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?”
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
DOING TIME WITHOUT THE CRIME
DOING TIME WITHOUT THE CRIME
http://www.cynicalbuzz.com
Yes, my perception is tainted. My travels for work spoil me with lovely hotels in great cities. However, some hotels should not be occupied, but donated to prisons for overcrowding. It's supposed to be a home away from home, not the equivalent of doing 10-15 hours in a state penitentiary.
I should have known better as even my GPS couldn't find this "Four Seasons" of solitary confinement in rural New York state. My loyal gadget of the directionally disabled not only couldn't locate it, it never even heard of the road or worse yet, the crime district it was in.
My GPS only kept telling me, "RECALCULATING...RECALCULATING...GO BACK NOW BEFORE YOU END UP IN HOSTEL IV or SCREAM 6".
Too late. When you walk into a BATES HOTEL room and there are SIGNS all over to help you with the obvious, you know it's going to be a night to remember..or one you try to forget.
There is a direct correlation to the number of "DON'T" signs and the stars in hotel rating system. A four star hotel will have only one sign, "THANK YOU". However, a Minus four-star hotel with security cameras will have 20 signs within a 20 square foot space.
-Don't hang anything here (it's a freakin' sprinkler on the ceiling..what am I going to hang? a Piñata?
-Don't use blow dryer near water (Thanks, but I like saving time to wash and dry hair at same time)
-Don't turn lights on after midnight (Does this mean the toilet is non-working after midnight too?)
-Don't touch A/C. (Why would I? I'm going to be perfectly comfortable all night in "lock down", one small window, with no lights after midnight to read more "Don't do anything" signs.
Alcatraz had more amenities, but it at least had a view of the San Francisco Bay. I'm just staring at a flashing hotel street sign that says. WE HAVE CABLE. ...Cable?..wow...Now all is good in Whoville.
After hours driving, I just want to sleep at night and shower in the morning. No need for breakfast in bed or strawberries at night. I'm easy like that.
But what I can't cope with is only ONE pillow and a quilted sheet/blanket/bed spread combo to sleep with. What is that?...A QUILTANKET? I didn't know if I was suppose to lay under it, in it, over it or put helium in it and escape from this prison yard of discomfort.
If the next morning, the shower would be my saving grace, All would be forgotten. Too bad I would have been cleaner if a prison guard hosed me down in CELL BLOCK TWO before this luxury bathroom suite of cleanliness got the job done.
I'm over 6'3" and the shower head was 3'6" off the floor. It took me over an hour to wash with a soap wafer the size of a CHEEZ-IT. It is sad when you have to negotiate which parts of my body needed the soap more and the rest can wait for tomorrow. Worse yet, it took me 90 minutes to dry off as I reached to grab a towel . No, let me rephrase that. NO towel, just a SHAMWOW to squeegee myself off. YES, I felt like an Olympic diver as I used this 6-inch yellow faux chamois to rid my body of moisture.
I finally checked out, (or depending on how you look at it-released) and the front desk/security asked me how was my stay. I just took a deep breath now that I've been broken and said. "THANK YOU SIR, MAY I HAVE ANOTHER?"
I did tell him I truly only wanted to see ONE more sign before I left this hotel/prison combo. He said, "What would that be?" I responded, "You've been Punk'd".
Sadly, it was real and I only felt slighted the lights went out last night right before I finished giving myself a tattoo. Yes, I got to get Inked or I would have no proof of doing my time. Peace out.
Thursday, September 17, 2009
Play Crazy 8's Anyone?
http://www.cynicalbuzz.com
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)
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)
Friday, September 11, 2009
No Sense of Urgency
http://www.cynicalbuzz.com
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.
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.
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
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.
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.
Monday, August 3, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, July 23, 2009
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.”
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.”
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Lesson in Time
http://www.cynicalbuzz.com/
________________________________
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.
________________________________
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.
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
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.
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.
Friday, June 26, 2009
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?
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?
Friday, June 12, 2009
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.
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.
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
A Fight of 20 Questions
NOTE: I do love kids, all children..TRULY. just not THIS one particular child.
On a long flight home, I had the privilege to be seated next to a precocious 7 year old boy (although he kept telling me he was 7 ½, but I’m not giving him even ONE extra day) while his parents-BOTH of them sat behind and on the other side of the plane from us.
I like to be social and I don’t mind answering questions, but how many times can I tell a HOME ALONE misfit, “I don’t want to hear the alphabet again while you hold your nose.”
This child who DYFS wouldn’t even bother to register wouldn’t stop asking untactful questions about anyone on the flight…”UM, I just don’t know why that big sweaty guy keeps going to the bathroom every 10 minutes, but I am sure he doesn’t appreciate you announcing to the entire flight by saying, ‘Did you wash your hands mister?’”
Yes I’m traveling with Andy Dick’s MiniMe without the rap sheet.
“ONE more time kid, the orange button brings the nasty flight attendant who thinks I’m your daddy and the yellow one is the light that you pushed so many times I feel like I’m at a strobe light concert of the Snow White's long lost dwarf, Chucky.”
“No, I truly don’t want to see what it looks like to have 10 pieces of bubble gum in your mouth.”
“Seriously, didn’t your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?...NO?...then I will..Don’t talk to me. My first and last name is Stranger.
After having quite enough adventure for a lifetime on a flight to nowhere, I decided the best way to stifle this inquisitive flight to a playground hell was:
First, get my money back from my BOSE noise cancellation headset that didn’t silence the grade school Beavis one decibel and second, turn the questions back on little Bobby Brady and entertain myself as I can’t read, listen to my music or sleep with a SpongeBob Tshirt talking in my ear.
“Hey kid, how come your parents don’t love you enough to have asked me to SWITCH SEATS?” I mean, they either sleeping or watching a movie while I baby-sit for free. Little boy, can you spell abandonment?”
“Why do they dress you like that? Were you a ‘surprise’ child and were they expecting a hamster?”
“Did you know that orange button is the plane’s ejection button and if you hit it one more time, I’ll have to tell your parents to start looking for you somewhere over South Carolina”. OK OK..you are right. I didn’t say that one out loud.
Amazing how quiet a child can become when they fear asking questions and more importantly, don’t even care for the one critical question that every child asks. However, I repeatedly asked it ever since I heard the pilot say, prepare to take off….”ARE WE THERE YET?..HUH?...NOW? ARE WE THERE NOW? PLEASE!
On a long flight home, I had the privilege to be seated next to a precocious 7 year old boy (although he kept telling me he was 7 ½, but I’m not giving him even ONE extra day) while his parents-BOTH of them sat behind and on the other side of the plane from us.
I like to be social and I don’t mind answering questions, but how many times can I tell a HOME ALONE misfit, “I don’t want to hear the alphabet again while you hold your nose.”
This child who DYFS wouldn’t even bother to register wouldn’t stop asking untactful questions about anyone on the flight…”UM, I just don’t know why that big sweaty guy keeps going to the bathroom every 10 minutes, but I am sure he doesn’t appreciate you announcing to the entire flight by saying, ‘Did you wash your hands mister?’”
Yes I’m traveling with Andy Dick’s MiniMe without the rap sheet.
“ONE more time kid, the orange button brings the nasty flight attendant who thinks I’m your daddy and the yellow one is the light that you pushed so many times I feel like I’m at a strobe light concert of the Snow White's long lost dwarf, Chucky.”
“No, I truly don’t want to see what it looks like to have 10 pieces of bubble gum in your mouth.”
“Seriously, didn’t your parents ever tell you not to talk to strangers?...NO?...then I will..Don’t talk to me. My first and last name is Stranger.
After having quite enough adventure for a lifetime on a flight to nowhere, I decided the best way to stifle this inquisitive flight to a playground hell was:
First, get my money back from my BOSE noise cancellation headset that didn’t silence the grade school Beavis one decibel and second, turn the questions back on little Bobby Brady and entertain myself as I can’t read, listen to my music or sleep with a SpongeBob Tshirt talking in my ear.
“Hey kid, how come your parents don’t love you enough to have asked me to SWITCH SEATS?” I mean, they either sleeping or watching a movie while I baby-sit for free. Little boy, can you spell abandonment?”
“Why do they dress you like that? Were you a ‘surprise’ child and were they expecting a hamster?”
“Did you know that orange button is the plane’s ejection button and if you hit it one more time, I’ll have to tell your parents to start looking for you somewhere over South Carolina”. OK OK..you are right. I didn’t say that one out loud.
Amazing how quiet a child can become when they fear asking questions and more importantly, don’t even care for the one critical question that every child asks. However, I repeatedly asked it ever since I heard the pilot say, prepare to take off….”ARE WE THERE YET?..HUH?...NOW? ARE WE THERE NOW? PLEASE!
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