These are my personal observations in life where sometimes the stupid meets the insane.
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Life's Little Observer
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Thursday, May 01, 2003
It all began when I took my car to the local “Hurry Up Oil and Lube” franchise for it’s 3,000 mile oil change.
The first thing I noticed was the uniforms that all the workers wore. The uniforms are battleship gray with a hint of midnight blue, white short sleeve shirts with burgundy pinstripes and white nametags encircled in red patched over the left breast pocket. The manager always wears a matching jacket. Incredibly, the people who work in these joints all have one syllable names. They’re names are Bob, Mike, Dave and Tom. They never have names like Robert, Michael, David or Thomas. I’m sorry, if you don’t have one of those one syllable names you can’t get a job at the local “Hurry Up Oil and Lube” shop.
Along with the clothing, the workers have similar grooming patterns. Their hair is parted on the side and pasted down with a glob of 10W40 which is just a little bit more controlling than the outmoded “a little dab’ll do ya” Creem that was the hair grooming standard in the 50’s and 60”s.
After you’ve been sitting in the waiting area for three quarters of an hour waiting for that promised “10 minute or free” oil change, becoming nauseated from the smell of burnt coffee, the mechanic walks out of the shop into the waiting area shaking his head as he hands the work order to the manager. The manager reviews the work order just as a physician would evaluate an x-ray. As the doctor would say, “we need to run a few more tests”, oddly enough the manager, Dave, repeats the same mantra.
Dave begins to ask “did you know” questions. He looks up from the work order and asks “did you know the seal is broken between the fritzis and the calavertsis, and, did you know the main stoclavist should have been replaced a year ago?”
“What the hell is that?” you respond raising your voice only 2 octives. He describes it by gesturing with his hands wildly in the air so you know this is going to be serious. “What happens if I don’t fix it now?” He launches into several vividly detailed scenarios about how the world will come to an abrupt end because of YOUR car.
“How much is its going to cost?”
He takes a deep breath, exhales through is nose and walks over to the parts book. The parts book looks the size of a 24 volume set of the Encyclopedia Britannica spread across the entire width of the countertop. Somehow, he opens the book to the exact page the very first time. He looks at the book and says the same thing that you’ve heard at every visit to the shop. “Parts, labor, and of course it’s best to use the manufacturers certified parts…..”
He quotes you a price and you roll back on your heels in shock. The blood rushing from your face, you begin to reach for your cell phone to make an appointment with your mortgage banker to find out about a second mortgage on your home to cover the cost of this repair. Just then he looks up at you and says “you can get away without fixing it this time but I would certainly fix it the next time you come in.”
As you drive away thinking “I got a way with it this time.” But it’s too late. The seed has already been planted. A $14.95 oil change turns into Alan Greenspan trying to balance the national debt.
Posted by Life's Little Observer
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Wednesday, April 30, 2003
I am a creature of habit. I do the same things over and over. I don't do change very well. For instance, I always put my left sock on first, then my right one. Then my left shoe goes on, then the right. I never save any templates to my computer programs because I want them to remain as pristine as possible.
When we go out to eat, no matter what restaurant we go to, I always order the same menu item. Every once in a while I feel like I have to "go out on a limb", "express myself", "let the music out" or "go for the gusto" by trying something new.
The restaurant we frequent always has a waiting line. So we wait in line for about 45 minutes. The body language of the people in line is interesting. Every few minutes a party is called to come into the restaurant. Of those remaining, hunger registers in their eyes and their heads droop just a little bit more.
The hostess hollers out our names. Like we’ve just won the lottery, we giggle like children and prance into the restaurant following her to the inner sanctum of the dining area. We are finally seated. We made it to the big time. Now we claim the prize that everyone was after. Dinner.
Once we are inside and seated, the waitress presents us with menus. This wasn’t an ordinary menu. No. It couldn’t be that easy. This menu was the size of the silver tanning board that I used in the 70’s before the tanning cream was invented, the stuff that turned you orange. The menu opened like a book then each side fanned open again. For me, this was the perfect thing to just drive me nuts. Too many choices. When the chips are down, can I really make up my mind and order something else other than what I usually order?
She tells us that the Special of the Day is the "yada yada yada" with the newly created super special secret sauce, with a dash of garlic and pepper, that has been praised by the masses.
Since I was determined to try something new, I politely asked for a few more moments to make up my mind. This request was greeted by a piercing look from my wife. She was hungry and ready to order. Unlike me, she perused the menu and made a lightening quick decision. Me, I studied the menu asking myself why did this side order come only with this entrée and not the other entrée. Of course, no answers were forthcoming.
The waitress is on her way back to our table. I could tell because I could hear the squeaking of her white hospital shoes on the newly shined hardwood floor. I've already asked her for more time to order. I can't do it again because I already exercised my first option and she didn't return for 20 minutes. This is crunch time - what do I do? I don't want to go too far out on a limb, so I look for a variant of my old standard. My eyes race around the menu. Panicked, I try to focus on one thing, anything. Then the moment of truth arrives. The waitress standing next to me peering over her black rimmed reading glasses with pencil in hand. "Do you need more time she asks wryly?" Knowing better, I say “I’m ready, let’s order.”
I listen to my wife as she "matter of factly" states her desire to the waitress, closes her menu and hands it to the waitress. She peers at me as if to say “I thought you were ready to order.”
I see the confidence in her and immediately think to myself that I'm about to order the wrong thing. Several questions rush into my head. Should I go with the regular, standard, “know it will satisfy me meal”, or something else I think will help me stretch my edible comfort zone.
I get to the point where I can't make up my mind.
With a huge silent gulp, and with as much confidence as I can muster, I announce my preference for dinner. Gritting my teeth I think to myself “ why did I order THAT?”
I see the plump waitress exit the kitchen into the dining area with two plates balanced on her forearm, beautifully adorned by colorful parsley. My heart begins pounding with anticipation only to be disappointed by seeing these two elegant and scrumptious meals delivered to the elderly couple seated next to us, who incidentally, arrived at the restaurant 30 minutes after we did.
My apprehension accelerates as I begin to experience a small case of buyer’s remorse because I wasn’t totally committed to my dinner selection.
The overworked waitress finally winds her way through the tables juggling our entrees and bread baskets arriving at our table and cheerfully instructs us, with the snappy cadence of a drill sergeant, to enjoy our meals.
With a pensive look at my meal, my eyes edge slowly over to my wife's plate, only to think to myself "why does someone else's meal always look better than mine?" I look back at my plate contemptuously thinking “what did I do? I'm not liking this. I'm not going to try anything new ever again. I want to give it back and get my standard fare.
Disappointed again, I can't wait to come back and order "the usual."
Posted by Life's Little Observer
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Monday, April 28, 2003
Haven’t we had enough of these reality shows that are over the top? "Survivor", where the contestants eat bugs or they find themselves at the end of a 1,000 foot bungee cord or, "The Amazing Race" where people are running all over the world trying to get to a predetermined place at a predetermined time. You know the one. The one where there is a 2 hour finale with two sisters, wearing 80 pound backpacks, are sprinting through an airport reminiscent of OJ Simpson running to catch his plane, that is, before the authorities limited his out of town travel. C’mon now, how about a reality show for the rest of us? The kind of people who have regular lives.
Here are my ideas for reality shows that I would like to see on network television. How about a show where accountants are given financial statements and are asked to choose the best depreciation method to write-off the cost of office equipment? How about computer programmers who are given code with incorrect syntax and are pressured to debug the program and get it to run correctly? How about a competition amongst administrative aides to see who can get the office copier to work? Or, maybe, just maybe, have parents develop a plan to finance their child’s education without going in to hoc for the rest of their natural lives.
Yeah, how about a show for us regular folks?
Posted by Life's Little Observer
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