspace. The men are dressed in the same light two-tone green jackets identified as their uniform, and is only to be warn at work. All wear glasses that magnify the redness in their eyes that obviously comes from suffering for the company. Long messy hair and dirty pants tell me they are here for only one reason. To suffer just like their boss does. The men are expected to stay until their manager leaves. The manager is expected to stay until his manager leaves. He is expected to stay until his manager leaves, and he does not leave until 8pm because he too is suffering for the company.
The women her are machines. They are all to look the same in their uniforms, which are not to be worn to or from work, but only at work. They are to act like machines, which sit and do work. Machines don’t talk to anyone, they don’t look at anyone, they don’t read e-mails from friends, and they do not talk on the phone. They sit at their desk and work. If they get tired, they sit at their computer and close their eyes while they hold their head up with one hand hold the mouse with the other. This is ok, because they are at their desk, and appear to be working and suffering like the rest.
Do de do do….do de de do. That is the 12:00 tune saying it is lunchtime. The manager of the group walks over and turns the lights in the office off as nearly everyone else gets up and walks to the cafeteria across the shop. A few remaining employees check their mail, surf the Internet, or put their heads on their desks and sleep. I go to lunch.
We walk thru the darkened and deserted factory between the white lines that define the walkway, past the restrooms, outside and to the cafeteria building. I make a pit stop at the restrooms and try not to touch anything while in there. The toilets are really urinals embedded in the ground. This is typical Japanese. You really do have to squat to do your thing, the toilet paper is really wax paper on a 4” roll. And watch your wallet so it does not fall in either. The urinals are typical American urinals. No paper towels or rolls to dry your hands, so you use your handkerchief you are to carry with you everywhere for a number of reasons, one of which, to dry your hands. And to top it off, this restroom is worse than the one at the gas station in the middle of nowhere that never gets any attention.
Speaking of getting attention, every now and then, when I entered the restroom, there would be a tiny old Japanese lady hunched over wearing a dirty pink outfit, yellow rubber gloves holding a bucket and scrubbing brush, cleaning like she is suffering just like the office workers. She is just part of the restroom and no one pays any attention to her and you just go about your business. This is really interesting when you come across two of them together cleaning and chatting away like they are having coffee together and spreading rumors.
As I digress…I was off to lunch.
Entering the cafeteria I get thrown back to my school lunch days. Just like the person in front of you, you grab a tray off the stack, grab a pair of chopsticks from the large cup, and slowly shuffle your feet along until you get to the food. The food is prepared in small bowls and plates by tiny old Japanese ladies, who, as you approach them, the holler out loud, (in Japanese of course) “welcome to our cafeteria, thank you for coming in!” This, to the everyday employee, is expected and not appreciated. To me, it was fun to hear, and I liked to hear it. I grab my bowls of soup, my plate of breaded chicken with rice, and a small bowl of rice. I grab a cup and quickly, have to decide, “hot” tea today, or “cold” tea. I go for the hot because the drizzling rain still has not let up.
The room is filled with green jackets and dark blue uniforms sitting at separate tables. The men occupy about 90% of the cafeteria, while the women use 2 or three tables in the back corner where they can finally talk and gossip about their night last night and complain about their job. I have heard that in Japan if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend, you don’t talk about your relationships. Only gossip about others. If a woman does have a boyfriend, she may get fired from her job. The reasoning behind this, is because she will eventually get married, have babies, and have to quit her job to raise her family like every Japanese woman should, (not all do however).
I try to make it back to my desk by 12:45. This gives me 15 minutes to check my mail and maybe a few websites. Before I know it…..Do de do do….do de de do. The lights come on, and workers start to wake up and start the second half of the day, which will be identical to the first half. At about 4:45, a few people start whispering and I can feel the excitement of 5:00.
Do de do do…do de de do. 5:00! If the girls have their work done, they can now go home. If not, they continue to work as the see other girls walking out from the corner of their eyes. For the men, you have at least one more hour to go. If you are feeling lucky, you can leave, but I am here on business, and I have work to do. I will be here for another 2 hours. This is not so bad because I really have no home to go to, and no one to meet me anywhere. So I’m ok with working late as long as I can still think straight.
Greg and a few others are discussing dinner, in Japanese of course, and plans are made to go to Japanese BBQ style restaurant. It sounds good with me, and I am excited to go. We bring our work to a break off point, and start gathering our belongings together to leave. 3 of us pack into the back of a really, really small, mini-van type, car as Greg and the driver sit up front. The driver is one of the girls that work in the office that Greg became friends with last December when he was here. It really freaks me out to be crammed in the back of a matchbox size mini-van going about 40 MPH in the dark, in the rain, down a road big enough for only one of these cars, but is laid out to be a two-lane road. On top of that, we are on the left side of the road where all the world drives except America. Now this is excitement!
Walking to our table, I see others eating from a BBQ pit built in the center of their table set up to cook your own meet on and season as you like. The meat is brought to us all sliced up and ready to be thrown on the grill. Our group is big enough to sit at a table with two pits. It seems to be instinct for the girls we are with, to take control of the mixing of the seasonings and cooking the meet. The obviously enjoy this. The beer starts coming in liter size glasses. I kid you not. Liters! Everyone raises their large glasses… Koumpai! Cheers in Japanese. We all touch glasses and drink. What great way to end the day.
Three hours and 38,000 Yen later (about $340) the Japanese manager we are with pays for dinner and Greg and I get taken back to dorms where we crash in our own rooms just big enough for a bed, a TV, a desk, and a closet to hang our clothes in.
I’m out by midnight, but 3:00 comes really quick and the jet-lag still is lingering enough to wake me and make me fight to go back to sleep. I eventually do, but now the thoughts of my alarm not going off frighten me and wake me at 5:30. An hour early. So I lie there and just rest until I pull myself together enough to go thru another day identical to yesterday.
Monday, March 5, 2007
The '4's
I was in Phoenix last week in the airport waiting to load the plane to come back home. I had just got done eating and having a beer, so I was feeling content. As I sit and wait with everyone else, I start my 'people watch' game. Across from me, a few rows over, is a very attractive, well dressed (business like) women. Approximately 35 yrs old, tall (5'8"+), olive skin tone, dishwater blond, with very nice cleavage she was very proud to discreetly display. On my 1-5 scale, an easy 4. Great eye candy.
All of a sudden, another '4' comes walking right in front of me and sits about 5 seats to the right of me. This '4' was shorter, about 5'5", brunette, brown eyes, olive skin, again - well dressed (business like) woman. This '4' was about 23 yrs old, and the more I looked and listened to her on the phone, the more she was becoming a '5'! She referred to herself as 'Bride-Zilla' on the phone several times, which was a big turn-on for me. This meant she had a great personality and loves to joke around. More great eye candy.
As I boarded the plan in my first class seat (I never fly first class. Not by choice though. This was a flook.) I sat and waited for my two '4's to board for my last peak at the classy women. As they went by, I realized that would most likely be the last time I ever see either of them again, so I take it in.
More than half way thru the flight, I get up to take a leak. As I finish in there, I decide that I better let my fart out while I'm in there. I let it rip. Not a bad one, but I've had better. The aroma is not pleasing at all. Must have been the pork chops and beer from the night before. I vacate and close the door behind me to contain the beast I left in hopes the air flow in there would tame it in a matter of minutes.
Just after I return to my seat, which is just across and back on from the restroom, and start buckling up my seat belt, I see my second '4' (now a '4+') walk past me and up near the cockpit of the plan. This is wonderful! I never thought I would see her again. What a great surprise! As I see her looking around as if she needs something, I glace over to the restroom door and wonder.....then I glance back at her....then she makes her way to the door. Looks at it as if she is looking for some sort of secret passageway and cannot find the candle to pull on to open up the door.
At this point, I still have not got my seat belt on. It has been less than a minute since I left the aroma of my insides in that small, small, small room. Unless the window was open in there, I know it is still finding its way in the pours of the wall.
Finally - after about 5 long seconds of looking for the secret switch, she realizes that if she just pushes on the door, it folds open. Did she see me come out? Does she know I exist? Is she suffering from a congested head cold? All these questions will be answered by just how long she stays in the stink tank. (I laugh to myself thinking...'this is good stuff here!')
I time her. 45 seconds go past. That is just about as long as I can hold my breath. She's better than me already.
90 seconds....
2 minutes! She comes out after 2 minutes! I see the door crack open. She hits her foot with it on the inside or something, but its a fight, I can see it. Finally, the door opens and my '4+' steps out. I don't want to look, but I can't look away. It's like driving by a bad car wreck, you look to see if everyone is ok, but you know you risk seeing something very bad.
She looks up from the floor as she walks out, and makes sure the door closes behind her. (maybe to make sure my insides don't escape). She looks down the plane from where she came from and I watch her eyes the whole way. She can't miss me. I am in a single seat on the aisle. I could nudge her with my shoulder. However, she walks by like I am not even there. Maybe she didn't smell anything. Maybe she made sure the door was closed tight to hide her little secret. I am tempted to get up and go in there to see what she left behind. But I control myself and realize that is just sick. Besides, we started our decent and so I was captive to my seat once again and I never saw either of my '4's again. Sigh.
All of a sudden, another '4' comes walking right in front of me and sits about 5 seats to the right of me. This '4' was shorter, about 5'5", brunette, brown eyes, olive skin, again - well dressed (business like) woman. This '4' was about 23 yrs old, and the more I looked and listened to her on the phone, the more she was becoming a '5'! She referred to herself as 'Bride-Zilla' on the phone several times, which was a big turn-on for me. This meant she had a great personality and loves to joke around. More great eye candy.
As I boarded the plan in my first class seat (I never fly first class. Not by choice though. This was a flook.) I sat and waited for my two '4's to board for my last peak at the classy women. As they went by, I realized that would most likely be the last time I ever see either of them again, so I take it in.
More than half way thru the flight, I get up to take a leak. As I finish in there, I decide that I better let my fart out while I'm in there. I let it rip. Not a bad one, but I've had better. The aroma is not pleasing at all. Must have been the pork chops and beer from the night before. I vacate and close the door behind me to contain the beast I left in hopes the air flow in there would tame it in a matter of minutes.
Just after I return to my seat, which is just across and back on from the restroom, and start buckling up my seat belt, I see my second '4' (now a '4+') walk past me and up near the cockpit of the plan. This is wonderful! I never thought I would see her again. What a great surprise! As I see her looking around as if she needs something, I glace over to the restroom door and wonder.....then I glance back at her....then she makes her way to the door. Looks at it as if she is looking for some sort of secret passageway and cannot find the candle to pull on to open up the door.
At this point, I still have not got my seat belt on. It has been less than a minute since I left the aroma of my insides in that small, small, small room. Unless the window was open in there, I know it is still finding its way in the pours of the wall.
Finally - after about 5 long seconds of looking for the secret switch, she realizes that if she just pushes on the door, it folds open. Did she see me come out? Does she know I exist? Is she suffering from a congested head cold? All these questions will be answered by just how long she stays in the stink tank. (I laugh to myself thinking...'this is good stuff here!')
I time her. 45 seconds go past. That is just about as long as I can hold my breath. She's better than me already.
90 seconds....
2 minutes! She comes out after 2 minutes! I see the door crack open. She hits her foot with it on the inside or something, but its a fight, I can see it. Finally, the door opens and my '4+' steps out. I don't want to look, but I can't look away. It's like driving by a bad car wreck, you look to see if everyone is ok, but you know you risk seeing something very bad.
She looks up from the floor as she walks out, and makes sure the door closes behind her. (maybe to make sure my insides don't escape). She looks down the plane from where she came from and I watch her eyes the whole way. She can't miss me. I am in a single seat on the aisle. I could nudge her with my shoulder. However, she walks by like I am not even there. Maybe she didn't smell anything. Maybe she made sure the door was closed tight to hide her little secret. I am tempted to get up and go in there to see what she left behind. But I control myself and realize that is just sick. Besides, we started our decent and so I was captive to my seat once again and I never saw either of my '4's again. Sigh.
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Cats are stupid!
That sums it up. I know I am not the first with that opinion, but that is a true statement.
I had a bag full of clothes for the salvation army sitting next to my door for me to grab on my way out. On my way out, I noticed my daughters cat sitting on it. I kicked it off the bag and in the cats place was now a small puddle of piss.
This cat has a box that is maintained that it can go in, however, it thinks it needs to mark its territory on a bag of perfectly good clothes that are no longer staying in the house. It has no business trying to let the world know that that bag is hers.
Right now, there are probably cats at the land fill marking their territory all over the place and are going to come across this bag. When one of the does, I am sure it will laugh and go to the water cooler where all the other dumbass cats hang out and talk about a stupid bag that some dumbass cat pissed on.
Stupid cats.
I had a bag full of clothes for the salvation army sitting next to my door for me to grab on my way out. On my way out, I noticed my daughters cat sitting on it. I kicked it off the bag and in the cats place was now a small puddle of piss.
This cat has a box that is maintained that it can go in, however, it thinks it needs to mark its territory on a bag of perfectly good clothes that are no longer staying in the house. It has no business trying to let the world know that that bag is hers.
Right now, there are probably cats at the land fill marking their territory all over the place and are going to come across this bag. When one of the does, I am sure it will laugh and go to the water cooler where all the other dumbass cats hang out and talk about a stupid bag that some dumbass cat pissed on.
Stupid cats.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
How to catch a flight....
In the business I am in, I do some traveling. So In my blogging days to come, I'll share some of my traveling stories. Here is a more recent one...
A few weeks ago, I was in Pheonix and I stayed the weekend to visit a couple of my brothers that live there. My flight back home left at 5:13pm sunday night. I was in Suprise, which is about an hour from the airport. I left there at about 3:15. that gives me an hour to the airport and an hour there before my flight. I should be good.
I get on the freeway and as I am getting closer to the city, I decide I better exit somewhere and get gas in my rental car. As I think this, I pass an exit where I see a gas station. No problem, I'll catch one at the next exit or the one after. I have only been driving for about 20 mins or so.
As I come up to the next exit, I see there are still a couple more exits coming soon and I may still be a ways our from the airport, so I keep going. I pass like 2 more exits where I see gas stations at both. Then decide I will get off at the next one. By this time, it is 3:45. I get off and pull into the Circle K to get gas. The only station there that I see near the exit. As I get out, the lady cleaning the trash can out there tells me they are closed! 'Closed?' Great!
I go back the other way across the freeway (north) to get a station there. Nothing. Nothing for a mile! I turn around and hurry back to the freeway. I get on and figure the next exit should have one. I was wrong. I drive around and now it is 3:55 and I get back on the freeway and figure I may have to go past the airport to find something. Finally, I get to University Ave. There has to be something here. I go North and drive and drive, I figure a main road like that HAS to have a station on it eventually. FINALLY a Chevron! I look at my watch and it is 4. I hurry and pump the gas and get back to the freeway. I'm flying like the wind! To the rental garage, the on the rental bus.
4:15, my flight in one hour. I should be good. I still need to check in and go thru security. I know its not busy, (it never has been at this time in the past) so I fugure I'm ok.
The bus ride to the airport takes for EVER! We stop at every light, take every corner slower then walking speed and I thought I was going to strangle the driver. Maybe it was because I was in a hurry. I don't know. All I know is it took a long, long time.
4:25 I am at the delta counter and nobody in line. The place is a gost town and there are 4 agents at the desk. Good!
I pick the best looking one and tell her my name. She said I missed my flight. I laugh and said it's not until 5:13! She said right! 5:13 last FRIDAY! It will cost $112 to get me on the flight. I said I need to call my travel agent. She said she would save me a seat. (Just as nice as she is good looking) How about a window seat? She says 'how about a bulk head? You be lucky to even make it on the plan!'
4:35 I finally get an agent on the phone. Looks like they didn't switch it back after all the confusion of flying home Friday night or Sunday night she says. She'll go ahead and book and bill my ticket now. I hold. She comes back and says she can't because Delta's phone line is busy. I laugh. I said well the only thing you can do is keep trying...right!? She said...well, yeah. I suppose. I said I would hold until she got it.
4:45 she comes back and says she got it and now just has to type in the details. This takes nearly 10 mins. I go to the ticket counter while I am on the phone and tell the cute girl my agent is almost done. She said she better hurry. 5 mins and she won't be able to get me on the flight. I tell the agent and she just finishes up and says the superviser needs to clear it then it should be done. How long? I say. She said 5 mins. I said, Make it 4! I tell the agent behind the desk and she says ok.
5:05 the agent prints off a ticket for me and says 'go to the gate and check in.' My ticket has not been cleared at this point, but the agent said if I don't leave now, I will never get thru security in time and will miss my flgiht. 'By the time you get to the gate the ticket will have gone thru'.
5:07 I get to security and am releaved to find nobody there except one couple. ISA decides they want to go thru my bag. SHIT! 5:12 they are done and I am running to my gate. Thank god it was only the second gate down the terminal. Another ghost town. Only the agent at the desk and the door is still open.
5:13 I give him my name and he checks the computer and I am good to go. WHEW!
I get in the plane and it is full. Now, to find my seat. 13A. A window seat! I owe the agent at the desk a kiss! How did she do that? I love her.
As I get settled in, 2 other people file in and it was another 5 mins before they closed the door! What a bunch of CRAP! If the plan is scheduled to leave at 5:13, it should leave at 5:13! However, I have flown enough to know that this never happens. No problem. All good and now I'm on my way home. (and yes - I could have waited until 7 for the next flight....but 2 hours in the airport sucks!)
A few weeks ago, I was in Pheonix and I stayed the weekend to visit a couple of my brothers that live there. My flight back home left at 5:13pm sunday night. I was in Suprise, which is about an hour from the airport. I left there at about 3:15. that gives me an hour to the airport and an hour there before my flight. I should be good.
I get on the freeway and as I am getting closer to the city, I decide I better exit somewhere and get gas in my rental car. As I think this, I pass an exit where I see a gas station. No problem, I'll catch one at the next exit or the one after. I have only been driving for about 20 mins or so.
As I come up to the next exit, I see there are still a couple more exits coming soon and I may still be a ways our from the airport, so I keep going. I pass like 2 more exits where I see gas stations at both. Then decide I will get off at the next one. By this time, it is 3:45. I get off and pull into the Circle K to get gas. The only station there that I see near the exit. As I get out, the lady cleaning the trash can out there tells me they are closed! 'Closed?' Great!
I go back the other way across the freeway (north) to get a station there. Nothing. Nothing for a mile! I turn around and hurry back to the freeway. I get on and figure the next exit should have one. I was wrong. I drive around and now it is 3:55 and I get back on the freeway and figure I may have to go past the airport to find something. Finally, I get to University Ave. There has to be something here. I go North and drive and drive, I figure a main road like that HAS to have a station on it eventually. FINALLY a Chevron! I look at my watch and it is 4. I hurry and pump the gas and get back to the freeway. I'm flying like the wind! To the rental garage, the on the rental bus.
4:15, my flight in one hour. I should be good. I still need to check in and go thru security. I know its not busy, (it never has been at this time in the past) so I fugure I'm ok.
The bus ride to the airport takes for EVER! We stop at every light, take every corner slower then walking speed and I thought I was going to strangle the driver. Maybe it was because I was in a hurry. I don't know. All I know is it took a long, long time.
4:25 I am at the delta counter and nobody in line. The place is a gost town and there are 4 agents at the desk. Good!
I pick the best looking one and tell her my name. She said I missed my flight. I laugh and said it's not until 5:13! She said right! 5:13 last FRIDAY! It will cost $112 to get me on the flight. I said I need to call my travel agent. She said she would save me a seat. (Just as nice as she is good looking) How about a window seat? She says 'how about a bulk head? You be lucky to even make it on the plan!'
4:35 I finally get an agent on the phone. Looks like they didn't switch it back after all the confusion of flying home Friday night or Sunday night she says. She'll go ahead and book and bill my ticket now. I hold. She comes back and says she can't because Delta's phone line is busy. I laugh. I said well the only thing you can do is keep trying...right!? She said...well, yeah. I suppose. I said I would hold until she got it.
4:45 she comes back and says she got it and now just has to type in the details. This takes nearly 10 mins. I go to the ticket counter while I am on the phone and tell the cute girl my agent is almost done. She said she better hurry. 5 mins and she won't be able to get me on the flight. I tell the agent and she just finishes up and says the superviser needs to clear it then it should be done. How long? I say. She said 5 mins. I said, Make it 4! I tell the agent behind the desk and she says ok.
5:05 the agent prints off a ticket for me and says 'go to the gate and check in.' My ticket has not been cleared at this point, but the agent said if I don't leave now, I will never get thru security in time and will miss my flgiht. 'By the time you get to the gate the ticket will have gone thru'.
5:07 I get to security and am releaved to find nobody there except one couple. ISA decides they want to go thru my bag. SHIT! 5:12 they are done and I am running to my gate. Thank god it was only the second gate down the terminal. Another ghost town. Only the agent at the desk and the door is still open.
5:13 I give him my name and he checks the computer and I am good to go. WHEW!
I get in the plane and it is full. Now, to find my seat. 13A. A window seat! I owe the agent at the desk a kiss! How did she do that? I love her.
As I get settled in, 2 other people file in and it was another 5 mins before they closed the door! What a bunch of CRAP! If the plan is scheduled to leave at 5:13, it should leave at 5:13! However, I have flown enough to know that this never happens. No problem. All good and now I'm on my way home. (and yes - I could have waited until 7 for the next flight....but 2 hours in the airport sucks!)
Saturday, February 10, 2007
‘I don’t want to get a ticket!’
I took my 15 yr old daughter (Rhae) out driving today so she could practice parallel parking for her drivers test. I learned that patients is the key. I should have learned this teaching my other older daughter, 19 now, as she has since been in several wrecks and has surrendered her license back to the state and cannot drive now. Not sure if that was my fault for not teaching as well as I should have or hers for not paying attention to on-coming vehicles as she is making a left turn.
As I digress…
Rhae is turning out to be a good driver. She has one fault that may prevent her from ever driving. That is, she cannot multi-task. I love Rhae to death, however she is a blonde. At least she dyes her hair blonde, and I think subconsciously she thinks she is, therefore she acts like one. What ever the case, she cannot look in her mirrors without her hands following her eyes. She also cannot look down the road and drive at the same time. Getting the ‘Big’ picture is a Big problem for her. She can only process one thing at a time. The car in front of her….then the lines on the road to make sure she is in between them….then her speed. By this time, the car in front of her as nearly stopped and we are still traveling at 40 mph. This creates a slight panic in my mind, and as calm as I can muster, as to not scare her and make her panic, I say STOOOOOP! She slams the brakes, I look behind us and luckily that guy had the smarts to look at the car in front of us and was just going to sit back and watch an accident unfold in front of him.
After cleaning my shorts, I ask if she is ok. She said I scared her, and I said, ‘good, now you know how I felt when I seen the decal sticker on their license plate getting larger’. ‘Pay attention!’ ‘I was!’ she says. ‘then why did you leave a 6 foot skid mark on the ground back there?’ ‘Because I was checking my speed’ she says. ‘I don’t want to get a ticket!’ I laugh. It’s all I could do at this point.
After practicing some parallel parking and driving backwards, we head home with no issues after that. She’s got turning down, and braking. Still a little more to work on. I am sure she will do good.
As I digress…
Rhae is turning out to be a good driver. She has one fault that may prevent her from ever driving. That is, she cannot multi-task. I love Rhae to death, however she is a blonde. At least she dyes her hair blonde, and I think subconsciously she thinks she is, therefore she acts like one. What ever the case, she cannot look in her mirrors without her hands following her eyes. She also cannot look down the road and drive at the same time. Getting the ‘Big’ picture is a Big problem for her. She can only process one thing at a time. The car in front of her….then the lines on the road to make sure she is in between them….then her speed. By this time, the car in front of her as nearly stopped and we are still traveling at 40 mph. This creates a slight panic in my mind, and as calm as I can muster, as to not scare her and make her panic, I say STOOOOOP! She slams the brakes, I look behind us and luckily that guy had the smarts to look at the car in front of us and was just going to sit back and watch an accident unfold in front of him.
After cleaning my shorts, I ask if she is ok. She said I scared her, and I said, ‘good, now you know how I felt when I seen the decal sticker on their license plate getting larger’. ‘Pay attention!’ ‘I was!’ she says. ‘then why did you leave a 6 foot skid mark on the ground back there?’ ‘Because I was checking my speed’ she says. ‘I don’t want to get a ticket!’ I laugh. It’s all I could do at this point.
After practicing some parallel parking and driving backwards, we head home with no issues after that. She’s got turning down, and braking. Still a little more to work on. I am sure she will do good.
Friday, February 9, 2007
The Dentist.
The Dentist.
As the great Jerry Seinfeld was once accused of being, I am an Anti-Dentite. I can't stand the dentist. Not him personally, just the whole poking, drilling, digging, kicking and screaming that goes on while I am there. And after all that, he wants me to open my mouth to take a look at my teeth. (not sure what that means, but I hear people say it and i thought it would be funny here. On we go....) My experience at the dentist yesterday was not so bad. But watching my 13 year old son was. That needle he used was quite large and if he hadn't numbed up the area first, I'm sure my son would still be crying now. All the poking and injecting that was done, my sons face was numb for 6 hours. Then he started in with the drilling. Zzzzz, Zzzzzz. This went on for about 5 mins. Then..."Wow! This cavity is deeper then I thought!" Zzzz, Zzzzzzzzz,. (mixed with grinding and the sound of the drill slowing down at the same time) Much like you see on Monster Garage when somebody is using a grinder on a piece of steel that needs to be broke in two, but the piece of steel is not going to give up very easlily. After he nearly 20 mins. he finishes up the 2 teeth that needed repairs, he says, "OK Kid, see you in a couple of days to finish up those other 3 teeth on the other side of your mouth." My son laughed and said - "ya - right."
Next was my turn. After seeing what happend to him, I knew my own fate. I wanted it to be as quick as possible, so I lay there like a corpse with my head cocked to the side, eyes shut tight, and mouth wide open for his easy access to repair the decreped i'll fated teeth that lie in state in my mouth. First the deadining swabs. (best thing since sliced bread). Then, the 4 ft. long needle. Oh the poking and digging....I can feel it sliding in and out of my cheek, but it didn't hurt. I wanted to feel the outside of my cheek to make sure it wasn't going out the side, but I know the deadining swaps hadn't touched my fingers, so it would have hurt. "lets give that a min. to set in" he says. "Great Idea!" (my last clear words for nearly 6 hours).
Zzzzzz, Zzzzzzzzzzz!!! Uh-oh...here'comes! "ok - open wide and turn your head this way.... farther....farther" God! I would have said get on the other side of me, but I think in my position, you just do what the dentist says. Best if he's as comfortable as possible I think. The last thing I remember is thinking the drill had a dull end on it and it seemed like it was taking for ever. Next thing I know, he pats me on the shoulder and said I did good, and actually thanked me for laying so still. I felt like I had no choice. He's the one with the sharp tools in his hands, right!?
After I left, I noticed that I was having a hard time blinking my right eye. It was numb too! My eye was numb! I couldn't feel it. He really juiced me up good. I got back to work and put my headphones in to jamb out and I couldn't tell if my right earphone was in or not. My ear was numb! The inside of my ear was actually numb too! He really did juice me up good. It was nearly a distinctive line down the center of my head. Left side, normal, right side, no feeling what-so-ever! Now, I have had dental work done before, but never been numbed up like that. I was thanking my dentist all day for making sure I wasn't going to feel anything he was doing to me.
Nearly 6 hours later, my numbness was wearing off (finally), and I could start feeling the pain on the inside of my cheek where he used it as a pin cushin. Holy crap it hurt. I started thinking that there has got to be a way we all could get our dentists back for putting us thru that kind of pain, when I realized I probably already did. Before I went to my appointment, which was at 12 noon, I thought I had better get something to eat before I go. So, I go to Subway and order my usual.
Foot long BMT on wheat with Pepper Jack cheese, and 'the Works'. (lettuce, tomato, pickels, olives, cucumbers, and ONIONS) hahahaha!
Wait a minute....thats probably why my mouth hurts so bad. Crap! I obviously was not his first patient.
As the great Jerry Seinfeld was once accused of being, I am an Anti-Dentite. I can't stand the dentist. Not him personally, just the whole poking, drilling, digging, kicking and screaming that goes on while I am there. And after all that, he wants me to open my mouth to take a look at my teeth. (not sure what that means, but I hear people say it and i thought it would be funny here. On we go....) My experience at the dentist yesterday was not so bad. But watching my 13 year old son was. That needle he used was quite large and if he hadn't numbed up the area first, I'm sure my son would still be crying now. All the poking and injecting that was done, my sons face was numb for 6 hours. Then he started in with the drilling. Zzzzz, Zzzzzz. This went on for about 5 mins. Then..."Wow! This cavity is deeper then I thought!" Zzzz, Zzzzzzzzz,. (mixed with grinding and the sound of the drill slowing down at the same time) Much like you see on Monster Garage when somebody is using a grinder on a piece of steel that needs to be broke in two, but the piece of steel is not going to give up very easlily. After he nearly 20 mins. he finishes up the 2 teeth that needed repairs, he says, "OK Kid, see you in a couple of days to finish up those other 3 teeth on the other side of your mouth." My son laughed and said - "ya - right."
Next was my turn. After seeing what happend to him, I knew my own fate. I wanted it to be as quick as possible, so I lay there like a corpse with my head cocked to the side, eyes shut tight, and mouth wide open for his easy access to repair the decreped i'll fated teeth that lie in state in my mouth. First the deadining swabs. (best thing since sliced bread). Then, the 4 ft. long needle. Oh the poking and digging....I can feel it sliding in and out of my cheek, but it didn't hurt. I wanted to feel the outside of my cheek to make sure it wasn't going out the side, but I know the deadining swaps hadn't touched my fingers, so it would have hurt. "lets give that a min. to set in" he says. "Great Idea!" (my last clear words for nearly 6 hours).
Zzzzzz, Zzzzzzzzzzz!!! Uh-oh...here'comes! "ok - open wide and turn your head this way.... farther....farther" God! I would have said get on the other side of me, but I think in my position, you just do what the dentist says. Best if he's as comfortable as possible I think. The last thing I remember is thinking the drill had a dull end on it and it seemed like it was taking for ever. Next thing I know, he pats me on the shoulder and said I did good, and actually thanked me for laying so still. I felt like I had no choice. He's the one with the sharp tools in his hands, right!?
After I left, I noticed that I was having a hard time blinking my right eye. It was numb too! My eye was numb! I couldn't feel it. He really juiced me up good. I got back to work and put my headphones in to jamb out and I couldn't tell if my right earphone was in or not. My ear was numb! The inside of my ear was actually numb too! He really did juice me up good. It was nearly a distinctive line down the center of my head. Left side, normal, right side, no feeling what-so-ever! Now, I have had dental work done before, but never been numbed up like that. I was thanking my dentist all day for making sure I wasn't going to feel anything he was doing to me.
Nearly 6 hours later, my numbness was wearing off (finally), and I could start feeling the pain on the inside of my cheek where he used it as a pin cushin. Holy crap it hurt. I started thinking that there has got to be a way we all could get our dentists back for putting us thru that kind of pain, when I realized I probably already did. Before I went to my appointment, which was at 12 noon, I thought I had better get something to eat before I go. So, I go to Subway and order my usual.
Foot long BMT on wheat with Pepper Jack cheese, and 'the Works'. (lettuce, tomato, pickels, olives, cucumbers, and ONIONS) hahahaha!
Wait a minute....thats probably why my mouth hurts so bad. Crap! I obviously was not his first patient.
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