Category Etiquette

Every Day Is a Great Day

Michael 4 Comments
Hockey season started yesterday. I was there for it. In my seat, the one I’ve occupied for the past couple of years. It’s not a bad seat. Over the years I’ve sat in several spots around the arena. Lower bowl, upper bowl, center ice, behind the net, on the dots. In the old arena. In the new arena. None are bad seats. Amidst a handful of people in my little section amidst the 19,000 or so seats all occupied by people in their little sections we sat in not bad seats there just to see a hockey game. No other agenda, hidden, assumed, obvious, or imagined. Just hockey.
But before the game we stopped to pay respects to those who lost lives and loved ones in Las Vegas and all 19,000 were silent. Every one. Silent. Then we paid respects to the flag and all 19,000 sang. Every one. Singing. And I thought how once again all I know about being a gentleman I learned from hockey and how I was once so moved by that realization that I posted my thoughts on it right here. And I thought, just as “Badger” Bob Johnson knew every day is a great day for hockey, that every day is a great day to learn from hockey.
So I’m doing today something I’ve never done before. I’m reprinting “Everything I Know About Being a Gentleman I Learned From Hockey.”

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EVERYTHING I KNOW ABOUT BEING A GENTLEMAN I LEARNED FROM HOCKEY

Originally posted November 26, 2016

When I was at the hockey game this weekend I got to thinking how much as a society we can learn from hockey. Yes, the sport that is the butt of the joke “I went to a fight last night and a hockey game broke out,” is the same sport that can be our pattern for good behavior.

Stay with me for a minute or two and think about this. It started at the singing of the national anthem. I’ve been to many hockey, baseball, football, and soccer games. Only at the hockey games have I ever been in an arena filled with people actually singing along. Only at the hockey games are all of the players reverent to the tradition of honoring the country where they just happen to be playing even though they come from around the world – Canada, Russia, Germany, Sweden, Finland, even a few Americans.

A decent dose of nationalism notwithstanding, hockey has much to offer the gentility. Even those fights. Or rather any infraction. If a player breaks the rules he is personally penalized for it. Ground isn’t given or relinquished like on a battlefield, free throws or kicks aren’t awarded to the aggrieved party like victors in a tort battle. Nope, if you do something wrong you pay the consequences and are removed from play for a specified period in segregation from the rest of your teammates. No challenges, no arguments, no time off for good behavior. Do the crime. Pay the time. In the penalty box. Try doing that to a school child who bullies and you’ll have some civil liberty group claiming you’re hurting the bully by singling him out.

Hockey is good at singling out people but in a good way. At last Saturday’s game the opposing team has two members who had previously played for the home team. During a short break in the action a short montage of those two players was shown on the scoreboard screens and they were welcomed back by the PA announcer. And were cheered and applauded by the fans in attendance. There weren’t seen as “the enemy.” Rather they were friends who had moved away to take another job and were greeted as friends back for a day.

While play is going on in a hockey game play goes on in a hockey game. Only if the puck is shot outside the playing ice, at a rules infraction, or after a goal is scored does play stop. Otherwise, the clock keeps moving and play continues. Much like life. If you’re lucky you might get to ask for one time out but mostly you’re at the mercy of the march of time. Play begins. After a while play ends. If you play well between them, you’ll be ok.

The point of hockey is to score goals. Sometimes goals are scored ridiculously easily, sometimes goals seem to be scored only because of divine intervention. Most times, goals are a result of working together, paying attention to details, and wanting to score more than the opposing team wants to stop you from scoring. There is no rule that says after one team scores the other team gets to try. It all goes back to center ice and starts out with a new drop of the puck. If the team that just scored controls the puck and immediately scores again, oh well.

Since we’re talking about scoring, the rules of hockey recognize that it takes more than an individual to score goals. Hockey is the only sport where players are equally recognized not just for scoring goals but for assisting others who score goals. Maybe you should remember that the next time someone at work says you’ve done a good job.

handshakeThe ultimate good job is winning the championship. The NHL hockey championship tournament is a grueling event. After an 82 game regular season, the top 16 teams (8 from each conference) play a four round best of seven elimination tournament. It takes twenty winning games to win the championship. That’s nearly 25% as long as the regular season. It could take as long as 28 games to play to the finish. That’s like playing another third of a season. After each round only one team moves on. And for each round, every year, for as many years as the tournament has ever been played, and for as many years as the tournament will ever be played, when that one team wins that fourth game and is ready to move on, they and the team whose season has ended meet at center ice and every player on each team shakes the hand of his opponent player and coach, wishing them well as they move on and thanking them for a game well played. No gloating. No whining. No whimpering. Only accepting.

So you go to a fight and a hockey game breaks out. It could be a lot worse.

—–

So there you go. Everything you need to know about being a gentleman, or a lady. Courtesy of the folks who brought you hockey. They’re not bad lessons if I say so myself. And I think even Badger Bob would agree.

 

Everything I know about being a gentleman I learned from Hockey.

Michael 3 Comments

When I was at the hockey game this weekend I got to thinking how much as a society we can learn from hockey. Yes, the sport that is the butt of the joke “I went to a fight last night and a hockey game broke out,” is the same sport that can be our pattern for good behavior.

Stay with me for a minute or two and think about this. It started at the singing of the national anthem. I’ve been to many hockey, baseball, football, and soccer games. Only at the hockey games have I ever been in an arena filled with people actually singing along. Only at the hockey games are all of the players reverent to the tradition of honoring the country where they just happen to be playing even though they come from around the world – Canada, Russia, Germany, Sweden, Finland, even a few Americans.

A decent dose of nationalism notwithstanding, hockey has much to offer the gentility. Even those fights. Or rather any infraction. If a player breaks the rules he is personally penalized for it. Ground isn’t given or relinquished like on a battlefield, free throws or kicks aren’t awarded to the aggrieved party like victors in a tort battle. Nope, if you do something wrong you pay the consequences and are removed from play for a specified period in segregation from the rest of your teammates. No challenges, no arguments, no time off for good behavior. Do the crime. Pay the time. In the penalty box. Try doing that to a school child who bullies and you’ll have some civil liberty group claiming you’re hurting the bully by singling him out.

Hockey is good at singling out people but in a good way. At last Saturday’s game the opposing team has two members who had previously played for the home team. During a short break in the action a short montage of those two players was shown on the scoreboard screens and they were welcomed back by the PA announcer. And were cheered and applauded by the fans in attendance. There weren’t seen as “the enemy.” Rather they were friends who had moved away to take another job and were greeted as friends back for a day.

While play is going on in a hockey game play goes on in a hockey game. Only if the puck is shot outside the playing ice, at a rules infraction, or after a goal is scored does play stop. Otherwise, the clock keeps moving and play continues. Much like life. If you’re lucky you might get to ask for one time out but mostly you’re at the mercy of the march of time. Play begins. After a while play ends. If you play well between them, you’ll be ok.

The point of hockey is to score goals. Sometimes goals are scored ridiculously easy, sometimes goals seem to be scored only because of divine intervention. Most times, goals are a result of working together, paying attention to details, and wanting to score more than the opposing team wants to stop you from scoring. There is no rule that says after one team scores the other team gets to try. It all goes back to center ice and starts out with a random drop of the puck. If the team that just scored controls the puck and immediately scores again, oh well.

Since we’re talking about scoring, the rules of hockey recognize that it takes more than an individual to score goals. Hockey is the only sport where players are equally recognized not just for scoring goals but for assisting others who score goals. Maybe you should remember that the next time someone at work says you’ve done a good job.

handshakeThe ultimate good job is winning the championship. The NHL hockey championship tournament is a grueling event. After an 82 game regular season, the top 16 teams (8 from each conference) play a four round best of seven elimination tournament. It takes twenty winning games to win the championship. That’s nearly 25% as long as the regular season. It could take as long as 28 games to play to the finish. That’s like playing another third of a season. After each round only one team moves on. And for each round, every year, for as many years as the tournament has ever been played, and for as many years as the tournament will ever be played, when that one team wins that fourth game and is ready to move on, they and the team whose season has ended meet at center ice and every player on each team shakes the hand of his opponent player and coach, wishing them well as they move on and thanking them for a game well played. No gloating. No whining. No whimpering. Only accepting.

So you goto a fight and a hockey game breaks out. It could be a lot worse.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

The Not Quite So Bad Smelling Pot

Michael Leave a comment

My last post was the bad side of a potpourri of encounters at the local retailers. This post is the better smelling side of that pot. It’s still a bit rotten but it has a less pungent odor about it.

On top of this list of things that don’t smell quite right (or if you prefer, things that make you go hmm) are shopping carts. Shopping carts themselves are not new fodder for the RRSB. Type “shopping cart” into my search bar and you can relive tales of shoppers with carts, carts without shoppers, crazy people with carts and crazy carts out to maim me. (My personal favorite that one. Relive it specifically at “Handicap Hate Crime,” (June 19, 2014)). But what put shopping carts on this particular list is that they officially are now everywhere, and some of it is intentional.

An intentional, yet questionable placement of shopping carts is now at the greeting card store. I’m ambivalent about greeting cards. I like them well enough. I like the idea of sending and getting real mail even if some far afield professional has written the sentiment. They fill a void that mere mortals like me could not and I for one feel accomplished just putting my name after somebody else’s perfectly chosen words. But I’m not so enamored with greeting cards that I feel the need to greet every occasion with a professional acknowledgement. Apparently the greeting card store people feel differently. So differently that they believe so many people will be buying so many of their cards in a single transaction that they have taken the step to make one’s shopping experience less physically exhausting and are now providing shopping cards in which to haul about your selection of selections as you go about selecting their cards. It is clearly just another overstated case of exaggerated hyperbole. Indubitably.

On the other hand, at stores where shopping with carts is advisable and often indeed a necessity, we are now faced with a decision as we pass through the doors that open automatically (and just in case you were unsure of that they are clearly so labeled but that’s a post for a different day). Of course I am talking about our basic supermarkets. At my closest go-to store the vestibule has 6 differently sized wheeled carts (one motorized) and two carry basket variants. For some reason the sporty compact models seem to be the most popular and never about when I need to pick up a dozen or so articles. Thus I am forced to wobble about poorly balanced (as if I wasn’t to be begin with) with a too small basket held in the crook of my arm or to reach deep into the void at the checkout line as I rummage for those 12 items in the bottom of the cart sized suitably to carry a month’s worth of groceries for a family of 4 (plus 2 pets). Where are all the cute little carts? They are being wheeled about by the family of four (pets safely locked in the over-sized SUV idling at the end of parking row 3) sagging under the weight of the soon to be purchased vittles and the pair of matching mini-monsters (aka 3 year olds who prefer to be at home in bed). It is clearly a case of bad choices. Several.

The last petal in our pot comes at the consideration of the local home improvement store. Today my needs that can be satisfied at a lumber, hardware, plumbing, electrical, lighting, appliance, paint, paper, carpet, and appliance store and nursery (the plant version, not the refuge for 3 year olds taking a break from mom and dad) can be met at that very nursery (the plant version). My biggest takeaways from the lawn and garden department begin at the garden half and end on my patio in the forms of plants, pots, and potting soil. Plants or seeds that will someday grow up to be young strapping plants and pots with a simple stand for the pots after the plants have been therein potted are light enough that a supermarket style shopping cart handles them with ease. But then there is that bag of potting soil. First I shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a five pound bag of donut holes and second I don’t want to be lifting anything heavier than a five pound bag of donut wholes. A flat bed cart that I can drag the bag of soil onto from the stack o’ bags would be ideal. But no, even though there is an entire store of wood, concrete, and refrigerator-freezers that have their own special carts, in the garden center you have only the extra-large version of the supermarket shopping cart that just ate my twelve items (no waiting) in the preceding paragraph.  It is clearly a choice of too many choices inside and not enough outside. By design.

At here you have it, today’s mélange just this side of rotten.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

The Rotten Pot

Michael Leave a comment

The potpourri – a quite lovely arrangement of highly scented dried flowers used to decorate and perfume.  Or collection of songs or poems, or a mélange of thoughts, ideas, or fact.  Whatever you want to make of it, or make it from, it is a beautiful order of otherwise unrelated things. In fact, I have often used it in post titles when I have too little of any one thing rummaging around in my head to add up to a couple hundred words of lucid thinking thus keeping that post from getting too ugly. Until now.

Now we have the not so flattering side of the potpourri – it’s otherwise disagreeable origin. From seventeenth century French it is literally the “rotten pot.” And today is a collection of the rotten side of reality that stuck its ugly face in my path this week.

The major ingredient in this pot is “some people’s children.” Not once, not twice, but three times just since Sunday did I get to witness not one, not two, but three little monsters disturbing the peace and leaving it in pieces.

There was the 3 or 4 year old girl (or boy, at that age does it matter) who made her own potpourri while seated in a shopping cart and systematically pulled petal after petal from the bouquet of flowers I suppose that her mother left with her to keep her (the child) occupied while she (the mother) gave her order to the deli counter clerk (and who couldn’t contain herself (the clerk) and pointed out the impromptu de-blooming). And then there was the 6 or 7 year old girl who at the local party store walked through a full aisle of piñata, punching one after the other until she got bored with that, realized that mom was not within arm’s reach, and wailed at the approximate pitch and volume of an ambulance siren.

But the killer (could we wish) was the around six-ish boy (I think) who stood (yes stood!) on the conveyor belt at the supermarket checkout line while he (I think) systematically threw every item in the impulse rack above the belt onto the belt to his (hers?) mother’s chorus of “Please get back in the cart, get in the cart, get back in the cart, I’m telling you get back in the cart, this is the last time now get back in the cart, get in the cart, get in the cart.” When the cashier had the nerve to say “It’s all right,” I couldn’t just stand there idly at the next check-out line. I said “No, it’s not alright. It’s rude and disgusting. And it’s why I’m in this line because I’m certainly not putting my food on that belt and if I were you (now directed to the cashier) I’d have someone get over there and clean that up.” And I actually felt good about myself having said something until the mother said, “Like that belt was any too clean before.”

And that was my mélange of otherwise unrelated urges to kill.

That’s what I think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Textiquette

Michael Leave a comment

These aren’t novel observations. In fact, She noted much of this several years ago when cell phone use just exploded. To make a long story short, we need more phone use etiquette, particularly when texting. To make a short story a blog post, read on.

What people weren’t listening to just a little while ago is now hitting morning radio, Internet sites, news fillers, and feature stories. Everybody has their own pet peeve that semms to have finally reached the last straw. Now that it is happening to them, they want somebody to do something.

Some of the annoyances people are tired of include:

People who don’t answer their phones but then text back a “what’s up?”
People who don’t answer their phone but will answer a text.
People who call and if you don’t answer leave a voice mail and then text the same message.
People who call to tell you that they just sent a text.
People who can’t end a text and/or have to get in the last word.
Texts so long they require scrolling.

They don’t seem like much but they are getting lots of ink as we used to say in the old days. But then, in the old days most of this would have been covered under the general heading of good manners.

Odd, nobody mentioned texting at the dinner table.

That’s what I think. Really, How ’bout you?
hbdLB

Serving Is a Verb

Michael Leave a comment

We’ve managed to be at restaurants three times over the past 8 days. That’s quite unusual for us even in the best of times. Given that lately we’ve been held to a restaurant visit once every couple of weeks, it’s absolutely extraordinary.

We start on Easter with the She and the He families hitting separate emporia for a holiday buffet. Oddly enough, even though we were eating out, He had to still bake a ham and boil some eggs to have leftovers throughout the week. We may have to revisit that someday. We ended the week at a Sunday brunch at a well-known television chef’s restaurant. A bit of a modified buffet with an antipasti bar up front and a dessert bar to finish with served entrees in between.

Now what can you say about serving at a buffet? Keep the patrons’ glasses full of their preferred beverages, keep the tables clear of empty plates, and generally make certain they guests feel welcome. Admittedly there are some servers for whom even buffets are too much of a challenge, just as there are some restaurants that have difficulty meeting the buffet challenge. But these were upscale establishments with professional servers and their mission was to make you want to go back for a full service meal and go back soon. Mission accomplished.

But then we had the meal in between. It was at one of our favorites that had been much neglected by us. Neglect isn’t the right word. Due to uncontrollable circumstances it had been much un-patronized by us. That’s better. During our absence they changed the menu just a tad, changed the drink sizes a wee bit, even changed the portion sized of the side dishes a touch. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make you go hmm when the courses came out. We are certain had we had one of our regular servers we would have been forewarned of the changes. As it was, we were waited on by one we had never met and were as new to her as she to us.

It started quite positively. We stood at the hostess stand where the host greeted us and immediately sat us at a table for two. And a good thing it was that we weren’t two minutes later because the next party of two ended up with a 45 minute wait for a table. But we didn’t and we immediately sat and were almost immediately greeted by the new waitress. She welcomed us, didn’t say a word about the day’s special that were scrawled on a chalk board on the other side of the waitress stand, but did take our drink orders and told us she would be right back. And right back she was our complimentary basket of chips and salsa. After ascertaining we weren’t yet ready to order she said she would be right back with our drinks and indeed was right back with half of our drinks and a promise to be right back again for our order.

What seemed like just about when the couple behind us finally got their table did our waitress return for our order. Either she realized it had been about 20 minutes since she said she would be right back again or it was He’s inquiry of the host as he walking by if our server had left a forwarding address before she left on her vacation that prompted her return. But back she was and she took our order and even managed not to have the appetizers and the entrees come out together. A big plus in our world.

The plusses continued until we got to the end of the meal. Even with the newer portion sizes there was, is, and probably will always be too much for one seating and she offered take-out containers for our leftovers. Two boxes came out, one for each of our leftover entrees but nothing for the appetizer that was still on the table and still had a ways to go before one could consider it gone. Regardless of how many containers came out, that would usually signal the end of the evening for most restaurant patrons, leaving nothing left to do but pay the check and make one’s way through the parking lot and then home. All of that self-paced except for the paying of the check, requiring a check to pay, that the waitress claimed she would be right back with. Eventually it made its way to the table, cash was plopped in the little leather book and then there it sat. And sat. It may still be there for after a while we moved on to the self-paced portion of going home and went home.

Will we return? Of course we will. We’re getting used to the fact that there are fewer restaurants with professional servers. We would prefer that of those who rely on whomever they can get to be the face of their establishments stress upon those faces that serving is a verb. It’s not just carrying a plate from kitchen to table. If you’re looking for that kind of job there are plenty of them in one’s own home.  If you should find yourself in that position, smile, go out of your way, make yourself memorable in a good way, and remember, “I’ll be right back” has its limits.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Summer Fashions, Summer Rules

Michael 1 Comment

The first day of summer is just a few days gone and it’s time to revisit our summer fashion rules.

For Women:

Most men won’t admit it.  Most other women won’t say it.  the bottom line is we don’t want to see you half naked in public.  Check your hems, watch your buttons.  Unintentional flashes of skin is sexy.   Intentional undressing is slutty.

Swimsuits are for swimming, or for backyard tanning.  Nobody would go to a production of the local symphony wearing a tankini?  Just because a quart of milk is the entire shoppingn list, it isn’t a reason not to get dressed before heading off for the store.  A cover up over a swimsuit works for being at or going to the pool but not in the actual acts of swimming or tanning..  Grow up, wear clothes. 

High heels and short shorts don’t go together.  Period.  Not even if one works with a brass pole nearby.  A business suit and flip flops don’t go together.  Period.  Not even if one works at the beach.  Keep styles stylish.

We know that women don’t want to be encumbered by big bags or totes exept maybe at the pool.  But don’t succomb to the urge to snug your cell phone under a bra strap.  There, we said it.

For Men:

Sleeves are mandatory.  Not areas formerly occupied by sleeves, the entire sleeve.  They are the cross pieces that put the T in T-Shirt.  They are needed.  They are required.  As are the shirts they accompany.  Come on men, the shirtless look hasn’t worked since the opening scenes of Bay Watch flickered across television screens.  Then it wasn’t the best of look even for those on the screen.  It is the worst of looks for those who are in the process of upgrading the six pack they really never had for the quarter keg they have every weekend.

Hair long enough to be in a ponytail on a male only looks good on a male pony.  This seems to be more an old man issue.  The young ones have discovered the ease that comes from buzzing hair down to a bit less than a quarter of an inch.  For the others, you’re old, you’re gray, and you’re balding.  No, you’re bald.  Don’t add to the insanity by having hair halfway down your back and certainly not in braids!  Shave it off, put on your shirt, and move along. 

Flip flops are not shoes.  Leave them at the pool, with your shirt.  Mandals are fine, but like the rest of you, grooming is essential.  Just because your feet are the farthest away from your brain, don’t be brainless about your feet.  Well groomed, trimmed, washed, and buffed feet are also healthy feet.

It’s hot out there.  You can be too.  Pay a little attention to the person in the mirror and watch how many pay attention to you on the outside.       

Now, that’s what we think.  Really.  How ‘bout you?

 

Weddings Held Hostage

Michael Leave a comment

A few weeks ago we read in the local paper a feature article on the growing trend of couples so to be married not registering at the local silversmith shop but on line where guests and regretters can chose to fund pieces of their honeymoon.  Although this trend has been trending for a while, we are somewhat uncertain as to how we feel about it.  There was a time not too long ago when a couple who didn’t want gifts included “No Gifts Please” on their invitations.  A few guests felt then, and a few probably still feel now, that bringing a gift was their obligation and brought one anyway.  Virtually everyone else who attended would instead bring a card stuffed with money, gift cards, or trade secrets.  Apparently cash isn’t considered a gift by giver or receiver.

But today, no gifts means “we’re on a budget and if we want to make those reservations at Emeril’s we need to know if we’re going to be able to afford it.  Since we know we can’t on our own, we’re looking for someone to pony up the bucks for if for us so we can book our table now.”

As we perused deeper into that article we read of a couple that was opting for the honeymoon registry because they will be doing a destination wedding and couldn’t afford both trips.  It was here that we stopped and decided we didn’t like either idea.

The destination wedding has been around for generations.  It used to be called elopement.  Two people wanted to be married with little pomp given whatever their circumstance and fled the hometown, returning a weekend later ready to have people over to ooh and aah at the rings.  Now, either due to remarkable greed or extraordinary selfishness, couples are deciding that just because they’ve always wanted to get married on the beach, or the mountaintop, or the canopy of a rain forest, they don’t want to give up 200 of their closest friends and the accompanying gifts.  So they just move the wedding elsewhere and hope the most prosperous follow and the rest send checks with their regrets.

We love celebrating friends’ life changes.  Only a nw baby can be a bigger change than a new marriage.  And as such we hate to ever have to consider sending regrets.  But if two people were to tell us that in order to celebrate with them we have to give up our vacation time and savings to go where we hadn’t planned, we’d be quite regretful.  If those same people then said, “While you’re figuring out how to come up with the time and money to get to our wedding, go take a look at our website and see what parts of our honeymoon you’d like to finance,” we’d say, “Ummm, really sorry.”

Our gift is given to provide pleasure to the receiver and to make them think of the special connection between us, not to make them think of how many more pledges they need for the snorkel package.  Destination weddings and honeymoon registries?  It might be a little old fashioned but we’re beginning to think that if a couple doesn’t want to get married at home among friends and family and doesn’t want gifts at the reception afterwards, maybe they should consider eloping.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

Cleanliness is next to the side of the road

Michael Leave a comment

The story goes that back in the Sixties, Lady Bird Johnson needed a “First Lady Project.”  Back then the First Ladies didn’t plan on making a run for their own presidency their project.  They concentrated on more homey topics.  One of Mrs. Johnson’s was litter.  Actually, it was anti-litter, particularly along our highways.  The Highway Beautification Act of 1965 was the result of her campaign to make the American roadsides more beautiful places.   The Act mostly addressed billboards and roadside businesses, but there was a third part that concerned itself with cleaning up those roads.

Keep America Beautiful isn’t just a slogan, it’s a non-profit organization founded in 1953 with exactly that goal in mind.  For sixty years and now through 563 affiliates, KAB promotes keeping it clean.  Between Mrs. Johnson, Keep America Beautiful, and the hundreds of thousands of volunteers who spend every weekend somewhere picking up roadside trash, you’d think the US highway system would be clean enough to eat off.  We’re here to tell you it isn’t.

Now that spring is here and the mounds of snow aren’t lining the highways, mounds of plastic bags, sandwich containers, bottles, cans, pieces of furniture, whole furniture, mattresses, old clothes, cardboard boxes, dead animals, and car parts line the highways.  That’s not a theoretical list, that’s what we have actually seen, with our own eyes, just over the past few days.  We wonder how some of the stuff gets there.  He of We was driving along an Interstate highway when he had to do a double-take to make sure that was a set of 4 chairs along the median.  She of We pointed out a front bumper of what appeared to be a late model car.  Now we have to ask, if there was an accident and it pulled away your bumper, shouldn’t someone take it along with the dead car when it gets towed away?

So enough of this littering.  First of all, we want everyone to stand up, raise his or her right hand, and swear (or affirm) that nobody will ever throw anything out of a moving or un-moving vehicle.  If you finish your Big Mac you will wait until you get home to throw away the bag.  If you are hiding unauthorized eating from your spouse or partner, stop at a gas station before you get home and throw the evidence away in one of their cans.

Now that we can prevent a little, let’s clean up a lot.  We want everyone to pick up the trash that is in front of your house.  It’s there.  It might only be an egg carton that fell out of the trash can when the garbage detail was out last week, or a few cigarette butts that somebody tossed out a window since cars don’t have ashtrays any more.  Pull on a pair of gloves and clean up your space.  “I didn’t do it” is not an excuse.

And finally, if you should have an accident, and believe us when we say we hope there are never any more accidents, but if you should have one, please clean up your car parts.

Now, let’s get out there and do some Spring Cleaning for everyone in the world to enjoy.  Or next week we’ll tell you about Lady Bird’s other projects with the Head Start Program.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?

 

Move Along Please

Michael Leave a comment

We’re starting to notice something in the stores that we’re patronizing.  There are crazy people out there.  Allow us to explain.

Just a few days ago we were in a grocery store.   Not one of the mega marts that has everything from fresh dragon fruit to Lint Lizards.  This was a much smaller version that had everything from soup to nuts as long as you didn’t mind the canned variety of either.  It’s not unusual in either version’s produce section for people to shake, sniff, thump, or rattle the offerings in search of the freshest of the fresh, or in mid-March to find the least out of season depending on the origin of the well-travelled fruit or vegetable.  And at the meat display one will check out the marbling of the well fatted full grown steer.

On our trip to that store on that day we were in search of ground beef.  Not much you can tell from ground beef that isn’t on the label – its pre-grinding primal cut, fat content, weight, price, and the date ground, hopefully matching the date to be purchased.  Yet there in front of the entire display of ground beef, shopping cart angled to extend across the complete linear footage was a lady carefully examining each package of ground beef.  Well, perhaps not each package but several of them, and each of them quite carefully, looking them over as if to determine that the fat content printed on the label wasn’t what her eyes were able to discern.  We wanted to say “Move along lady, it’s all from the same cow and whatever you’re making isn’t going to be that fabulous or you’d be up at the other end where the cows are a little more put together. “  But we didn’t and eventually she found one that had the color, size, shape, or fat content of her liking and we snagged ours.

It was on that same trip that He of We decided it was time to spend a couple of dollars on our retirement plan, also known as the Power Ball.  So he stopped at the window where some young man was robotically entering the numbers of the daily number players into the state lottery computer and exchanging “Sure Thing” dollars for “Can’t Miss” numbers.  The line moved quickly, most of the hopefuls hanging their hopes on the quick pick versions of their numbers du jour.  And then there was just one in front of He of We.  And that one began with “Gimme Big Four, 1-2-3-4, fifty cents straight, 40 times,” and the young man punch the number in once, hit the quantity for 40 and we waited while the machine printed out 40 identical tickets.  “Anything else?”  “Yeah, gimme the Daily, 1-2-3, a buck straight, 40 times.”  Again we waited for the little machine to gasp out 40 more identical tickets.  “Anything else?”  And this was when He of We said “No, you’ve reached your limit.  Are you trying to make certain that if you should in your wildest fantasy actually hit both of those numbers that by spreading out your 60 dollar wager the IRS won’t figure out you’ve won around $20,000 because you did it 50 cents at a time!?  Now, move along please.”  Well, actually He of We just thought that and breathed a sigh of relief when the big spender asked for one more pick but more conventionally taking just the one wager and then passed a handful of bills to the still robotic young man.

Yet another shopping outing of ours put us into the main aisle of a national chain of stores that claims to provide items for the bedroom, bathroom, and other rooms beyond those two.  It seems odd that almost half of the store is dedicated to kitchen items and that kitchen isn’t in the store’s name but then we didn’t name that store so what do we know?  In that main aisle we stopped to peruse one of the several clearance shelves.  It is quite thoughtful that the store tags its clearance items with the reason for the item being on clearance.  ‘Last one,’ ‘demo,’ ‘returned,’ ‘only 1 of a pair.’  All very helpful.  But one of their reasons was “broken.”  It was there that we noticed that many of the items on the shelf were tagged with that very reason.  A clock was broken.  A storage box was broken.  A lamp was broken.  It would seem that if an item is broken, that to sell it means the store doesn’t place much value on its customers’ intelligence.  It’s almost as it they are saying, “If you make it cheap enough, people will buy anything.”  And from the picked over look that the clearance section had, it seemed that many people had at least semi-seriously considered many of those items before deciding to move along, with or without encouragement.

So we’ve noticed that not only are the customers getting a little batty but so are the shopkeepers.  Actually we don’t mind a little insanity in the shopping place.  It makes for some lively dinner conversation and provides us with a bit of caution to not be too batty out there ourselves.  But then, as long as you don’t dally and keep moving along, not many will notice.

Now, that’s what we think. Really. How ‘bout you?