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.

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.

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)

FULL SERVICE STATIC AT THE SELF SERVICE LINE

FULL SERVICE STATIC AT THE SELF SERVICE LINE

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Sounds like the best idea yet. Eliminate the cashier and let me scan and pay for my "STUFF" with a swipe of a card. Ahh, the EZ PASS for the pedestrian of the shopping lanes. What a concept...right?

NO! The biggest issue isn't that innovative idea, but the fact, the self checkout line at a Home Depot or a Walmart is ONLY AS FAST as the neophytes shopping before you .

OMG, LADY!!! the machine has it spelled out for you in not only BLACK AND WHITE, but in BRAILLE, it TALKS to you, it has a HELP button and it even has the bags OPEN there for you to put your 50 pack of batteries in.

PULEASE Mister, It's a scanner, not a MRI machine, swipe the freaking bar code, but don't hold it there until the new year.

YEAH YEAH. The Bar code...that thing that has attached itself to every item since 1972. OK, now repeat after me, each time it "BEEPS" you get charged. So right now you owe $450.00 for that pack of gum you keep swiping as your OCD kicks in at just the wrong time of the checkout process and MY life. It is paid for. I promise you and if not, I'll buy you a pack of gum for MOVING YOUR HUSH PUPPY shoes a little further down the line and leaving the premises without hitting that "help" button again.

Barcode you ask again? "Yeah yeah, the Morse code THINGY that is on the side of your paint can. YO, Norman, do you really need to use that much EGGSHELL paint at your age anyway? TRY white, your eyes can't be that sharp, you just hit the ASSISTANCE button five times to ask if your credit card will work in this type of machine. No, of course YOURS won't work. You have the only credit card out of the 400 million Americans who has a Visa that won't swipe in a VISA branded slot.

Seriously, if you don't move your corduroy brushing self out of the way, I am going to break down and yell "THIEF" because you forget to scan the two bags of SALT in your cart because its bigger than the glass you would have to lay it on."

Three steps is all it takes My Dear Hindrance of the Shopping Highway.

1) scan the item

2) place in bag

3) swipe your card and approve.

Any more steps than that and you can join those drivers in the EZ PASS lane that didn't read those two miles of signs ahead of time in NEON LIGHTS that said, "EZ PASS HOLDER ONLY" lanes to the left.

There is truly another world for you to shop in and it doesn't include me. I would tell you to stay home and shop online, but you would be waiting impatiently for the purchased items to be expulsed out of your printer paper slot.

Next time a store wants to make my life easier, don't try to AUTOMATE, TRY ELIMINATE......By IQ.

Anyone who can't figure out how to check out should be required to pay a premium for a personal shopper and stay to the rear of the store until the rest of us leave.

Now that I'm finally ready to check out........um...does anyone know what "ITEM NOT RECOGNIZED MEAN?" As there is no way I'm hitting that 'assistance needed' button after that long rant. ;)

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.

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.

Lesson in Time

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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?

Sleeping with the Fishes

In boardroom when a potential vendor came in to pitch an innovative idea. One of their female partners who sat across from me fell asleep on and off for 30 minutes during her associates' presentation.

I tried to ignore the silent disruption and focus on the material but if you know me at all you knew this wasn't going to help their case as my attention was observing the slumping executive drooling on the table.

I turned to the female Rip Van Winkle and asked her during one of her conscious moments, "Would you like someone to get you some coffee or a soda?" She replied like an early wake up call from a hotel operator, "No, no..I'm so sorry, I'll be fine but I have to tell you that I happen to suffer from Necrophilia."

GULP!! As the other 10 people struggled not to gasp for whatever oxygen still remained in the room, I, BEING the calm ocean of reason during this shocking admission replied with a straight face, "YOU ARE TELLING US YOU SLEEP WITH DEAD PEOPLE?"

"NO, OH MY GOD, NO!, I meant to say I have Narcolepsy..Narcolepsy..not Necrophilia."


Now that the whole room was finally AWAKE, I proceeded to jump on this like a wild dog with raw meat as I just couldn't allow a moment like this to pass me without savoring the moment.

"First," I blurted out while holding back my tears of laughter, "If I had your misfortune to suffer from such a debilitating disorder, I would learn how NOT to confuse it with a class 2 felony. Secondly, I might even tattoo Webster's definition on the names of sleep disorders on my hand to forever preclude this ever happening again."

The apologies were abundant from both Sleeping nonBeauty and her fellow Knights of Boredom. But I wasn't finished. "Perhaps you all should go back to your funeral home, I mean office and figure out a better way to sell your ideas on exciting, innovating programs as I too, was starting to fall asleep after seeing your one slide of 250 words without a graphic being read to me. As I forgot to tell you, I suffer from 'TIREDOFSEEINGSAMECRAPOLEPSY'." However NOW, I will never fall asleep in a meeting that I am aware someone like YOU might mistaken me for a corpse and I'd come out of my slumber being violated by an awakening Narcoleptic who doesn't even know her own diagnosis."

I thanked them for an eye opening presentation that had no equal as I had to move quickly on to my next vendor presentation on newly discovered orgasms...I MEAN, organisms.

Centering on the Middle Seat

I've been lucky in travel. A majority of my seats whether they are domestic or international have provided me an aisle seat for my 6'4" frame and I only had to be concerned on how many flight attendants I would trip as my foot hung out into the traffic lane during each flight.

However this last flight, I had to endure the dreaded middle seat syndrome with a man who overstepped all etiquette when it comes to the laws of traveling.

I always understood if I was lucky enough to get an aisle seat, I would be forfeiting the arm rests for most of the flight and defer to my cramped neighbor giving adequate space for them to function.

It's the unwritten air travel law. I just happen to find one of the biggest violators of this air rule and I decided to be the new Sheriff in town.

There I was, sitting with a Justin Timberlake wannabe with a fanny pack. He not only was already in his seat before even 1st class was seated (He boarded early perhaps as he tried to pass as a young child who needed assistance for seating).

I knew from seeing his over sized carry on bag, extra stuffed notebook computer case (which he thinks doesn't count as a bag) and a half dozen music magazines on his lap that this was going to be a "special" trip for me.

He couldn't have been 5'7" but he still wouldn't even get up or maneuver to allow me to get by his temporary domain. Five hours with EMIMEM was going to test my mettle above and beyond the Golden Rule...OH I plan on treating him how I want to be treated..trust me.

For you to understand, I only have to describe one example. The dude with the frosted tips and a Napoleon Dynamite T-shirt wasn't going to MOVE his right arm from the armrest the entire 5 hours

1) Not to eat-He only used his outside hand for both cutting, eating and sorting.

2) Not to read-Hell, he was only looking at pictures of babes with guitars on motorcycles anyway

3) Not to reach for his drink, napkin or peanuts from the flight attendants. -He would actually grab, place, grab again, place and then continue with the only free arm I couldn't negotiate with

4) Not even to scratch his pathetic effort of hair growth under his chin.

The bottom line is he acted as though his right arm was permanently glued to the arm rest and as I responded with the only way a well traveled person would do in this situation...I played the "wedge" game with him and enjoyed every minute of his frustration.

I leaned my left arm back and slid my elbow to the back of the armrest behind his and coughed as I pushed his arm forward with a wedge of my arm.

Sorry, but listening to him for the rest of the flight sigh out loud, moaning, grunting and trying to push his arm back onto mine for the next few hours was more enjoyable than watching the latest High School Musical 3 on the little screen in front of me. He truly thought his Gilligan sized body frame was going to have enough leverage to move my arm even an inch. Doesn't he know I can use the other arm rest as a base to ensure I don't falter from my defensive position. (YES, YES, I have thought too much of this issue)

With my noise cancellation headsets and the satisfaction of knowing I won the battle as well as the airline war of armrest positioning, I sung along to the teenage crazed videos and most likely drove him to finally get up and visit the restroom. He should thank ME, as I know he was holding it in with the fear of losing his arm's position as I counted him downing 8 diet cokes and I was worried he was going to pull out an empty Gatorade bottle and forget he was on a public airline for the moment.

Don't worry, when he returned, I was polite enough to give him his arm rest back as the intercom interrupted, "Please prepare for landing and bring all seats to an upright position."

The least I can do is give him the armrest for the last 10 minutes of the flight as even I have a little air travel compassion. Plus, I had to use both of my hands to cover my face of my overly excited expressions of winning this Olympic travel event.

When it comes to airline etiquette, I'm just too happy to play with the rookies.

The best part is I slipped the blog address in his bag as he exited the plane for him to find later. The issue is I'm left handed so I had to write it with my free hand so he might not be able to read it clearly but there is only one thing better than winning the armrest challenge. It's letting them know you won it.

Sleep Walking Through a Business Case

Whether it is the Mattress Cowboys, 1-800Mattress or Sleepy's, after driving by strip mall after shopping plaza and see endless discount mattress and bedding outlets and stores, I'm lost..Someone find me a bed to nap in and explain to me how these places makes money?

We all love to sleep and personally, I have bought a few mattresses in my lifetime but we aren't talking about an investment in cars or houses. SOOO, how do they stay in business?

DO you ever think each weekend, "HONEY, It's Saturday, lets go get ANOTHER mattress because we haven't got one in like..um...5 weeks and the old one has crumbs in it."

or

"Sweetheart, do you have your old mattresses ready to go? I'll stop by the Serta outlet and pick up your new ones before I go to the dry cleaners."

Now don't get me wrong. I wake up every day with a stiff back and numb legs thinking maybe I need a new mattress.

But I don't actually GO BUY ONE. Do you? My next one is going to be either a Tempur-Pedic or Craft-o-Matic roll with the heated pads but I only have to call the 800 number from Ed McMahon to have that one delivered because NO one would get caught BUYING one of those in a STORE without a doctor's prescription. (wink)

POP QUIZ: When was the last time you went into a mattress discounter? Really..unless Party City was next door and you saw a fake brass bed that reminded you of your grandparent's bedroom set or because it was adjacent to an TGIF's and you had 30 minutes to kill before your vibrating paging coaster went off so you can get your THREE FOR ALL appetizer smothered in Jack's sauce.

But even if you and your significant other decided to digress to 1950's TV sleeping arrangements (DICK VAN DYKE, LUCY AND DESI.. et al) and move to separate rooms on the same floor with your own beds...THAT is still only TWO beds bought over a few years.

Yes, I could be thinking too much about this dilemma in a world where economic struggles run much deeper than box springs and bed skirts. But it IS these things that keep me up at night.....

or perhaps it is my insomnia caused by the fact I just need a new mattress from DISCOUNT BOB's?

Getting Ugly on the Snuggie

Give me a minute...please...I just shot milk out of my nose from laughing so hard at my NEW favorite (BUY THIS BECAUSE YOU ARE DUMBER THAN THE MASSES) commercial. The amazing super soft luxurious fleece hands-free SNUGGY that is one light saber away from being inducted into the Star Wars costume hall of fame.

I know you hate it when the blanket is just not long enough for both your hands and your swollen feet and perhaps there truly isn't an answer to the times when you need to use your hands while you sit on your lazy ass and watch the repeat episodes of the Ginzu knives/Steambuddy/Fix-a-chip/Abtwister hour.

EVER JUST TRY putting your hands back in the blanket after you use them? I'm sure together we can find alternative solutions before we have to digress to wearing roman attire before we retire.

Does your body lose that much heat for the brief second you answer the phone under your grandma's favorite afghan? Do you truly need a RUBY RED gown made from the SHAMWOW material that cleans my car every weekend to ensure your the most stylish person NEVER?

Now, I'm a huge fan of Carol Burnett's Scarlett O'Hare and her innovative tailoring of velvet curtains into a dress within 30 seconds for Harvey Korman's Rhett Butler "WENT WITH THE WIND" circa 1978 ,but even they couldn't stop laughing during that scene because of the absurdity.

If I ever come to your house and you are wearing a one piece anything...Let's just call it what it is....A house dress...case closed.

Now please realize this ONE SIZE FITS MOST has its pitfalls. You may have a slot for your cold hands to down your Sudafed mixer, but after sitting on that corduroy couch drinking diet soda and iced tea since you awoke at 11am, you will have to get up as there is NOT an extra hole for you to relieve yourself (that is an extra $19.99). Don't forget to brush the cheese doodles off both your trailer trash tuxedo and your hands before you even get the bathroom or your new HUMAN TENT will will forever leave a bulls-eye for the family pets curiosity.

Now I do apologize if you belong to Heaven's Gate UFO cult and you are wearing Nike running shoes under that monochromatic apparel to prepare you for that infomercial in the sky known as the HOME SHOPPING NETWORK. But next time you think you found a reason to not get dressed like the rest of the world, rent the Ben Hur classic and watch what the lions did to the idiots in their SNUGGIES.

I'm Listening, But Can't Hear a Word You Said

I do watch too much TV. I think of it like a traffic accident. I just can't look away because I feel I will miss the epitome of a 10-car pile up right in front of my eyes.

Need one more gift before the holiday? Need that little something something to truly cap off a festive season? Look no further than this amazing plastic (faux metal) box with ToysRus headphones. The LISTENUP SOUND amplifier is the cure for all who truly need to hear who hates them today.

That's right, hold this inconspicuous 1988 beeper/pager up to the world to bring in that mysterious ambient noise that you haven't been able to decipher from all the normal garbage we hear daily for a full comprehension of the moment's waste of oxygen.

I don't know about you. But do I truly want to hold this up (CHEST HIGH AND POINTED AT THE SOURCE OF AUDIO) to hear my neighbors complain about my dog's bathroom habits or how I haven't raked leaves since April?

Do I want to spend my bonus money on the ability to hear all that I have been ignoring my whole life? I don't think so. There is a reason I wait until I hear people repeat their request three times. I'm a man and I have this hope they will forget what they actually need me to do again before asking a fourth time. I perhaps see the need to bring it to church, but I might accidentally have my iPod plugged into it..HEY.... I'm JUST SAYING.

The most exciting part of this device to me is the fact that if I ever saw someone wearing this technological wonder of one AAA battery with a belt clip, I would silently mouth the Gettysburg address, laughing intermittently, to cause such paranoia and panic in this pseudo spy of the eavesdrop world, they would turn the volume up soo high, they will actually hear Arctic wolves howl for the dinner before they hear me say with complete clarity, "I just read that those devices cause incontinence in three of out four users and I just heard my neighbor has one."

Elevator Etiquette Redux

Elevator Protocol. Someone needs to stand up for it. It might as well be you and I as you are right there in front of me ignoring me.

Gahead, pretend I’m not here. That’s right. look away, look at your feet and your hands that you have known since birth.

Don’t even ask me to push your floor's button just because I’m already pushing mine, that would be interacting with a human being without invitation. Spend that effort to push it yourself. You know your body's limitations more than anyone.

Honestly, it isn't going to add to my Todo list by pressing TWO buttons instead of ONE. It is the least I can do. I get bored easily.

Maybe some constructive advice. If we share a short elevator trip, 2-3 floors, work up a "Have a nice day" and a smile to add a courteous touch to both of our lives.

Long trip, anything over five floors, "A quick hello, smile and a nice weather conversation ending with the proverbial 'have a nice day' would make me happy."

Now that you got me started, Why in the world are you taking the elevator up only ONE flight in the first place. No.. NO. I'm sorry but we need to talk. We have at least 15 more seconds before you make your escape to a floor you could have arrived at 5 minutes ago if you walked.

I'm sure you have your reason to extend your day by waiting for an elevator and stopping the rest of us from getting to the real destinations that are above and beyond the 40 extra steps it would take to get you to put one foot in front of the other.

Let's see, you have a bunion problem? No, um..you have vertigo? No. um..OH I get it..you just want to test out your claustrophobia resilience on the rest of us as we all have to back up to allow you and your Samsonite-sized, fake Prada bag to fit in this canister of altitude adjustment.

If I didn't have this big sandwich, chips and drink in my hand, I'd be taking the stairs myself...um.. well, maybe not but I'd wait for the next elevator and share my lunch with them.

Let's go to the video tape

Tell me again why you are protecting your store's most valuable assets with a security camera/image that can't determine if the suspect is actually a person or a goat. Last time I checked, even my cell phone's video capabilities can identify and clarify a person from 100 ft. to convict them of shoplifting.

Today, there are cameras that can be either a stand alone device or connected to basic computers that are visually comparable to HDTV for under a few hundred dollars.

Why do I turn on the news and see less than a shadow of a person hit an elderly person, rob a 7/11 or steal election signs from yards from an image that has more distortion than a Zapruder film clip of a Paris Hilton night out.

What are the authorities suppose to do with this pin-hole camera view of the crime scene?

OFFICER, "What did your security system capture on the suspect?"

STORE MANAGER, "uh...he is a person....and he I mean she..I mean he is wearing clothes..and he walks with two legs...and....they left with um..stuff. lots of stuff."

OFFICER, "Any distinctive marks that we can gather from the video?"

STORE MANAGER, "Yes..definitely, He was wearing a dark sweatshirt and some other clothes. OH OH..wait..I can also see that he likes to wear hoods...DOES that help officer?"

I have some great advice for anyone who has one of these security cameras propped up in the top corner of their store, lobby or warehouse. Don't even turn it on. Save a few bucks on electricity and buy a sign instead that says (We have attack dogs on site)

You have a better chance identifying the elusive Jack the Ripper from over a century ago than you do using this grainy, .0456 megapixel camera to help keep someone from stealing your Swedish Fish from the candy aisle.

"Quick, look, the suspect smiled. Oh wait, nevermind....that was just the low bat warning light."

Just Review this blog on the days you don't Read

You HAVE to be kidding me! Driving out of the Lincoln Tunnel into the city and to see a Verizon billboard that has as much logic as building a tunnel under 4 billion gallons of water to get to an island.

A PAY-AS-YOU-GO plan is great for the 8 people on the planet who only use their cell phone in emergencies. But seeing in all its magnificent glory in a slogan that says, "JUST PAY ON THE DAYS YOU USE IT" high above my metropolis mix of 8,274,527 people who never, ever remove their cell phones from their ears just seems like a waste of billboard space.

When is the last time you ever DIDN'T use your cell phone? Maybe 2001 when you left it in the wash with your Starbucks gift card?

I'll save you time for the the next billboards in the area. Don't worry about compensating me for my ideas. I promise you its completely MY pleasure.

For Weight Watchers plan, "Only get fat on the days you eat".

For Health Insurance, "Just pay on the days you aren't feeling well".

For a college fund, "Only pay for the tuition if you kid gets a job after that doesn't include asking if they want fries with the order".

For iTunes, "Only pay for the song if it wasn't sampled, copied, repetitive, sung by John Mayer or has la la la in it".

For Poland Spring, "Pay only for the water if you can't get the same wet liquid out of your tap at home"

For the airline industry, "Pay for only the flights you actually reach your destination."

For Verizon's next million dollar idea, "How about I pay triple for the days I don't use my phone?"

Style for Sale

I swear it's Déjà vu all over again as I passed Real Estate signs this weekend. I must have missed the lesson in life where people from the same occupation all need to resemble each other.

Every For Sale sign in my neighborhood, whether its a global company or a local firm, they all must hire the same men and women. In their self promoting photos, where else do you see the same hairstyle, over exaggerated smiles and make-up on a Real Estate sign (....and that is just the men).

PS. Knot's Landing/Dynasty called, they want their shoulder pads back.

Some one in the real estate industry needs to stand up and say, I'm not a conformist and I'm going to wear a non-matching pant suit without accessories that has a picture that makes me look like I'm running for Miss Congeniality.

Do they spend all their commission on hair spray and eye shadow? Do they go to the same Beauty Salon and ask for the ReMAXCOLDWELLWEICHERT shampoo and cut?

Drive by any open house and the local Stepford wives and husbands will gratefully greet you at the front door with either Old Spice aftershave or Liz Taylor's Purple Diamond perfume stifling the air as they open their Encyclopedia Britannica size Filofax (um...ever hear of a PDA?)

Now to me, it's all good except the fact when I think I'm stuck in traffic thinking it was an accident and instead find out my delayed journey is the result of LYNN MARIE JOHNSON's "OPEN HOUSE" signs she is placing on the highway median every 1/4 miles with her pointy pumps still on. This is when I start to pray for higher interest rates.

I guarantee in her past life, she was either a Dental Assistant or Teacher's Aide but that 3% commission was getting too small to allow her to afford nude stockings.