What a morning!
It started off great with a trip to the car doctor, AKA Toyota Dealership service center to get the oil changed in my lovely wife’s car.
Somehow, I find it quite entertaining to sit in these places every now and then. It’s not like I go there weekly just to sit at the little make-shift cafe tables or anything, but when the opportunity arises (when a car needs some professional attention), I sometimes prefer to wait rather than leave the premises.
It was oddly quiet in there, library-like, most everyone reading a newspaper or jotting notes on paper. Their was a lovely lady to my right (an older lady) who was enjoying a small snack (which she had brought in a plastic bag) while sipping her FREE cappuccino that she had obtained from this new fan dangled machine after a brief lesson from another customer. She, too, was reading the newspaper.
Then, of course, their was the lady who walked in wearing one pink and one yellow sneaker. What’s that about? hmmm....
I always enjoy people watching. Whether at a car dealership, coffee shop, or just out on the street. I can be entertained for hours. As it turns out, the dealership was BY FAR the best time of my morning’s adventures. The rest of the trip went something like this:
While at the dealership, I discover that the registration for wifey’s car was two months overdue. This is not good. Driving with expired registration is bad. So, with fingers crossed, I leave the dealership en route to the DMV. Quick phone call to Lady M, and she says not to worry, it’s registered and the card is in her wallet. “Phew”, I say, and direct my travels to Shop Rite to purchase Lassie’s best dog food for our canine companions.
Phone rings (I have now passed the DMV).
Lady M: “uh...this is a 2005 card...I guess it’s not registered”
Me: “ugh...great....all right, I’ll go back to the DMV after Shop Rite...I’ll just get cash at the store”
I arrive at Shop Rite and head directly to the rest room - too much coffee. I enter the rest room to find three young female employees laughing and having a loud conversation. As I walk in, the three become silent for the moment that it takes me to enter the stall, then their conversation went something like this:
Obnoxious teenager # 1: “Fag”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “You’re gay”
Obnoxious teenager #1: “You’re a faggot”
Obnoxious teenager # 2: “Lesbian”
Obnoxious teenager # 3: “You know it. That’s actually a complement for me”
All three obnoxious teenagers break into hooting laughter and indecipherable profanities and other rude utterances as they make their way into the hallway.
Perhaps I am becoming a prude, or just a bitter old maid, I don’t know. Regardless, I was beyond irritated with these three, and perhaps even a bit intimidated. Actually, I think I was most aggravated by the fact that I couldn’t pee until they left....fight or flight had set in. I was ready to fight, and my bladder decided to help by not releasing anything that may come in useful in battle.
As I left the rest room, I could still hear the obnoxious laughter and banter making its way down the steps and out into the store. As a former store manager (clothing), I would have been mortified to see my associates behaving like this in front of customers.
“The ‘Warrioress’ must take action,” I thought. Since I left my sword at home, I decided to march straight to customer service and request the presence of a manager. In a very “Warrioress -like” way, I explained the situation to the manager and he immediately knew the three individuals that I was referring to. He assured me that he would turn the matter over to his HR manager and the situation would be dealt with accordingly.
Mission accomplished. Almost. Still need the dog food and have no desire to speak with another store associate. Thank goodness for self-checkout. (NOT! and the hits just keep on coming.....)
With my trusty bag of Lassie’s Best, I pitter patter over to the self checkout aisle where Earl (not sure of his name, but we’ll call him Earl, the keeper of the Self-Checkout lanes) watches my every move, then provides me with a pretty orange paid sticker on my bag. Earl continues to hover behind me as I complete my transaction using the pin pad device as directed by the computer terminal. I happily request a cash back amount of $50.00 (DMV, remember?) and press ENTER.
The machine whirrs, and whirrs, and whirrs, and doesn’t give me any money. Earl, observing the travesty, comes to my aid. He feverishly punches in his password and code, and like any hero would, reads the instructions on screen. The screen says that it is having a problem dispensing $10.00 bills and that the tray should be removed and checked. Earl exits the screen and valiantly struts to his phone to request assistance.
I hear: (Earl) “Oh, really, court? Not here, huh? OK. So, I should just ask him to leave his name and phone number and tell him that we’ll call him when Mike gets back?”
At this, I interject, “If you are referring to ME when you say Him and His name and number, that is completely unacceptable and I am not leaving this store without my money!”
To make a very long story a bit shorter, it took 3 store associates and me nearly shedding a tear to come to the understanding that I would absolutely not leave my name and phone number in the hope that “Mike” would soon return from court to retrieve my money from that particular register. AND, I am not “Him, His, or SIR”. (I was wearing shorts and a tee shirt, for G’s Sake! I know I’m not well endowed, but there is something visible above the waist!)
What were these people thinking? I have been out of retail for a few years now, but has it changed that much? I never would have dreamed of sending a customer away without their change, let alone a direct debit from their bank account!
Finally I got my money, and do you know where they got it? Such trouble these people went to....they had to reach below Earls terminal, into a zippered bag, and pull out $50.00. Wow. Later, they will have to replace it from the drawer of the bastard register that would not dispense $10’s. And, Gee, the customer left (somewhat) satisfied - after nearly 20 minutes of “discussion”.
The DMV, btw, was not a success story either. As it turns out, the registered owner of the vehicle must register in person or have a notarized form indicating permission for another individual to complete said transaction.
This all occurred prior to 10:00 AM.
The Moral of my story?
Hmmm....People-watching is fun, Shop Rite is not, and you might as well just sleep ‘til noon.
Tuesday, August 29, 2006
Warrioress
Thanks so much, Ciar Cullen, for the great quiz you posted! After years of soul searching, I have finally found my true identity!Look out world, here I come!
Thursday, August 24, 2006
Dilemma
Today I am taking a slight diversion from the style of my previous posts. The fun, sarcastic, silliness shall give way to my introspective, moral side. Well, maybe. Anyway, I have found myself in a quandary this morning. May I begin, however, by saying what a beautiful morning it is! It rained a bit last night, just enough that I won’t be needing to water the plants, and the air is cool and energizing. Not chilly, just comfortably cool. The dogs and I are actually outside right now, blogging. Okay, so the dogs are actually checking their e-mail (that is to say, wandering around sniffing the grass and whatever else they can find to sniff or roll in).
My dilemma.....
I was flipping channels earlier and came across the Science Channel’s “How It’s Made” program. I love this show. I love all of those Discovery type shows and channels....anytime I can find out what makes something or someone “tick” I enjoy. I do digress.
So on this particular installment, they were talking about chicken hatcheries. I have seen fish hatcheries, but never a chicken hatchery. Do you know what these poor little chickies go through just a few days after hatching???
First, all of the eggs, hundreds of them, are in these large trays that are incubated. The chicks hatch, all jam packed together, they dry off, then off they go in the large trays which are stacked on top of one another. They are rolled down the stark hallway of this institution like building by a skinny man in a white coat. Then they go on a conveyer type thing where the chicks are separated from the shells. How, you may ask. Well, the conveyer is made of rolling metal bars that are just far enough apart for the little chicks to fall through onto another conveyer. So here go all of these cute little fuzzy chicks, scrambling over one another and clutching at smooth steel with their little tiny feet to avoid the fall into the unknown and suddenly FLOOMP.....there they go, one by one....down to the gender sorter.
The next conveyer takes them round and round while other people in white coats with earpieces in their ears (I didn’t get that part....are they communicating with the mother ship?) snatch them up one by one and check the gender. (this, by the way, is done by comparing two rows of feathers. If one row is longer than the other, it is female. If both are the same length, it is male) After the gender checking, they are tossed, not placed, but TOSSED into a tube which sends them plummeting to a gender specific conveyer belt.
From this one, the get tossed again into large (but not that large) trays, or as they called them, “special shipping containers” (plastic trays with holes in them) - 150 chicks per tray. If the buyer has requested vaccinations, the tray gets misted with a spray to ward off bronchitis infection.
I’m not sure where they go from here. I was too upset to watch any more. The chicks all had looks of panic in their eyes and were breathing so hard that it’s a wonder any survive.
Here is my dilemma. I eat chicken. I eat eggs. I like green eggs and ham, Sam I am. (oops sorry)
I no longer feel morally sound eating this. I thought about changing to the free range option. I mean, why support such a horrible industry, right? I don’t eat veal or lamb because of the treatment of the animals. (I don’t eat red meat at all...mostly because of the physical issues that I get after eating it.)
Free range chickens are happy chickens, right? They run around, free to do and eat as they please, snacking on their organic grains (which are probably grown right next to the pesticide ridden farm next door, but that’s a whole other discussion). So, I thought for a fleeting moment, no more institutionalized chicken for me. It’s free range all the way.
Wait....why should I eat the happy chickens who live the good life? Shouldn’t they enjoy their life? I should eat the ones who are destined for misery. But wait. If I do that, I’ll be supporting their miserable existence and thereby perpetuating the cycle of violence and destruction.
And what about eggs? For me this one is easier. I think I will switch to free range eggs. They are more expensive but I will just limit my consumption of them.
So, do I not eat chicken anymore? What about turkey? Ham/pork? It’s all basically the same process, right?
I have dabbled in a meatless diet before. It’s not the easiest thing or cheapest thing to do. I think, today at least, I may be headed in that direction once again.
What do you all think? (this is my pleading way of soliciting comments so that I know if anyone actually reads my dribble drabble.)
My dilemma.....
I was flipping channels earlier and came across the Science Channel’s “How It’s Made” program. I love this show. I love all of those Discovery type shows and channels....anytime I can find out what makes something or someone “tick” I enjoy. I do digress.
So on this particular installment, they were talking about chicken hatcheries. I have seen fish hatcheries, but never a chicken hatchery. Do you know what these poor little chickies go through just a few days after hatching???
First, all of the eggs, hundreds of them, are in these large trays that are incubated. The chicks hatch, all jam packed together, they dry off, then off they go in the large trays which are stacked on top of one another. They are rolled down the stark hallway of this institution like building by a skinny man in a white coat. Then they go on a conveyer type thing where the chicks are separated from the shells. How, you may ask. Well, the conveyer is made of rolling metal bars that are just far enough apart for the little chicks to fall through onto another conveyer. So here go all of these cute little fuzzy chicks, scrambling over one another and clutching at smooth steel with their little tiny feet to avoid the fall into the unknown and suddenly FLOOMP.....there they go, one by one....down to the gender sorter.
The next conveyer takes them round and round while other people in white coats with earpieces in their ears (I didn’t get that part....are they communicating with the mother ship?) snatch them up one by one and check the gender. (this, by the way, is done by comparing two rows of feathers. If one row is longer than the other, it is female. If both are the same length, it is male) After the gender checking, they are tossed, not placed, but TOSSED into a tube which sends them plummeting to a gender specific conveyer belt.
From this one, the get tossed again into large (but not that large) trays, or as they called them, “special shipping containers” (plastic trays with holes in them) - 150 chicks per tray. If the buyer has requested vaccinations, the tray gets misted with a spray to ward off bronchitis infection.
I’m not sure where they go from here. I was too upset to watch any more. The chicks all had looks of panic in their eyes and were breathing so hard that it’s a wonder any survive.
Here is my dilemma. I eat chicken. I eat eggs. I like green eggs and ham, Sam I am. (oops sorry)
I no longer feel morally sound eating this. I thought about changing to the free range option. I mean, why support such a horrible industry, right? I don’t eat veal or lamb because of the treatment of the animals. (I don’t eat red meat at all...mostly because of the physical issues that I get after eating it.)
Free range chickens are happy chickens, right? They run around, free to do and eat as they please, snacking on their organic grains (which are probably grown right next to the pesticide ridden farm next door, but that’s a whole other discussion). So, I thought for a fleeting moment, no more institutionalized chicken for me. It’s free range all the way.
Wait....why should I eat the happy chickens who live the good life? Shouldn’t they enjoy their life? I should eat the ones who are destined for misery. But wait. If I do that, I’ll be supporting their miserable existence and thereby perpetuating the cycle of violence and destruction.
And what about eggs? For me this one is easier. I think I will switch to free range eggs. They are more expensive but I will just limit my consumption of them.
So, do I not eat chicken anymore? What about turkey? Ham/pork? It’s all basically the same process, right?
I have dabbled in a meatless diet before. It’s not the easiest thing or cheapest thing to do. I think, today at least, I may be headed in that direction once again.
What do you all think? (this is my pleading way of soliciting comments so that I know if anyone actually reads my dribble drabble.)
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Our Beach Umbrella
How about this beautiful weather we've had recently? Wow! Such a difference from the heat wave, no?! I thought that, in honor of the glory of Mother Nature, I would post a little something about the "fury" of Madam Mother Nature. (No, this is not a Katrina story or anything so dramatic....merely a recent experience of mine at the wondrous Jersey Shore) Read on, my little sea turtles, read on......
A few weeks ago, my sister flew in from the Midwest to visit with us. We thought that it would be lovely to take a day trip to the beach, so we packed up our things, our many, many "things" and off we went. For those of you who are not readily familiar with our "group", the "things" included a cooler (obviously, I mean, we ARE going to the beach!), chairs, blanket, umbrella (which we purchased JUST for this trip), personal beach gear for three adults and ALL the fixin's needed for an almost 7 month old who had never been in the sand before.
We headed out about mid-morning, amid sunny skies and a lovely inland temperature. On the way we stopped for sandwiches to fill the cooler, (What ELSE would go in there? Geesh!) along with our water bottles. We parked nice and close (sort of...there was a mini-dune hike involved) and unloaded the goods. Now, I pride myself in the ability to carry a LOT of stuff at one time, but this was a load that even I couldn't handle. (or could I.....) Anyway, off we went, three adults, sharing the carrying duty, and one little "monkey", in the arms of her Aunt.
We found the perfect spot and set up camp. It went something like this:
Blanket down....uh oh....."Wow it's windy down here".....Okay, blanket down....ugh...."someone put a shoe on the corner"....Okay, blanket down, cooler on this side..."yeah, that's it".....aargh......"now you got sand all over it!"......oh well......"I'll get the umbrella ready" (that's me, SM)......umbrella in the sand.....oops....forgot the twisty posting thing....twisty posting thing in the sand...."hmmm, should it be that deep?".....umbrella in the post...."Wow, that's short, well, we do plan to sit under it"....crawling under the umbrella......"uh, should it be this short?"........
So camp was set up and we ate our lunch amid the sand and wind and sun. Quite tasty and relaxing (yeah right) so far. As I attempted to adjust the umbrella a bit, the "little Monkey" was carted off to check out the shoreline. (I should mention that just prior to this, we looked down the beach and noticed quite a bit of haze forming.) Apparently, the ocean is quite intimidating to a 7 month old.....she did calm down after a few minutes and some sea shell distractions. (NO, she was NOT in the water, just near it and held by her mother). It was about this time that I headed back to the car for something. I gingerly picked my barefoot way across the stone covered parking lot and just as a reached the car, I felt rain drops. "Gee, glad I came back", I thought as I put up the windows.
As I turned to head back to the beach, (a little rain never hurt anyone and a passing shower is to be expected in the summer, no?) I noticed the rather ominous clouds that had made there way up the coastline. I had almost made it across the stones before the first CRACK of thunder. Over the stones, up the dune, down the dune I ran....Sprinting towards me with the (now screaming) "little Monkey" is Aunt K, closely followed by the nearly EMPTY HANDED (remember all of the "stuff" that I mentioned earlier...Yeah, well anyway....) lovely "Lady M". The rain was really coming down now. Big, HUGE drops. Very cold. Our dialogue went something like this:
Me "Here, take the keys"
Lady M. (breathless) "It...Gone....Uh....There (pointing into oblivion)....Gone...."
Me "WHAT?!? What's gone? Huh??"
Lady M. "Thing....Gone....Wind.....Blew....Away.....there...."
Me "The umbrella??"
Lady M. "YES....gone....there" (pointing down the beach)
There it was. Tumbling down the beach amid stirring sand and blowing sea water. Our beautiful new $19.99 beach umbrella which we planned to use on our deck after the trip to the beach. Now I had a choice to make. Obviously, I was about to test the limits of my pack-horse capabilities, so did I want to try to salvage the umbrella, or did I want to let some lucky stranger find some free shade down the beach. I looked again, and there it went, further down the beach. Now, the choice was obvious. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! I looked at our low lying blanket, anchored down by shoes and cooler and folded up chairs and bags, then back at the umbrella (now at least 300 yards down the beach and blowing).
The race was on. There's nothing like a good run in the sand. (NOT) Down the beach I raced, sea spray, wind and sand particles coating my face and lungs, getting closer, hoping the wind will cooperate for just a few more seconds. Not going to happen. Another gust and into the ocean goes the umbrella. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! "Determination and effort" was the motto of my high school athletic department. I felt it kick in.....(I do not like to go into the ocean....big waves, lot's of water, many things on the bottom that you can't see).....Into the water I went....out went the umbrella with the tide....further into the water I went.....IN CAME THE UMBRELLA WITH A WAVE.....toward the beach I ran away from the wave....out went the umbrella with the tide....except, THIS TIME, I grabbed it as I stepped off the sandbar and ended up in the water up to my chest. Not to worry, I can swim just fine, I just choose not to do it in the ocean when possible. That being said, have you ever tried to swim or even wade while dragging an open umbrella (beach umbrella) through the water? Yeah, it's rather challenging.
All right, use your imagination for the rest. Suffice it to say, I retrieved the umbrella and on the way back to our "campsite" I dropped off the beach chairs that belonged to the people nearest us. Upon arrival at our little site, I stuffed the soaked and sandfilled umbrella into its bag, packed up all of the "loose ends", hobo style in the blanket, hoisted the yet to be unpacked folding chairs onto my shoulder, draped the bags around my neck, scooped up the cooler, looped the umbrella pack around my other shoulder and tossed the "hobo-pack" over my back. I began the trek back to the car as the rain poured down and thunder cracked all around. Frustration had just begun to set in when I suddenly realized that I was carrying a lightening rod (my beautiful new beach umbrella) in the middle of a beach during a thunderstorm that was directly above us. "OMG...."
Imaginations again, please.....picture a fairly small person "running" - term used loosely here -through the sand with a whole lot of stuff in their arms.....
I made it back to the car where everyone else was nestled quite comfortably. They were rather inquisitive as to why I was soaking wet and covered in sand. (I won't repeat my retort here....it might be flagged as objectionable content.) Oh, and by the way, at this point the sun was out and the rain had stopped. (Just in time to rinse off the sand, pack the car and head home)
The umbrella sure looks lovely on our deck.
A few weeks ago, my sister flew in from the Midwest to visit with us. We thought that it would be lovely to take a day trip to the beach, so we packed up our things, our many, many "things" and off we went. For those of you who are not readily familiar with our "group", the "things" included a cooler (obviously, I mean, we ARE going to the beach!), chairs, blanket, umbrella (which we purchased JUST for this trip), personal beach gear for three adults and ALL the fixin's needed for an almost 7 month old who had never been in the sand before.
We headed out about mid-morning, amid sunny skies and a lovely inland temperature. On the way we stopped for sandwiches to fill the cooler, (What ELSE would go in there? Geesh!) along with our water bottles. We parked nice and close (sort of...there was a mini-dune hike involved) and unloaded the goods. Now, I pride myself in the ability to carry a LOT of stuff at one time, but this was a load that even I couldn't handle. (or could I.....) Anyway, off we went, three adults, sharing the carrying duty, and one little "monkey", in the arms of her Aunt.
We found the perfect spot and set up camp. It went something like this:
Blanket down....uh oh....."Wow it's windy down here".....Okay, blanket down....ugh...."someone put a shoe on the corner"....Okay, blanket down, cooler on this side..."yeah, that's it".....aargh......"now you got sand all over it!"......oh well......"I'll get the umbrella ready" (that's me, SM)......umbrella in the sand.....oops....forgot the twisty posting thing....twisty posting thing in the sand...."hmmm, should it be that deep?".....umbrella in the post...."Wow, that's short, well, we do plan to sit under it"....crawling under the umbrella......"uh, should it be this short?"........
So camp was set up and we ate our lunch amid the sand and wind and sun. Quite tasty and relaxing (yeah right) so far. As I attempted to adjust the umbrella a bit, the "little Monkey" was carted off to check out the shoreline. (I should mention that just prior to this, we looked down the beach and noticed quite a bit of haze forming.) Apparently, the ocean is quite intimidating to a 7 month old.....she did calm down after a few minutes and some sea shell distractions. (NO, she was NOT in the water, just near it and held by her mother). It was about this time that I headed back to the car for something. I gingerly picked my barefoot way across the stone covered parking lot and just as a reached the car, I felt rain drops. "Gee, glad I came back", I thought as I put up the windows.
As I turned to head back to the beach, (a little rain never hurt anyone and a passing shower is to be expected in the summer, no?) I noticed the rather ominous clouds that had made there way up the coastline. I had almost made it across the stones before the first CRACK of thunder. Over the stones, up the dune, down the dune I ran....Sprinting towards me with the (now screaming) "little Monkey" is Aunt K, closely followed by the nearly EMPTY HANDED (remember all of the "stuff" that I mentioned earlier...Yeah, well anyway....) lovely "Lady M". The rain was really coming down now. Big, HUGE drops. Very cold. Our dialogue went something like this:
Me "Here, take the keys"
Lady M. (breathless) "It...Gone....Uh....There (pointing into oblivion)....Gone...."
Me "WHAT?!? What's gone? Huh??"
Lady M. "Thing....Gone....Wind.....Blew....Away.....there...."
Me "The umbrella??"
Lady M. "YES....gone....there" (pointing down the beach)
There it was. Tumbling down the beach amid stirring sand and blowing sea water. Our beautiful new $19.99 beach umbrella which we planned to use on our deck after the trip to the beach. Now I had a choice to make. Obviously, I was about to test the limits of my pack-horse capabilities, so did I want to try to salvage the umbrella, or did I want to let some lucky stranger find some free shade down the beach. I looked again, and there it went, further down the beach. Now, the choice was obvious. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! I looked at our low lying blanket, anchored down by shoes and cooler and folded up chairs and bags, then back at the umbrella (now at least 300 yards down the beach and blowing).
The race was on. There's nothing like a good run in the sand. (NOT) Down the beach I raced, sea spray, wind and sand particles coating my face and lungs, getting closer, hoping the wind will cooperate for just a few more seconds. Not going to happen. Another gust and into the ocean goes the umbrella. I MUST HAVE THAT UMBRELLA! "Determination and effort" was the motto of my high school athletic department. I felt it kick in.....(I do not like to go into the ocean....big waves, lot's of water, many things on the bottom that you can't see).....Into the water I went....out went the umbrella with the tide....further into the water I went.....IN CAME THE UMBRELLA WITH A WAVE.....toward the beach I ran away from the wave....out went the umbrella with the tide....except, THIS TIME, I grabbed it as I stepped off the sandbar and ended up in the water up to my chest. Not to worry, I can swim just fine, I just choose not to do it in the ocean when possible. That being said, have you ever tried to swim or even wade while dragging an open umbrella (beach umbrella) through the water? Yeah, it's rather challenging.
All right, use your imagination for the rest. Suffice it to say, I retrieved the umbrella and on the way back to our "campsite" I dropped off the beach chairs that belonged to the people nearest us. Upon arrival at our little site, I stuffed the soaked and sandfilled umbrella into its bag, packed up all of the "loose ends", hobo style in the blanket, hoisted the yet to be unpacked folding chairs onto my shoulder, draped the bags around my neck, scooped up the cooler, looped the umbrella pack around my other shoulder and tossed the "hobo-pack" over my back. I began the trek back to the car as the rain poured down and thunder cracked all around. Frustration had just begun to set in when I suddenly realized that I was carrying a lightening rod (my beautiful new beach umbrella) in the middle of a beach during a thunderstorm that was directly above us. "OMG...."
Imaginations again, please.....picture a fairly small person "running" - term used loosely here -through the sand with a whole lot of stuff in their arms.....
I made it back to the car where everyone else was nestled quite comfortably. They were rather inquisitive as to why I was soaking wet and covered in sand. (I won't repeat my retort here....it might be flagged as objectionable content.) Oh, and by the way, at this point the sun was out and the rain had stopped. (Just in time to rinse off the sand, pack the car and head home)
The umbrella sure looks lovely on our deck.
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