Tag Annoyances

Old & Fat Trumps Drunk & Stupid

Michael Leave a comment

Let’s just say it was a long week in the North East.  Freezing temps, icy rain and periods of snow certainly didn’t help.  By the end of the week, we were ready to visit one of our favorite watering holes and we weren’t looking for water.  She of We wanted wings, He of We wanted bourbon.  A snowy rush hour had everyone ready for a warm happy hour. This was the place we go to make that hour happy.  Here we have seen regulars and irregulars, old owners and new owners, children of owners and now grandchildren of owners.  We’ve been around a whiler.

The bar was crowded so we sat at one of those bar top tables on stools that you figure out quickly why they are called that.  One half of one of our favorite couples came over and joined us. His She was out of town on business so it was a party of three.  As the place started to fill up, we found ourselves surrounded by the youth of America. Twenty-somethings who needed cheap beer to guzzle and women to annoy. That’s when the trouble started. 

Our friend headed home and we decided to stay and catch the band. You know how we love live music.  We quickly figured out that we have gained a super power when it comes to twenty-somethings. Invisibility. You see, we were in a crowd and nobody paid any attention to us.  Nobody even noticed us.  And noticeability is one of our best attributes. It was while we were in our cloak of invisibility that one particularly inebriated youth, perhaps on his maiden voyage to Drunkville, perhaps a regular visitor, decided he was going to help himself to She of We’s wing basket.

Please understand that usually She of We is very generous but having her wings grabbed without permission is a big no-no.  We’ve all visited Drunkville a time or two so we’re no strangers to bad, drunken behavior. He of We protested on her behalf and that’s when it turned ugly. Drunk Boy and his buddy decided that insulting us would somehow make us feel bad. They thought by using words like old and fat that we would be impressed by them. (A note before we continue.  You know all these anti-bullying programs going on in schools?  Well, once they hand out the diplomas and these fools are on their own, add an adult beverage to an adult in training and it goes right out the window.  We like to call it Beer Backbone or just plain ignorance. We know your parents taught you better.) 

Anyway, She of We decided that enough was enough. We’re old, remember. We’ve been around, remember.  She politely informed the drunken buffoons that it was time for their leave.  Yeah right, they said and not too politely, nor too intelligently.  That was went she calmly moved from her stool, parted the sea of newbies like Moses parting the Red Sea, and aimed herself right at the owner.  Without blinking an eye, she informed him that he needed to bid these guests adieu.  He followed her back to our table, tapped the lads on the shoulder and let them know, just as calmly, that it was time to go. The look of shock on their stupid, young, drunken faces was priceless. No pomp, no circumstance, and no drama. Just “you’re outta here.” 

Both of We hope that our twentysomething children never act like that but we know they will. We only hope that some nice, old, fat couple will be able to set them straight.  And when called for, send them to the door.  And to the optometrist the next day.

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

 

Hooked on Fonics

Michael Leave a comment

We were sitting at a bar nibbling on appetizers and reading the closed captioning on the television above it.  We’re not certain how many hearing challenged individuals use closed captions but it is a boon to the bar industry.  Anyway, we were watching the printout and wondering if they use real people with court reporter skills or computer voice recognition software.  Certainly if it is software the mistakes are understandable since English so rarely looks like it sounds.  But then again, it seems that lately it so rarely sounds like it sounds also.

It wasn’t too much before we were sitting at that particular bar on that particular day that we were sitting on He of We’s sofa watching the season’s long overdue first hockey game (we won, yippee!) and the post game show that followed.  It was during that particular post game show after that particular game on that particular day that we decided we will never ever watch that particular sports anchor again.  He couldn’t even get past the intro without stumbling over the words that marched across the teleprompter.  Remember, this was after a win.  The intro could have been, “The long awaited first game brings home a win.  Details after these messages.”  We could have come up with that!

He wasn’t one of the weekend fillers who might have been a little nervous over the extended exposure that post game anchor duty would bring to him or her.  No, here was the channel’s number one sports guy.  So we gave him the benefit of the doubt.  Perhaps he hadn’t gotten his contact lenses in the correct eyes.  Perhaps the teleprompter went on the blink and translated everything into Latin.  So we waited until after these messages to hear the recap of the game we just spent three hours watching.  Three “ahs,” four “umms,” one complete stoppage in the middle of a sentence, and a feeling he was seeing the video clips for the first time were enough for us to change the channel, never to go back when he is in front of the camera. 

The only task this man had to do to perform his job, one for which he is quite handsomely recompensed, was read.  He didn’t have to write the copy, he even didn’t have to understand the copy.  He only had to read it.  And he couldn’t pull that off.  Was he blinded by new spotlights?  Were his contacts really not in correctly?  Was he as drunk as the post game interviewees appeared to be?  Was he completely clueless about hockey?  We’ll never know.  And now we don’t even care.  Although we do often wonder why the post any kind of game interviewees all seem to be drunk as lords.  But that’s a post for another day.

This whole event reminded She of We of a telephone solicitor who called her and then couldn’t get her name right.  She of We has a very simple name.  It has only six letters in the perfect ratio of vowels to consonants.  It is a classic English-speaking American name.  Yet not only did the solicitor not pronounce it correctly, when She of We brought this to the solicitor’s attention, she became arrogant and demanded to know why she was being disrespected when she was just trying to do her job.

There aren’t that many jobs where all you have to do to execute them successfully is to read out loud.  You’d think if you got one of them, you’d take a little time to, umm, practice.

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

Welcome to 2013. Now Go Away

Michael Leave a comment

Just because we don’t make resolutions until Spring is upon us (See Resolving to Keep it Real, Dec. 31, 2012) doesn’t mean we can’t be urged into encouraging others to change their behavior post haste.  We’ve gotten to experience some horrible behavior that could fill an entire year in only the first week.  And that behavior must stop.

We encountered the one that put us over the edge while we were coming out of the store and walking to our car, some 150 feet from the entrance.  As we approached it, the anything but a gentleman sitting in the car parked next to ours, started beeping his horn.  And then again.  Longer.  And then we saw why.  His certainly long-suffering wife was behind us trudging through the cold and the slush with their packages.  Apparently he felt it more prudent that he stay in the warm car while she goes into the store and buys his wares.  He also felt it more prudent that he sit in the warm car rather than picking her up at the entrance.  He knew she was done with their shopping.  He was honking the horn at her.  There was the extent of his chivalry.  He honked the horn so she didn’t have to wander throughout the lot looking for him.  Then to top things off, he let that car continue to sit in the parking space.  The one that had a snow bank just outside the passenger door.  When She of We said a bit too out loud, “He won’t even back out for her so she doesn’t have to climb through the snow,” the long-suffering wife said, “It’s ok. I’m used to it.”  She shouldn’t have to ever become used to such rude behavior.  So for 2013 he should resolve to figure out how to get along without her because eventually she’ll realize that also.

Other behavior we’d like to see not continued in 2013 is the media fascination with having to title all the news.  No longer are they happy reporting it.  Now they have to make up catch phrases to go along with it.  So please, take your fiscal cliff and go jump off of it.  Otherwise let’s at least have a little fun with it.  Since we’ve either avoided it or fallen off of it depending on what analyst is babbling, it should no longer be part of the evening news’ scripts.  But just in case it should sneak back into common parlance we propose the Fiscal Cliff Drinking Game.  Every time you hear that phrase you must drink a shot then call your congressman. 

Speaking of, and to, Congress, we’d like to see you go away.  You’re not doing anybody any good.  Make you’re next point of business for this session abandonment.  If you don’t have the decency to put yourself out of work, have the decency not to lie to the American people about the work you’re doing.  The “heroic” first vote to avoid the “fiscal cliff” saved the American worker about 20 cents for every $1,000 he or she makes in salary in what was supposed to be the temporary income tax increase.  It did not address the $2 per $1,000 increase in social security and other federal taxes and fees that will be withheld per month in 2013.  That means about $50 less per paycheck if your one of the average Americans getting paid every other week and if all those paychecks up add to $50,000 by the end of the year.

Finally for the fine men, women, and undecided in Washington please do not use 2013 to tell us how many jobs you’ve created.  Unless you also own a company that employs legal American workers you can’t create any.  Leave creating jobs to the business that actually hire, and pay, employees.  Intern and housekeeper positions don’t count.

Something else we’d like to see go away are all those special parking spaces around stores and restaurants.  We love our elder friends and neighbors.  We’ve often said that anybody over 80 can do whatever they feel like.  By then, they’ve earned it.  (See Entitlement Program, March 29, 2012.)  We’d like to see some of those parking spaces reserved for “Mothers to be and mothers of young children,” and for those picking up dinner to go, and even for those with Handicapped placards, turned into spaces for our Older Friends and Neighbors.  The eighty-somethings who are still driving do it well, and they aren’t the ones cajoling their doctors into signing HP applications for their high blood pressure.  Why should they have to walk 300 feet from the lot to the lobby?   Let’s face it, if you’re just running in for dinner, you can afford to run from a few yards away, or bring one of the kids to run inside while you circle the block.  So you’re a mother of young children.  Being parents of former young children from the days when there were no such preferred spots we can tell you our best shopping trips were those with the kids left at home.  Leave them at home.

Now that we are well into the 21st century, a time of unprecedented public protection against ourselves, we want to see the sale of sleds that cannot be steered or stopped stopped.  You can’t by an extra-large, sugary soft drink in New York City but you can put four 7-year-olds on a plastic sleeve, push them down a hill, and wish them luck knowing at the bottom is a 4 lane roadway separated from the top by a dozen 45 year old oak trees.  You can’t buy a lighter that takes at least three steps to ignite to start your grill for the safety of a child who may not understand that it isn’t a candy stick but you can buy an oversized Frisbee that sets the same child spinning uncontrollably on its downhill voyage over the same tree lined hillside.  We love winter sports.  Sledding, skiing, and skating make January and February bearable.  But let’s do it safely.  Nobody would ever put children on bicycles without brakes or a wheel that steers in April.  Let’s say goodbye to the winter version and stop making children headlines on the evening news.

Do we seem a little cranky today?  We’re sorry.  Usually we are quite upbeat and make the most of what we have.   Sometimes you have to take away to have better.  These are some things we like to see taken away.  Do you have others?  Would you like to see Black Friday not start on Thursday?  Is it time to make the baggage, premium seating, and boarding priority fees go away even if it does mean airfares go up?  Can we stop with gas prices that end in tenths of a cent per gallon?  Let us know.  We can be cranky together.  And then, that can go away too.

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

 

It’s Not the End of the World

Michael Leave a comment

If you lived to see Christmas then you know the world did not come to an end on December 20.  Or even December 21.  Probably there are just as many now a week later who are saying they never did believe in that stuff as there were a week ago who were convinced that this was the month to skip the mortgage payment.  As much as we would have loved to skip a payment or two, we were pretty much certain that the time to say we’ll never see another day wasn’t going to be determined by when the Mayans ran out of rock to carve their time in stone.

But it did get us to thinking.  Were there things this year that we’ll never see again.  We’ll not see another repeating date like we did on 12/12/12.  The next one will be 01/01/01 and January of 2101 is pretty far off.  But we could still be around for 2/2/22 or even 3/3/33.  Purists will say that those are not true repeating dates but since we’re talking life or death here, 2/2/22 is pretty close.

We saw lots of celebrities go in 2012.  Dick Clark, Andy Williams, Andy Griffith.  Whitney Houston, Donna Summer.  Etta James. Dave Brubeck.  Big names.  And many other big names.  And there could be a voice we’ll never hear again or a presence on the stage we’ll never see again.  But others will come.  Others will make us laugh and sing and snap our fingers and hum along.

There will never be another Twinkie or another Pontiac GTO, two brands that disappeared in 2012.  But somebody will eventually buy the Twinkie name and start baking vanilla sponge cakes with creamy centers and somebody will tell you that the last GTO wasn’t the same as the mid-60’s muscle car that made those three letters the monogram every teenage boy wanted in his garage anyway.

Some stuff we’ve missed but we know will be back.  Hockey hasn’t made a permanent exit even though some of the people whose livelihoods have been imperiled may feel it has.  No, not the players or the owners.  Especially not the league office or the players’ union.  We mean the ticket takers, ushers, vendors, and parking attendants.  Those who rely on 41 home games – plus playoffs – for a good chunk of their annual income.

And some stuff we really hope will stay away.  Do we have to hear one more time about “the biggest sale of the season!” Does every story have to be “Breaking news!”  Does every game have to have the “Play of the century!” in it?  And for good, bad, or otherwise, once January comes can we please retire “Fiscal Cliff” or at the very least make the Washington geniuses jump off of it?

All in all we have to say that 2012 wasn’t a banner year for things going away.  We should all get together and say, “Come on 2013, let’s see what you got but don’t expect us to just roll over and play dead.”  After all, it’s not the end of the world.   

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

 

 

Do you take this chicken…

Michael Leave a comment

So they say it’s not a gay marriage issue, that if they left the order stand for 100 chicken sandwiches that would be all anybody talked about instead of the issues.  So what do they talk about instead?  They talk about how that rich person who bought 100 chicken sandwiches has decided to change his catering choice for an upcoming political meeting and donate 90 of the sandwiches to a local homeless shelter and keep 10 for himself to see what they taste like.  In a roughly 500 word article in Newsday posted on August 19, some 3 weeks since a private individual voiced his views on gay marriage all that was printed was chicken sandwiches and gay marriage.  That sounds like us somebody isn’t talking about the issues.

Well here’s something to talk about.  Maybe that is the issue that nobody wants to talk about while everybody else is busy ignoring the elephant in the living room.  No, not gay marriage and not chicken sandwiches.  Stay with us here. 

Do you know if you type “Supporting Gay Marriage” into your Google search bar you will be returned over 9.6 million results including a 600Kb article in Wikipedia that includes a list of everybody who has come out in public support?  A search “Opposing Gay Marriage” returns only a few fewer than 2 million results.  Clearly more people support it so we can assume it must be right.   Keep staying with us.  If you type in “Supporting child pornography” you get 128 million results.  “Opposing child pornography” yields only 1.99 million results.  I think we can rethink our previous assumption.  Don’t go away yet.

That exercise illustrates that the more controversial an idea is the more people will want to talk about it. And there isn’t a clear right or wrong as often as there is no question what it right or wrong. 

The only clear right in any of this is that we all have to right to express our opinion.  Unfortunately there are many issues that because they are the “darling” issue of the media or those with access to the media, many people will want to make certain their views match those of the famous and sometimes infamous.

If the short order cook at your neighborhood bar, the one who makes the chicken sandwiches, came out in opposition to gay marriage you’d probably say, “who cares?” and move on.  But because someone who has made a fortune out of making chicken sandwiches remarks how he interprets the Bible’s view on marriage some other rich guy is going to give away 90 sandwiches instead of feeding them to the local politicians.  And that becomes news.

It’s not about gay marriage.  It’s about finding fault with someone who seems to be successful without the help of the ACLU.  It’s about following the crowd instead of finding your own opinion. 

And it’s about deciding that becoming outraged over shootings, snipers, unemployment, lost savings, and foreclosures is more important than chicken sandwiches.

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

 

No, They Aren’t People Too

Michael Leave a comment

“We love our pets too,” the sign began.  After that there were a half-dozen examples of how much the authors of the sign loved their and others’ pets.  It finished with, “so please understand us when we say, no pets allowed.”  It was, and presumably still is a fair warning.  That sign is sharing space with the doorway to a used construction emporium.  An indoor junkyard if you will.

All throughout the building are stacks of windows, doors slid into stands, boxes of hinges and door pulls and faucet handles, rows of bath tubs, racks of counter tops, mountains of marble slabs, and hangers of hanging lamps.  Everywhere there are things made of wood, metal, glass, and porcelain.  All covered in the same dust the previous owners left and many with rusty connectors, sharp corners, and other things that hurt.  And right over there picking his way through the used kitchen counter tops on his way to the door frames is a middle-aged man attached by a leash to a forbidden dog.

He had to have seen the sign.  You couldn’t get in without seeing it.  And a sign that large means that something once happened and there should be no chance of letting it happen again.  He had to have seen it.  But he probably said to himself as his breezed on by, that was meant for people with animals.  His dog is a people.  His buddy.  His pal.  He wasn’t going to leave his best friend in a car while he perused the once heat producing radiators.  And he certainly wasn’t going to leave his only friend at home while he enjoyed his day of exploration among the once water-filled toilets.  Nope, he didn’t get to be his age and survive all alone without the help of his furry friend.  He certainly wasn’t going to turn his back on him on his only day away from the office just because he couldn’t find the right color lavatory sink at the home remodeling center.

Both of We love animals.  Together we span over 100 pet years.  At some point our houses have been home to dogs, cats, hamsters, rabbits, fish, crabs, and for a very brief time even a snake although technically he was a runaway.  Our pets have always held that special place in our hearts and our homes that are special to our pets also.  They’ve shared our spaces and our affections.  Our pet affections.  And pet spaces.  They didn’t go on vacations with us, and they don’t go to work with us.  When we see a sign that says “no dogs allowed” we don’t take that to mean no regular, aka other people’s dogs allowed.

Pets are pets.  They aren’t surrogate children.  They aren’t surrogate spouses.  They aren’t the exception to the rule.  If a tower of ceramic tiles is going to fall and the “special” dog happens to be standing there when they do, they aren’t going to stop in midair and wait for “special” to make his way clear of the danger aisle.

We don’t feel sorry for the person who can’t manage long term human relationships and has to settle for the four legged variety.   We feel sorry for the four legged variety stuck with the human who thinks “living a dog’s life” is a bad thing.

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

 

We Now Return You to Your Regularly Scheduled Interruption

Michael Leave a comment

Not too many days ago Both of We were running through the on-screen program guide on the television to see which of the 998 channels we’d grace with our viewing.  Unfortunately, none of the 7 or 8 commercial free channels had anything really worth while watching so we were pushed toward one of the commercially sponsored offerings.

After two or three times around the horn we found a movie we both like that had just started three or four minutes earlier.  We might miss the opening credits but we’ll certainly get to see the whole motion picture.  We should have known it wasn’t going to be one of the most meticulous showings of this particular movie.

We tuned in just as the screen faded on the opening scene and entered Commercial Land.  We’re ok with Commercial Land.  It serves a purpose.  It provides us with many movies, sporting events, shows, and news we’d not normally get to see if we had to rely on 100% Pay Per View.  Quite often you’re looking at a future headlining star mopping the floor or changing a tire.  And who of us hasn’t seen that special commercial that is better than the show it interrupts.

Twelve commercials later we were finally returned to our feature presentation.  Some of those commercials were of the 30 second variety, some 15 second spots.  Some of them were of the vanishing one minute genre.  Total time out was eight minutes.  At last we got to settle back and enjoy the film.  For about 12 minutes.  Then we were out for another 10 minutes of programmus interruptus.  For those of you keeping score, that’s now 34 minutes of programming comprised of the first 4 minutes that we missed followed by 8 minutes of selling followed by 12 minutes of movie followed by 10 minutes of more ads.  Our score: Movie 16, Sponsors 18.  In a game that shouldn’t be at all that close.

As we said, we’re ok with commercials.  But that was supposed to be between just us.  Somebody has to let the folks who sell ad time in on the secret that when you gather that many commercial minutes together in a single block we’re likely to go surfing for something with actors who have already become stars.  Maybe even on their way to hasbeen.  And nobody is all that crazy about the new blond with the big mop anyway.

At the rate these guys are selling time, pretty soon there will be more commercial than there is program.  We already have program length commercials.  Some of them actually might look informative but they are just selling vehicles.  We bet that when WNBT (now WNBC) broadcast the first commercial on July 1, 1941 (a 10 second spot for Bulova Watches) nobody envisioned an entire show made up of a commercial.  

If all things that go around really do come around we’ll soon be able to interrupt those infomercials with a program to keep people interested and watching.  We’re just not sure how it will appear in your program guide. 

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

Take a Tip From Us

Michael Leave a comment

You know we’ve been pretty good at expressing our dismay when dismay is appropriate for expression.  A favorite of ours is the loss of “Thank you” by clerks, servers, tellers, and other manner of people who take money from us.  We’re told to “have a good one” or sometimes just are greeted with an open palm, not even the price repeated to us.  (See Terms of Appreciation, January 23, 2012 and You Want Fries With That? December 12, 2011 for a couple examples.)

But when we’re un-dismayed we’re going to mention that too.  Since we’ve released those two posts upon the world, we seem to be getting thanked more often.  Drive thru attendants are telling us the amount due, taking our payment, and saying “thank you” when returning our change.  We still get “Have a nice day” and now we will since we’ve been appropriately thanked for our purchase.   It gives us hope that another peeve will soon be history.  

Once upon a time in one of our posts we revealed that when out dining, He of We always pays in cash.  The check comes, he gives it that quick glance to make sure we didn’t get charge for the flambéed cocktail for two served to the next table, calculates the tip, counts out the bills, and returns the little bill book to the table.  (And why do restaurants put their mini-statements into little black books?  That’s another post for another day.)  A few minutes later the waitress comes back, picks up the wad of cash, and says, “You want any change?”  Sometimes during the mental communication between Each of We that waitress gets a good tongue lashing.  We’d love to say “Of course we do.  We don’t go to the super market, pick out $4.00 worth of green peppers, get to the cash register, give the clerk a five dollar bill and hear her ask ‘Do you want any change?’” 

No other clerk or money handler asks such a question.  And it’s really funny because even when the wait staff is completely incompetent they still get some sort of a tip.  So waiters and waitresses, please tell us, why do you have to ruin a perfectly good evening out by being so selfish and rude?  Wouldn’t you rather say, “I’ll be right back with your change,” and allow us the opportunity to say, “Oh, no. whatever’s left is for you.”  Wouldn’t you feel better about that than stiff-arming your customers for a couple of bucks?

We’re all for change.   And most of the time, you’re going to get it.  Just give us the courtesy of giving it to you before you take it.  You might even find a bit extra in there.

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

Please disregard this message

Michael Leave a comment

He of We should have taken heed of his computer.  The e-mail header said, “This message look suspicious to our filters.  Do you want to open it?”  He thought he’d take a chance.  After all, the message was from the local blood bank.  The subject was Happy Birthday and it was his birthday.  How suspicious can it be? 

Both of We have long been donators of blood.  It’s almost painless, fairly quick, you get cookies and juice when you’re done, and most of the time the blood bank has some cool premium just for raising, or dropping a pint with them.  So a couple times a year we find our way to a blood drive and do the right thing.

He should have taken heed.  Lately we have been going round with our local blood bank.  All of a sudden instead of impersonal post-cards touting specific blood drives that we can read, study, or throw away, the blood bank has taken to impersonal phone calls to cajole those with intact veins to high-tail it to the nearest donation center and start bleeding.  Lately these calls have been coming every day.  Multiple times a day.  So many multiple times that they managed to make She of We call them damn vampires and He of We called them blood sucking blood suckers.  On the same day.  From different telephones.  That’s when we confirmed that Each of We has the same tolerance for annoying telephone solicitations even when the solicitor isn’t trying to sell something.

He didn’t take heed.  He opened the message and read on.

On your special day we wish you a bright and happy birthday.  If you recently donated blood, or have scheduled an appointment to donate blood, please accept our thanks on behalf of the area patients whose lives you touched. If you have recently been told by our blood center, or another blood center, that you are ineligible to donate then please disregard this message.

Even the Happy Birthday part?  Gee these guys are tough.  You’d think a blood sucking vampire would have a heart.  Where else do you drive the stake? 

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

 

Self Storage Wars

Michael Leave a comment

As spring progresses we’ve been finding ourselves in our garages and basements digging out the rakes,  shovels, hoses, and other outdoor implements that have worked their ways behind last winter’s accumulations of “stuff.”   Every season some items move closer to the doors, less used items are packed closer to the walls.  The things that haven’t been used in a couple of years are grouped by the spring three-way sort of “trash, donate, sell.”   At least in our houses.  Maybe not in the 10.8 million households that rent storage units.

There is a pretty big chunk of people who are renting a pretty big chunk of real estate for a pretty big chunk of money to hold a pretty big chunk of junk.  According to the trade group the Self Storage Association, over 50,000 storage facilities house over 2.2 billion square feet of storage space.  The average unit goes for about $120 per month and holds…we’re not sure.

It’s not like we are running out of space at home.  In the last forty years, new home construction in the US went from an average of about 1,400 square feet to about 2,400 square feet.  In those same forty years self-storage units went from almost none (the first units starting cropping up in the late 1960’s), to enough to fill up Manhattan three times over.  Again, what’s in those spaces?

Does anybody hand anything down any more?  We all grew up on our older siblings’ cribs and high chairs, their tricycles and bikes.  When families ran out of younger children those items got passed on to cousins, neighbors, and co-workers.  What we couldn’t sell ourselves at garage sales we brought to church for rummage sales.  Without the stuff we don’t use anymore, thrift stores would be out of business.  But people do hand things down and there are still rummage sales, and thrift stores are booming.  So what is in all those storage units? 

Maybe what gets handed down the “handed to” group doesn’t want to use but are too embarrassed to tell the “handed from” group.  Maybe they keep the extra dining room set in their storage unit and tell Mom that as soon as they paint the dining room those old table and chairs will look great in there.  Maybe people are getting married so late in life they already have everything they need.  But it’s a wedding.  They still have to register somewhere and get newer stuff.  Then when the gifts are opened they can’t discard the old toaster because it’s been so good to one (or both) of them for so long it gets a special place in mini-storage. 

Or maybe it’s just junk in those garage-looking units and once it is there for a couple years the owners stop paying rent and someone can bid $5 on Door Number 3.  Then they can figure out what to do with an Atari 64 game system.

We don’t know what’s behind Door Number 113,433 but whatever it is it better be pretty important.  The average American family is spending about $1500 a year to store it.  That’s about $500 more than the average American family gives to charity.  We’re not sure if there’s a connection there but we thought we’d mention it.   

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