Take a Number To Be Abused

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PLEASE TAKE A NUMBER. If you EVER hear this in a medical office, the first sign you are NOT going to be special is when 7658 is your number and they are currently serving number... 9.

I have had many physicals in my life. I have had exams before playing sports, starting jobs, even before getting life insurance approved.

They were all stressful, but predictable. The biggest fear in the past was seeing a new box of rubber gloves on the exam table…but I digress.

However, experiencing my first physical examination in Europe has changed my life forever or should I say, my ability to hold water.

It is hard enough not speaking the same language as the doctor, nurse or lab technician, but I learned nodding my head and saying yes to any medical question without comprehension is NOT a painless solution.

I NOW know what the word, “enema” sounds like in any language-That I can promise as I am studying all the world’s dialects on that word from this moment on.

Even a basic hearing test had psychological impact for years to come. I was placed in pre-war (not sure which war) dark, sound-proof hearing chamber with one small window 18 inches thick.

No instructions, just a stick in my hand with a button to acknowledge I can hear something through my bright(CLOCKWORK) orange headphones.

When you get to be a certain age, even SILENCE makes noise. I could be dead and I would hear some ringing in my ears. Try explaining that when you now look like Cameron Diaz’ brother in SOMETHING ABOUT MARY.

Mmmmmm (CLICK) MMMMMMMMMMM (CLICK) zzzzz (CLICK) mmmmm (CLICK) MMMMM (CLICK) ZZZZZZ…

OK, OK. You are right. I JUST kept pushing the button constantly as they either wanted to see if I could determine the mating call of a hummingbird or the sounds echoing from a black hole light years away.

I handle marketing, not clinical trials for dogs’ acute decibel sense of relativity. Just tell me which of my ears can hear the theme to THE SOPRANOS and which does not. Bada Bing (right ear)…Bada Boom (left ear). ‘nuff said.

The eye test was not as painful but much more frustrating. I was asked to REMOVE my glasses before I took the EYE test. I can not even read the top line that says…SEHTEST UNTEN (EYE TEST BELOW). So what do you expect from my vision going forward?!

“How about now?” Says the young eye technician after making a slight adjustment.

“How about NOW what? Can you tell I still am not wearing my glasses. Those are just mimic marks on my nose and ear from always wearing something which was designed to see just what you are showing me not to see.”

Ok, and now?” she repeated over and over as the chart never focused only got brighter.

“Um. I can read the fact that you don’t care I can’t see without my glasses, but if you are asking me is that an E, M, or W, up, down or sideways? The answer is D, all of the above.

After they ran complete and industry strength blood tests with six different test tubes, inserted needles into three missing veins on both arms and pricked my fingers so many times I left the lab resembling an old rusty beer can that endured a week at a red-neck rifle range…they finally ended my day with the customary drug test in a cup.

The moment of truth…

Please, be honest. Tell me if YOU would not also be confused if a nurse formerly from the Olympic discus team commands you to go #1 in a cup and place #2 in the box.

Wait….Wait, I thought the same thing until I saw there was a HOLDING BOX in the bathroom of where to place my number 1 test sample ----ONLY then, did I realize what she truly was requesting. WHEW.

I am glad she meant(2) TWO steps to follow before I felt a need to leave a compliant number 2 present as I left the office.

SEE!!!! This is why I will ALWAYS wear glasses for my physicals.

Swimming upstream both ways in the Snow

I’m patiently waited for my flight to be boarded when I saw a British teenager in a colorful warm-up outfit playing with a shiny medal around her neck. I didn't recognize the color of the award until someone asked her what she won.

A huge smile came across her face. "I finished in 6th place at a local swimming meet", shined self-proclaimed Suzy Swimmer. “Out of 8”

Six out of eight? Wow...Suzy, just a heads up. I just ran into the kid who finished in 7th place. He was just stopped by security because of the magnificent size of his own trophy of modesty and look, there is the 8th place award winner making an acceptance speech near Passport Customs & Control.

Now I appreciate hard effort and confidence as much as anyone, but bragging to strangers you finished in bottom run of a competitive race might just dampen any thought you have ever had of truly winning a flippant award in the future.

Maybe it is me, but I can't even remember who finished second in last year's Super Bowl and Miss Modesty wants a standing ovation and a medal for finishing sixth. Does she realize I can float on a raft with a beer and finish only two places behind her?

As we were ready to board, they flashed the top six names on the digital flight board who would qualify for 1st class upgrades.

Little Suzy Swimmer took the lane in 6th place AGAIN. Et Moi? Oh, I missed the upgrade by one backstroke from my dubious karma.

As I swam past her 1st class starting block on my way to seat 55b, I just happened to point at her tarnished pride and joy, "Hey Suzy,... Michael Phelps called, he said he has earrings bigger than that.”

Planes, Trains and Wedding Gowns

Planes Trains and Wedding Gowns
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On my flight back from Moscow, I waited in dreaded middle seat for my bookend seating partners as I witnessed a formally dressed Russian bride AND her groom head down the their second aisle of the day.

They acknowledged they were my new soul mates in flight so I stood up, gestured and signaled with my terrible Russian, to please, PLEASE sit together so they could lovingly cuddle for the next four hours.

The bride, with her veil still attached and her dress still fluffy, responded in perfect English they appreciated my gesture but she would like the window and her massive hubby will still take the aisle.

Wow-It is hard to visualize this stunning bride with her beauty radiating from what is supposed to be the happiest day of her life wanting already to be SOOO far apart from her groom. But neither of them spoke a word to each other while I uncomfortably allowed them to sandwich me in seat 13B while watching “Rocky IV” on my iPad (just kidding). I kept wondering if this day would define their life, end mine or just be a first test in a long line of their matrimonial exams.

“OKAAAAY, You too love birds, you have been married for only minutes and you already are letting a stranger and a bad travel agent separate you for the next few hours. Are you now going to ask me to ask him to pass you the SKY MALL magazine so you choose your own individual wedding gifts? Are you going to make me sit between satin and wool, white and black, Y and X? I don’t think so.

Sweetheart, your new spouse has a barrel chest; howitzer arms and you are now suggesting I share an ARM rest with YOU? My feet are too big, my lower limbs seem to have Restless Leg Syndrome, and you want me to focus on sitting still as I sit between Moscow’s version of Dolph Lundgren and Brigitte Nielsen?

Then I’m going to be the American Dr. Phil- but with MORE hair, “How is this early separation in your passenger of life sharing, working for YOU right NOW?”

I am beginning to see a few trust issues. You waited to hear if he was going to order the meat or veggie dish before telling him WHAT to choose and I saw him roll his eyes when you ordered your second glass of wine before he started his first.

I am excusing myself and I will return with THREE glasses as we are all throwing back some of the duty-free vodka I bought before getting on this NEWLYWED GAME plane in your honor because my sweet young Russian lovers in the air of bliss, “Мне нужно пить/I need a drink”

Questions for the day

Questions for the Day

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As I sit down on my return flight from Miami. I ask myself (actually others) some very important questions:

Why am I the only one who remembered to bring their LITTLE official zip lock bag for toiletries and not the Janitor in a Drum size bag which can hold a small pond? “Honestly, if you have to bring THAT size jar of Vaseline, you need more than one security line to be concerned with.”

Why am I the only one who remembers to have carry-on luggage which officially FITS in the carry-on storage area and NOT a duffel bag that could transport two bodies and a dog? “No, NO..it will not fit under the seat in front of you or MINE combined. Check it or forget it!”

Why am I the only one who remembers to remove my shoes/belt or heavy metallic items in security line BEFORE someone tells (YELLS) me TO. “Yes, yes, Mr Leisure suit Larry, cell phones will always set off flags and alarms in this security minded era..even your cheap one.”

Why am I the only one who can find their SEAT NUMBER (it is numbers and letters, not hieroglyphics people) and do you truly forget which symbol is identified for aisles versus windows (hint, the window shape has not changed in 85 years and the aisle is the OTHER ONE)

Why am I the only one who remembers to bring something to read or listen to so you Do NOT have to talk to ME for 8 hours? I never thought I would know so much about someone’s husband’s cousin’s neighbor’s dog. And SHOOT me if I ask you to repeat the story.

Why am I the only one who remembers to NOT eat airline hamburgers? Do you truly think it is going to remotely taste like something you have had before? Pre-packaged nuts are the only true edible item on the flight, unless you count what you bought at Duty-Free.

And why O why.. am I the only one who remembers it could be worse, I could have to LIVE with these people.

Massaging the Masses

Massaging the Masses

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As I walk through the shopping mall, I am stopped in my tracks while viewing the retail circle of public massage tables and their no-shame patrons who have less pride than a stupid human tricks participant on David Letterman.

Yes, I see you and I realized there is no way you can have the same stress as me. It is impossible you are going through the same life I am, if you can lay your body in a contortionist chair in the open while a small family of masseuses place their hands on their victims.

By the looks of it, you were given the ‘special uncle’ masseuse, who after he reached 18 received a restraining order from every elementary school in the free world.

How DO you press your face in an upside down catcher’s mask and not care your community’s neighbors, cellmates and cynical voyeurs like me are repulsed with the fact you are sharing your exposed, posture, sounds and exhales of a $25 rubdown in between a matinee and Panda King lunch?

In my humble opinion, it is impossible to tune out the world placed in a crouching lazy dog position as an elbow is being buried in your shoulder blade while the rest of the shoppers eat pretzels, Thai food samples and peruse the Apple Store just feet from YOUR feet.

I’m in full view of you as I am surrounded by the iPad, iTouch or an iPhone but all I hear is you iGrunt, iMoan or iSigh. At one point, after hearing you, I swore some smart ass opened up all adult entertainment sites on the new iMAC next to me.

But no, it is just you completely tuning out the fact that you are in a retail outlet known more for its One Day Sales, not its One Hour Happy Endings.

I can’t even laugh at you anymore. I can’t even begin to shake my head in embarrassment for you. I just walk out of the store, past your 21^st century rendition of a roman torture chamber and head up an escalator giving your own personal gladiator masseuse with cheap lotion a thumbs down to end your, and more importantly, MY misery.

I pity you as I get to the next floor, because you don’t realize like I do, you COULD go sit in a FREE massage chair upstairs at Brookstone. At least there I KNOW I can recline on my BACK while the rest of the shopping world laughs at me.

The Root of All Evil

THE ROOT OF ALL EVIL

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“I on’t n o wat to o ith y ongue orry”, I mouthed to my execution loving dentist as he gave me a root canal last night. For how deep his hands explored, I assume it included a frontal lobotomy at no extra charge.

I should have known this was going to be one of those days where I give anything to trade places with a tortured hostage than have this current Spanish inquisition weaponry explore my mouth simultaneously as I tried to breathe through one nostril and a quarter of my mouth.

“I’m going to numb the area before I numb the area,” the sanctimonious oral hit man declared right before he swabbed my mouth with expired Q-tips.

Numb the area before you numb the area? Hmmm. how about truly numbing the area you are going to numb the first time so you don’t have to numb again on top of the numb area?.. Numby!!!

“Why don’t you watch TV, ESPN? CNN? OPRAH?” he elaborates, hoping a 27 inch flat screen in my face will comfort me while he forces his elbow into my chin holding my tongue out of the way preaching his “painless” method of inflicting pain.

Love how he says each time HE takes a breath sing songing “HEY buddy, the worse part is overrrrr.”

REALLY?..the worse part is over?…So I won’t have to be concerned you will use that combo Black and Decker Sander/Drill/Saw on my gums anymore?...Seriously, you aren’t going to suck the insides of my lungs out with that wet/dry vac from your a Dyson designed fire hose.

Yes, thank you for building up my confidence for the crescendo of your final performance of the day. I’m sure you tell your wife the same thing after you have your bimonthly “checkup” with her right after the Friday evening news and before Jay Leno.

After what seems like hours, but I’m sure it was days, he loses his patience. “Please relax…Stop struggling, I’m almost done.” EXCUSE ME? I’m not a child with a low pain threshold…I will have you know I have watched Season 9 American Idol and was able to endure their lack of talent and voices. A little mouth surgery is NOTHING compared to that weekly pain.

If you want me to stop struggling, change places for one minute and let me hold your mouth open SOOO wide Pinocchio and Gepetto mistaken YOU for their next dark adventure.

As I got up to rinse, I realized the numbness worked at least in one respect. I was drooling like a 90 year old with incontinence of the mouth and I would vent about the expensive bill, but “I an’t omplainin ‘bout anyhing ats ets me outta here aster”.

Canned Tuna In The Sky

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Canned Tuna in the Sky

On my last flight, as I watched the 10 year old safety video from my airline’s monitor above the row in front of me, I ponder the collective expressions of the actors/employees who are portraying passengers in case of an emergency.

I’m in marketing, I get it. Show a calm business man as he sits comfortable, while a yellow plastic tube/mask drops from the console above and observe as he shreds any sense of panic and without hesitation, places the mask over his head to ensure a perfect fit to enjoy the smooth crash landing positions we all love.

I want what he ate before the flight. What was it? Quaaludes and crystal meth? COME ON!! If a red light and alarms pop on and an oxygen mask falls before my eyes, I WILL NOT be thinking about how “cool” I can look if I don’t panic.

I will be hyperventilating and acting closer to George Constanza at a children’s birthday party when he smelled “fire” as I make a new door where there isn’t one. Parachute smarachute..I’m going to wear everyone’s coat from the overhead bin and brace myself for a Disney ride of a lifetime.

I try so hard not to laugh at the absurdity of how I am SUPPOSED to fasten a seatbelt, I listening intently as I have a thousand times before, as the intercom follows up with, “If the cabin loses pressure, please ensure you place the oxygen mask on yourself FIRST before helping others.”

SERIOUSLY, save your OWN breath. You do not have to tell me that. My seated neighbor and I have shared only an arm rest, we are not blood brothers.

No offense, but with my long arms, I may even grab two masks and see which one exudes more oxygen before leaving the others to fight over the malfunctioned one.

Honestly, you think they would learn about travelers with frequent flier mileage and priority seat assignments. But Noooo. Each time I fly, I hear the flight attendant ask me if I am “comfortable” sitting in an emergency EXIT ROW and do I accept responsibility of what it means if we are forced to evacuate.

“Mmmmm..lemme think..YES, IT means I get more leg room than anyone but Captain Sully and if something goes wrong, I’m out of this (TITANTIC) bird in the sky first and I will be sure to call CNN and 911 before the passengers two rows behind even consider unbuckling their seatbelts!” (I hope they paid attention to how to UNLATCH)

BTW, Captain Sully isn’t on my flight but let me review this again in my head. He LANDED a plane and kept passengers ALIVE……(scratching my head) Is that NOT his job?

Remember loyal fans of the Sully world (this is cynicalbuzz.com, not Thursday’s edition of 20/20)

Failing Passport Control

Failing Passport Control- http://www.cynicalbuzz.com

_______

No matter how innocent and good I am. No matter how many times I travel outside the country; when I go through customs or a passport control, I feel like I’m a fugitive on the run.

Yes, I have accepted the fact I’m one faux pas or mispronunciation of the word “declaration” away from a border patrol officer sending me to a Turkish prison to star in the squeal..oops-transpose that-I mean sequel to “Midnight Express”.

CUSTOMS: -Business or Pleasure? “Well I did take a photograph of a nude statue, but I don’t plan on selling it…so does where does that get filed and would you like to see it?”

CUSTOMS: -How long have you been in this country? “Um..in hours? Are you kidding me? I think I arrived Thursday, but with the time difference, it could have been Wednesday. Do I get sent somewhere special for being able to tell time?”

CUSTOMS: Son, I DON”T ever JOKE. Do you think I’m smiling under these mirrored sunglasses? “No, But the ’86 TOP GUN crew called, they want them back before sunset.”

I’m sure my impersonation of the southern prison warden in "COOL HAND LUKE", “What we have hear is a failurrrrre to communicate” didn’t help my situation much with his “scent” of humor.

I do freak out over the smallest things. I’m even thinking to myself (What is the penalty for omitting the fact I have two souvenir spoons and refrigerator magnets stuffed in my suitcase). That is how paranoid I am. Thankfully I forgot I had a box of chocolates in my computer bag or I would have been a wreck.

As they stare at my passport, there is a big sign above their heads stating in big letters,

(If you are chosen to be searched,

we will provide both an officer

and witness observer)

OOOOH. LOVELY, I have BOTH a pervert and a voyeur asking me if I’m a packing mule or just happy to see them. I am never leaving home again. MOMMY!!

Honestly. I must not be meant to deal with the law at any level. Last night I was pulled over from a local police officer who asked me if I have been drinking.

“Officer, I have not drank anything other than the 2 liter bottle of Gatorade I had after working out, but I’ve been swerving on the road afraid I’m going to have different kind of accident trying to control my bladder AND simultaneously watch you in my rear view mirror as you TAILGATE my butt for the past 20 minutes JUST waiting for me to swerve.

I wonder how Wyoming is in the summer. I hear the border patrol there takes makes you check your belt buckle to verify your name before letting you mosey along.

Attention Deficit In Order

Attention Deficit In Order

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I see you. YES, I see you again. There you are waving emphatically. There is a handmade sign you have flashing in and out of my peripheral vision to where I can't ignore you. You HAVE to have something better to do with your morning than to pop up and down begging for attention as you stand behind the glass studio wall for NBC's TODAY SHOW while I try to finish my breakfast.

I'm so glad you are proud of your Alma Mater and feel a loyalty to make a homemade sign for attention. I'm thrilled that you are celebrating your 50th birthday with your friends on a trip to NYC and happen to stroll by 30 Rock at 7:00 in the morning. But no one else cares other than the four other ladies with you who EVEN Al Roker is trying to avoid.

We truly just want you to move to the next tourist stop on your day trip so we can watch the news, weather, sports and how many more times the police were called into Charlie Sheen's house last week. (THE important, critical news of the day only please)

Standing on someone's shoulders at a rock concert is annoying itself, but DOING it just to be situated above Matt Lauer as he talks about airline security is tacky at best, aggravating at its worse.

Seriously, even if I did KNOW you and you came from my hometown, I would never admit I did. I truly would have even disowned you if you were my Mom holding a sign that said, "Hi Erik, look at me and Aunty Em". When they talk about the 15 minutes of fame for each of us, I truly hope those 15 seconds I'll never get back count towards YOUR ENTIRE TIMELINE of fame for at least MY lifetime.

Perhaps I am envious. Yes, maybe I would love to have Kathy Lee Gifford turn and wink at me. (is that a wink or a astigmatism?) But I would never, ever, clap like a seal in front of 40 million people so I can see myself clap on the TV monitor facing me and OH wait! HEY..wait, that is my college friend standing right there next to Meredith Viera. HI ..HI can you see me?....WOW. How cool is that.. He is so lucky. Wink

Predictive Analytics of the Day

Predictive Analytics of the Day

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"promising 3 inches...guaranteeing 6 inches....predicting 12 inches" In my conservative opinion, I think it's time we regulate the meteorologist industry to rethink their vernacular before they go on TV and forecast a big blizzard or better yet, they should keep their excited opinions about their personal depth perception to themselves.

Is there any other career where you can miss 7 out of 10 times at your craft and still excel at your job (not including baseball)? Please, please!! In my next life, pay me to be a weatherman for Phoenix or San Diego or Bora Bora where I stand there for 10 minutes a day and go. "It's going to be a pretty nice day. There were worries about seeing a cloud or two, but that was only a heat spot on the Doppler radar. Tomorrow should be more of the same and the weekend looks ...well...um...pretty darn good too."

I TOO, want to stand in front of you and point to a digital map which only, I, interpret as good, bad or indifferent based on some "neat charts". I want to wear bad blazers, flashy ties and bonded teeth to tell you what you already know, "It is COLD, WARM, HOT" or the all time favorite as they point, "if you are HERE...you should be feeling some rain in your area about now."

Yes, sign me up to have 'some good ole banter' with the sports guy next to me who is reading the old news and scores off the internet with a clip-on tie and my co-anchors who are excellent ..I MEAN..excellent at reading scrolling copy at 45 wpm. But please correct yourself when read, "Afghanistan Militia" when hyphenated. It's sounds so wrong when you say, "Afgan and Stan licious".

My next life, I promise to pay more attention to air pressure, barometer readings and jet streams as I will ask my future parents to name me Storm, Chilly, or Rain to ensure my career as a futurist of precipitation does not go unnoticed, unrewarded and to guarantee I get a cool red jacket with blow dry hair to wear on the air to tell you to "HAVE A ____ DAY", depending on the inches of course.

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk

Feeling Helpless with the Help Desk

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For my vacation day, I decided to not travel to far away places, read a good novel, or sleep past 7 am. No, that would be smart. For my day off, I decided to be productive, get up early and clear up some bills, tasks and paperwork from my last month’s trip to my doctor.

All morning, I’ve been on the phone with a helpdesk “automated” operator. How do I know she is a machine? Because she can’t be rattled, insulted or verbally abused. I know, I’ve tried. No matter what words I throw at her, enunciate, spell-out or scream; she stays calm in her monotone metallic response mode and calmly makes me spend hours on a phone which would be solved with a 5 minute live operator just saying “YES, you owe the whole bill thingy, no partial payments allowed. Pay it or we’ll confiscate your house.”

REALLY? Isn’t that all we want, resolution, closure and some truly LIVE person we can curse at afterwards and thank them for abusing you in real time? Is that asking for too much in my time of disgust? I can’t curse at R2D2 with a voice.

I have repeated my option “BILLING ISSUES STILL” and she has politely asked me if I’m approving my “LIVING TISSUE WILL?”

She keeps asking me for my “PASSWORD” as I told her that she erred with the "LAST WORD” I constantly repeat my “RECENT ADDRESS” but she keeps referring back to my diagnosis of “DECENT STRESS”. Stress?...Oh, maybe just a little right now…Keep talking JUDY Freakin’ JETSON.

So now I’m completely lost, I can’t reset my password, I had no idea my 2^nd dog had a middle name. I am only 50% sure of my state of birth or my password reminder 7-digit code that includes upper/lower letters and numbers.

I inhale and try to breathe; I can only ponder if it’s a felon to kill a computerized voice that doesn’t listen to me either phonetically or literally. As I have now decided, if I want to be ignored to this extent, I’ll just go back to work.

The Flight of the Wannabe

Sometimes the in-flight movie isn’t the most entertaining event on an airplane. On my way back from the Miami, I observed a lady, who has been sighing and “tsk tsking” with disgust ever since she was overlooked for a first class upgrade, and had to sit in the first row of coach.

She began her flight of disappointment before we even were airborne by arguing with the flight attendant that because she USUALLY sits in first class, she should be allowed to use the 1st class lavatories.

As she was denied repeatedly access to the port-a-john in air, she turned around in a huff and marched loudly to the restroom in the rear of the plane while the rest of us (content with our peanuts) continued to watch My Best Friend’s Wedding for the 12th time shown on a the 4-inch screen. Ahh, but I digress.

Reference for non-travelers: All restrooms on planes are the same, there are no rose scented walls and silk toilet paper in 1st class facilities, trust me, it’s only an urban legend.

After the disappointed lady of Debutantes’ past came out of the “steerage” facility, she hoofed past the rest of us returning to her seat. However, this time with more than she left; as row after row; crowded aisle after aisle; all the winged bus inhabitants witnessed her shirt tucked into her pantyhose and 15 feet of toilet paper dragging behind her.

Excuse me for a second while I reminisce and laugh again. …..one more second…

Ok, I’m fine now.

As she passed me, I nicely pointed out her trail of embarrassment, “Don’t you just miss those first class bathrooms where the toilet tissue is perforated and the dressing room mirrors actually reflect the rear disposition of the past?”

Play Crazy 8's Anyone?

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Play Crazy 8's Anyone?

On Acela train to Boston this week. I peered out the window contemplating why an Express Train makes 8 stops and slows down to about 8 mph in so many areas, when I caught eight (8) Department Of Transportation workers studying ONE spot on the road near the tracks.

All eight had a white Ford F-350 truck, white hardhats and matching bright shirts. As I thought maybe I came upon the DOT world headquarters, I realized it was more the redundancy department of redundancy. Eight men with eight coffee mugs staring at the same area of a road equivalent to a size "8" work boot.

If only I could have opened my window and overheard their value and accurate assessment, strategy and implementation of why all eight of them need to be standing around eight inches of erosion somewhere near the Connecticut border, I would have heard:

“Ed, I see the crack.”
“Bob, that is not a crack. That is a crevice, a crack is much smaller.”
“Both of you are wrong, that is a beginning of a pothole which will cause collateral punishment to 18 wheel vehicles within eight months.”
“Speaking of punishment, did anyone see the Patriots game last week?
“OH YES! We had the best tailgating party ever. I realized our company trucks hold more beer than the utility company trucks my brother-in-law usually drives to the game.”
“Is that the brother who always brings a six of beer, but drinks a case?”
“No, that is my sister-in-law on my wife’s side. He is the one who put the hole in my pool table while we were playing 8-ball.”
Speaking of holes, I guess we should all go back to the IHOP and write up a report on this crack.”
“You mean, crevice?”
“POTHOLE”
“I’m hungry now!”
“I said Pothole..not Pot roast”

As my train picked up speed, I left the Ed and the seven dorfs to plan how they are going to fix this formidable fissure of the ages in eight months, with 800 men and $800,000. (includes lunch at IHOP)

No Sense of Urgency

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No Sense of Urgency

I know we don’t CHOOSE to go to an Emergency Room. If we did it, it would be called the “eh…it’s not so bad yet” room. But having the privilege of walking into an Emergency Room just before midnight, incurs motivation to never, ever get sick, get in a accident or run with scissors after 11 pm because the words, “urgent care” truly means take a 3 digit number and don’t bleed on the waiting room couch.

At that time of the night, when you are competing against Methadone withdrawals, guys who try to pimp out their car without lights and children who have objects stuck up their noses, your opinion of what is critical quickly dissipates.

But at least next time I visit an E.R., I’ll know what to wear to the event. I’m going to dress up in 80’s gym shorts with a button down shirt and work boots to ensure I fit in. I truly wasn’t thinking fashion when I arrived through the automatic doors as I looked like I was wearing Garanimals matching my shirt with a pair of jeans before heading out.

However, I think the “medi-tease” is the worse part of the waiting. When you walk in and they instantly take your ID, credit card and blood pressure as you describe your situation; you assume they are prepping you for the immediate attention you have been paying insurance premiums for all these years.

What they don’t tell you is that your deductible has now been withdrawn faster than a Bernie Madoff cash deposit and you are delayed and expendable until the lady who is hallucinating and the man who forgot his pants are treated for exhaustion, sleep deprivation and stress.

“HELLO, EXCUSE ME, I have those three symptoms every day, but to me, that isn’t an emergency, that’s a Tuesday.”

After two hours, I am asked to wear the “gown” of exposure and sit in the Hall of Purell because all the double occupancy exam rooms are filled with people who are STILL one pulse ahead of me in life AND death.

The only people passing me in this cold corridor of numbness are spouses and significant others of the patients who are taking my spot on the human conveyor belt. …and their only goal is to get outside to smoke every 10 minutes because their loved ones are causing them stress….and these were the NON-smokers.

Finally the doctor on-call stops by to ask me the same questions the receptionist asked me two hours ago and literally says, “So, what do you think it is?”

“Mmmm. Well Doc, based on my years of watching St. Elsewhere, General Hospital, ER, Chicago Hope and Family Guy, I think I am already dead and you need to call CSI and Homicide because I’m ready to kill someone.”

But I don’t feel any pain now that I got that off my chest. Thank goodness my deductible is only $100.00 or I would feel I REALLY wasted my money.

Neighbor Can You Spare Some Time

My favorite elderly neighbors asked me to come over yesterday to help them with some new FANGLED technology. I gratefully ran over salivating hoping to assist Mavis and Eddie with perhaps a Bluetooth music system or HDTV linked to their netbooks.

As they graciously opened their door like their long lost son just returned from the war (I saw their furniture..we’re talking the Civil War), I see a box holding a—cassette loading refurbished answering machine and a VCR on a TV which was YES, you guessed it, still flashing 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01 12:01.

My current age must not have resonated with them as they offered me cookies and milk as I set up their answering machine, even know I could swear I smelled their afternoon ritual of whiskey sours seeping through the air.

I tried to simplify the process of them recording their message into the machine even testing it with them a few times before I felt confident they could handle it.

Before I left, I adjusted their MAGNAVOX VCR clock and set the timer so they can tape their GUIDING LIGHT soap opera but I just didn’t have the heart to tell them it’s being cancelled in a few weeks.

That evening, I felt obligated to call to see the technical progress of my “greatest generation” and their giant step into the 19.5th century as the answering machine kicked on.

Then….the love I felt knowing they followed my directions to the every detail was just overwhelming.

“HI…YOU HAVE….REACHED THE CIRELLI’S…." “It’s not working Eddie..the light isn’t on..” MAVIS, SSHHH….ERIK TOLD ME THAT IT ONLY NEEDS TO FLASH ONCE,…IT IS ON………PLEASE LEAVE A MESS---" “Eddie…I don’t think that is the light he was talking about.. He was talking about the VCR light” "MAVIS.. I KNOW WHAT I’M DO---.BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP”

Mmm…the only message I could leave was. “Your answering machine sounds perfect. I hope you enjoy your PROGRAM tonight” as I rushed to send their phone number to everyone on my twitter account because no one is going to believe this message unless they hear it for themselves.

Averting Disaster

The merging lane was a disaster ready to implode. The intersection itself was already packed while the space was narrow and obstructed. I just avoided a rear end collision a few moments before as I diverted my eyes to see what was passing me on the side that smelled familiar. I returned my focus to the impossible task at hand and decided I had to either stop completely to avoid adding to the trouble ahead or shoot the gap.

I didn’t hesitate. I accelerated to bypass the slower drivers and the undeciders. I shot through the lane and looked back to see two old ladies, a man with a Bluetooth headset and a family with twins scarcely miss the crash of a lifetime.

But as I moved down to the cereal aisle, I noticed my challenges had just begun and I knew right then, I was going to have to take a quick detour to grab a cold chocolate milk and just endure what was going to be another Sunday crowd at the food store. I relent that some pain is unavoidable as I hear echoing over the lanes, “NUMBER 24, your Deli order is now ready”. --- I need more than chocolate. I’m Number 275.

Driving Me Up A Wall

I had the displeasure to be in the passenger side of a newly licensed 17-year-old driver. To put it in perspective, I could have taken two busses, a horse and a refugee boat from North Korea faster than this kid would get out of the driveway.

Ok, maybe US experienced drivers take this for granted. We get in, we turn car on and we GO. Including the seatbelt, I’m counting maybe five steps before I’m cruizin’ down the boulevard looking for some road rage to make my day.

But this young Mario Andretti apprentice with “especially bought for the occasion new sunglasses” took the Art Carney art of driving and adjusted everything except his attitude. I sat with little control watching his seat move -up.back.down.forward. and back again-.lumbar support stiff-lumbar support normal-lumbar support recessed. The moon roof open…shut..open…shut…halfway open, tilted and then up again for venting.

By the time the car even was started, the battery in the car was drained from finding the right song on the radio station to match his driving experience (think: repetitive and without talent). I truly felt like a dog walker who is watching the canine sniff for hours determining the right spot to relieve himself…as I screamed with controlled determination. “JUST GO!!!!….We are only driving to QUIKCHEK, not preparing for the INDY 500.”

Seriously, does anyone really need to sniff the TREE air freshener before you back up? NO! If it isn’t working, you would know if you got the car moving. I’m not asking for much, I just want to be going faster than A/C that he is now adjusting … for each…and…every…..vent angle … “Dude, it’s AIR, not chocolate or beer coming through those vents…what are we waiting for…the new model to come out?”

I understand the over caution, the newness and the fear of young drivers. I even appreciate the fact they focus their hands on the 10 and the 2, align proper mirror adjustment, etc.. , but I will bet NASA has less check points than this kid and three shuttles were launched and returned to Earth before I ever moved away from the curb.

After cup holders were checked for proper alignment and the trip odometer was set at -0.0000….AGAIN, I lost all patience and decided to do what any adult would do in my situation. I bribed him. “Get me to the store within FIVE minutes and I will pay any speeding ticket, plus buy you a BIG GULP of Mountain Dew and a Snickers bar. However, if you don’t move this ½ ton piece of aluminum and glass in 10 seconds, your next adjustment will be prying your body off the pavement as I will push the one part of this car you haven’t touched yet….. the EJECTOR BUTTON.”

Lesson in Time

http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/

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Early one morning, I thought I was the only one in the office. I witnessed three noisy maintenance men with their hands full carrying big analog clocks to exchange and hang throughout my building. Because just changing the batteries would be too much for just ONE person.

These diligent walkers of the hallways, (Think Flavor Flav with work boots & tool belts) stomped down past my work area not quite respecting my personal work space or need to concentrate.

With my focus gone and my Adult ADD kicking in..Did I mention I just saw a birdie?

I couldn’t resist being the smart a-- and ask, “Hey, any of you have the time?” All three of them in complete synchronization, switched their armful of Big Bens to their other hand to check their generic wrist watches. As the realization of my remark set in their heads, the skinniest one of the three turned and said with both his big and small hands not moving, "Yes, I'ts SUNDAY, next time look at the calendar and maybe you won't worry about the time."

Doesn’t matter now, but I'm sure it is too late for church.

Feeling Used at a Used Car Lot

Been to a Car Dealer lately? In this economy, walk into a new or used parking lot and experience what it is like to be the hot chick at a night club. Laugh if you may, but they swarm around you with shiny gifts, gold chains and smiles. And they move in so close you know what they had for dinner three nights ago. I kept hearing….“HOW YOUUU DOIN?” echoed across the tiled showroom as I browse for my next mode of transportation.

OK, the gifts are more like stale donuts sold by men with OLD SPICE and yellow teeth, but I’M getting attention and that is what matters the most.

There is a new policy with car salesmen; they will be literally fired if they allow you to leave the facility without buying a car while on site. I know, as I saw the ‘memo’ pinned on top of his 1968, 1969 and 1971 salesmen of the month awards. (1970 was the year of the Ford Pinto…’nuff said)

This isn’t a joke. I gave my car keys for them to evaluate a trade in and no matter how many times I tried to leave, my sales rep said he would be back with my keys but he conveniently ‘forgot’ and came back with a new offer instead…”a better solution to get me to decrease my payments”.

Please don’t ask me what I WANT to pay a month (its always $29.99 of course) and THEN think I will be happy if you add 172 months to the length of the loan to get the payments down. To me, THAT isn’t a “solution” but more of a rolling mortgage I’ll never pay off. I’m buying a car, not protection from organized crime.

However, to be fair, I did walk in and tease them by slipping a comment of how I’m willing to pay in full…WITH CASH… just to watch their Leisure Suit Larry eyes bulge and the hidden cameras all go on alert as their manager, Jabba the Hut, tries to figure out how to get me to buy two cars and then agree to add LO/JACK and safety sealant to make back his profit margin after I leave.

Seriously though, PAY CASH? I don’t even buy gum anymore with cash but Dwight Schrute’s twin sure got excited when I said, “I didn’t know Ben Franklin was on EVERY $100 bill, did you?”

The ad on the internet said the car I want is available today for the unprecedented low price of $10.00 over bluebook. Who’s blue book? The one on your desk that says, How to lie to your customer and still look in the mirror? I repeatedly told you that I didn’t want the lime green Taurus no matter what deal you can give me…AND more importantly, I like my interior to match or compliment the outside paint job, not look like the salt water taffy assortment pack I got at the shore last week.

As I negotiate the price down to three Denny’s Grand Slam breakfasts and a gift card to 7/11, I left listening to him whine how he is now going to get fired for selling that car for so low.

Too bad, I just want to drive away feeling like the new car smell is going to overtake any Old Spice that has lingered by my senses and not wake up in a cold sweat tonight wondering if I could have got a better deal if I wouldn’t have asked to add SiriusXM radio, moon roof, blue tooth enabled phone and a personal driver three days a week.

Karma for the Day

You can tell a great deal about people in a long line. At 2:00 pm, I watched a sharp dressed man go through security excusing himself all the way through-asking each person rudely if he could move up in front of them as he was “late” for his flight. Being the good person I (think) am, I allowed him to pass me to only catch a glimpse of his ticket and departure time of 4:18 pm.

I tried not to show my disgust as I wouldn’t call out a complete stranger, but I thought I’d at least shoot a shot over his snobbish brow.

Assuming he was only anxious to spend time in the First Class Lounge, I sort of mentioned to him as he passed, “Please go ahead and I hope you make your flight, but at least you NOW don’t have to be disappointed the Continental President’s Club is closed for renovations”.

He quickly reversed his path past all the same people and excused himself mumbling about how he forgot something in his car and left the security area. Ironically, minutes later, I walked past the President’s Club and it WAS “close until further notice”. So, did I do the right thing because of the outcome or was my intent still the driving factor of my karma for the day?