"Gather ye bagels while ye may?"

Once, I walked into a bagel place less than an hour before closing time.  I expected the selection to be limited by then, but the inventory was even more depleted than I'd anticipated.

With grave severity, the cashier told me there had been "a large bagel-buying incident."

I resisted the urge to ask if there were casualties.  It would not have been polite.

I still think The Bagel-Buying Incident would be a good name for a one-hit wonder band, though.

Don't drink the lens cleaner, either.

Disclaimer on the lens cleaner for my glasses: "Do not apply to eyes."

I'd like to think that society has more common sense than that, but...

Dinner break? Bah!

It was my first night on the job in 1993.  Although it wasn't the first job I'd ever had, I expected to be with the company for a long time.  On that first night of work, I was obsessed with taking the shortest possible dinner break.  There wouldn't be any 30-minute lollygagging for me.  I wanted to show the powers that be that I was a serious worker, so I bought a cinnamon roll from the vending machine, ate it in the hallway in record time, and got right back to work.  After all, I couldn't have my manager or co-workers think I was some slacker who consumed food.

Got to make your own bread sticks...

A memory from about 15 years ago:

I thought the pizza place worker was joking.

"It's Friday.  We don't make bread sticks on Friday," he said, after I'd ordered some bread sticks.

"Oh.  Ha, ha," I replied.

"No, really, we don't," he responded.  "We get a lot of orders on Friday, and bread sticks are hard to make."

I changed my order and then told my co-workers about the no-bread-sticks-on-Friday rule.

"I guess I'd better remember not to order salad on Wednesdays, then," one of them said.  "After all, Wednesday is no-salad day."

I'd never heard of a pizza place not offering a side dish on a particular day.  I wonder if they still have that rule.  If so, I wonder if any of their would-be customers go to a speakeasy to get their bread sticks.

Keeping one's cat hydrated

My cat, Sylvia, drinking from the kitchen sink.

Sylvia, again staying hydrated.

I don't know the specific criteria for admission into Heaven, but if letting one's cat drink water from the kitchen sink when she requests it is a key factor, I should be in good standing with God.

Passing on Black Friday sales

Once again this year, I continued my proud tradition of having nothing to do with Black Friday sales madness.  I've never been able to make the transition from a pleasant, low-key holiday of being thankful to trampling customers just to claim a low-price gadget.  I guess I'm quirky that way.

Thanking those whose jobs are sometimes thankless

In the spirit of Thanksgiving, I've been thinking about customer service workers who have restored my faith in humanity by being consistently helpful and pleasant.  Admittedly, these are not the only people whose customer service has impressed me.  There are other workers from the past whose names I wish I'd known so I could thank them.  Fourteen of the people whose polite--and in some cases, humorous--demeanor has impressed me consistently are: Alex, Bill, Danielle, Debbie, Eugene, Jim, John, Judy, Lisa, Robert, Scott, Shan, Taylor, and Yvette.  If you live or work in St. Louis, you might have encountered some of them.  None of them, to my knowledge, are (or were) in management.  Having been on the front lines of customer service work in some capacities for many years myself, I appreciate that they've always been considerate and kind to me as a customer or an employee who shared the building in which they worked.  No job that requires having to deal with whoever walks through the door or calls in with a surly attitude is a truly easy one.  Here's wishing all 14 of you, along with the others whose names I wish I knew, a relaxing, enjoyable Thanksgiving.

Clearance to eat what I want

A former co-worker joked that he didn't like others eating foods he disliked.  He disapproved of salad, Chinese food, Swiss cheese, and honey mustard. 

"You like Swiss cheese?" he once asked.  "That's the only type of cheese I don't like.  You're wrong in your opinion of Swiss cheese!"

Another time, when I was eating a salad, he walked past and said, "Now, that's just rude."

"What if I feel like eating salad outside of the office?" I asked.  "What should I do then?"

"Call first," he responded.

"What if I ever feel like eating a salad, and you're not available to grant approval by phone?" I asked sarcastically.

"Well, maybe we could work out a voucher system--for five salads a year without permission," he answered.

Another time, I emailed him, asking, "I was thinking of having spaghetti for lunch.  Is that on the list of forbidden foods?  I'm not sure because we've never talked about spaghetti." 

"I love spaghetti," he wrote back, "so you can leave that off the list."

It occurs to me that I've eaten salad, Swiss cheese, and honey mustard over the past week, but I took the renegade route.  I didn't call first.  Naturally, I aim to please, but...I have my limits.

Heat up the soup and stir it?

What should I eat for lunch today?  On impulse, I bought some Knorr soup mix.  Because I bought it at an international food store, however, the directions are in Turkish.  Let's check online for an English translation...

Hmmm...The instructions are still awfully cryptic.  This is the actual translation one site gave me:

"1 package Knorr, Neutral-to-' (73 g) 5 water bardagi (1 liter) cold water additional Let's face it. Up to Kaynayana karistiralim. Kisik cooked after 15 minutes and cook dinlendirip service Let's face it. Regardless of success."

I think I'll have a sandwich instead.

The illusion of control

Writing my "What nerve, driving a car on the road..." post three days ago reminded me that when I'm driving in a thunderstorm or stalled in a traffic jam, I often say to myself, in just a slightly irritated voice, "I didn't decree this," or "I didn't issue this proclamation." 

I know that I don't control the weather or traffic flow, but acting as though I do, in jest, calms me down and reminds me that all of us in the storm-stricken area or slow-moving procession of cars are in the same boat.

Speeding up, for whatever reason

Often, when I have to complete a task quickly, I recall the voice of Ms. M., my gym teacher during second, fourth, and fifth grades.  During activities that required us to run fast, she'd prod all of us by saying, "Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!  Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!"  I remember the 600-yard run-walk on the annual physical fitness test giving her multiple opportunities to hurry us along.

I never understood why it was so crucial to get to the finish line while running out of breath.  I often thought, "We're not racing to put out a fire or defuse a bomb.  Why are we supposed to hurry?"

I'll admit, however, that I've internalized those memories for over three decades.  When I take a call at work as other calls wait in the queue, I do my best to type and send the necessary information quickly, all the while thinking, "Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry!"

You never know what aspects of your past will bury themselves deep in your psyche, only to come up years later in a new context.

I knew the grocery store was upscale, but...

...it surprised me to see a wine glass sitting by itself on a ledge by the elevator.  There was no price tag affixed to it or any sign indicating it was for sale.  I suppose if someone has just bought wine and is moved to propose a toast to imaginary well-wishers before heading home, the opportunity is there.

Sometimes, the little things make all the difference in keeping a business running.

What nerve, driving a car on the road...

One night, it irked me that someone was driving too slowly.

"Why is this driver lollygagging?" I said to myself.  "Why is this taking so long?  What reason could this person possibly have for driving so slowly?"

Actually, there might have been any number of good reasons.  Maybe the driver wasn't used to driving at night.  Perhaps the driver was new to the area and was unaccustomed to streets on which I've driven hundreds of times.  Maybe the driver was heading to the hospital, apprehensive about a family member or friend's grim prognosis.

Before considering these possibilities, I said, again to myself, "I'm headed to work.  I have a good reason to be on this road.  What reason could this other driver possibly have?"

My mood brightened after saying that.  My dad has told me that his father had a short fuse with other drivers.  Sometimes, he swore at other drivers in Hungarian.  He also declared that people wearing hats were stupid drivers--while wearing a hat himself.  It was especially amusing, however, to learn that while driving on a rainy night, he exclaimed, "These fools!  What are they doing out on a night when it's raining?"  When his kids reminded him that he was also out on a rainy night, he retorted, "Yes, but I have a good reason!"

I was very young when my dad's father passed away, but realizing how much my irritation resembled his made me hope that he heard me and smiled in recognition.

An undeniably warmer climate

For anyone who doubts that climate change is taking place:

A radio announcer said that today would be this area's "last gasp of Summer."  Today's predicted high temperature is 80 degrees--in St. Louis on November 17.

Anger-inducing sneezes

Admittedly, saying "Dammit!" nearly every time I sneeze doesn't solve or change anything.  Somehow, it's cathartic, though.  Such is the power of an excessive "Dammit..."

Not so wise in the way of greaves

My high school English literature teacher threw the class a curve once on a quiz about a poem.  He said, "I'm curious to know if any of you looked this up.  The poem refers to greaves.  What are greaves?"  Noticing our puzzled expressions, he added, "I'll give you a hint.  They're an article of clothing."

Apparently, no one looked up the definition of greaves, because no one answered his question correctly.  (Greaves are shin guards.) After we received our graded quizzes, a student asked him, "Did you know you straightened your tie when you said, 'They're an article of clothing?'"

"So, that's what happened!" the teacher exclaimed.  "I was trying to figure out why half of you thought that greaves were ties.  I thought, How on Earth did they come up with that?  The poem is about knights on horseback, so after reading your answers, I had this weird visual of knights wearing suits of armor and ties."

Looking back, it's amusing that so many students in an upper level English class made such a bizarre connection.

Eyes on the road!

A reminder that it's ill-advised to call in sports statistics--or anything else--while driving:

I used to have a job gathering sports data.  One afternoon, a football coach called in and started to read off a game's scoring summary.  Because I don't remember the players' names, I've changed them to generic ones: 

"In the first quarter, John Smith scored on a 10-yard run," he reported.  "Steve Jones kicked the extra point.  Then, in the second quarter, Joe Green scored on a 15-yard pass from Jason White.  The extra point kick failed..."

Then, suddenly, there was a cacophony of car horns blaring, glass shattering, and a string of expletives.  After a pause, the coach sighed heavily.  Then, he returned to the scoring summary.

"Well, in the third quarter, Bill Brown scored on a 12-yard run," the coach said.  "Steve Jones kicked the extra point."

"Pardon me," I said.  "Are you OK?  Are you on the side of the road, at least?"

"No," he replied.  "I'm here in the middle of the street."

Just then, I heard another voice--either a police officer or the other car's driver, presumably--ask the coach, "Can I talk to you?"

"I'll have to call you back," the coach said.

"Yeah, I figured...," I responded.

Painting with one broad brush

About 12 years ago, while I was buying coffee, a 7-Eleven clerk told me how irritating an interaction with a customer had been.  According to the cashier, the customer made an incorrect, sweeping generalization.  The customer pointed to a front page newspaper story about the war in Iraq as she spoke:

Customer: Look at what your people are doing to our people.
Clerk: Those are not my people.  I'm from Pakistan.
Customer: Yes, but your brothers...
Clerk: Those are not my brothers.  I'm from Pakistan.

It's unnerving to realize that, in the election and post-election climate of today, this would qualify as a relatively mild exchange.

Exuberant praise for the pizza place

Last month, I sensed that my praise of a favorite pizza place was veering off into hyperbole. 

"Their pizzas are outstanding," I told multiple people.  "The toppings are excellent, and so is the thick crust.  You can eat every last bit of every slice.  Their salads are great, too.  The croutons are the best I've ever had, the lettuce and cheese are always fresh, and the dressing complements the salad well.  They're considerate enough to include a slice of lemon with your soda, as well."

I continued, "The interior of the place is sleek and inviting, too; it's not what you'd expect, looking at it from outside.  The people who work there are always polite, as well, and there's never much of a wait."

Not content to stop there, and realizing how I was starting to sound, I started parodying myself.

"The trees outside the building rival the tallest, most beautiful trees you've ever seen at any park," I said.  "There's a view through those trees that I'd swear is a window to Heaven.  The birds in those trees sing the most elaborate, moving songs you've ever heard.  Also, the asphalt in the sidewalk by the building is as smooth as can be; the pavement is so level, I can't imagine anyone ever tripping and falling..."

The best pizza, it turns out, can make a reviewer giddy to the point of lunacy.  

An unexpected response

OK...Deep breath...Pivoting away from politics today, although it isn't easy...

At least 15 years ago, while grocery shopping, I heard this exchange over the intercom:

Supervisor: Checker to register four, please.  Checker to register four...
Employee (pleasantly): No.  I refuse.

To this day, I wonder what prompted that polite yet defiant response.

Grappling with a post-election daze

When the result of a major election, especially this recent presidential one, turns out differently than you wish, it's amazing how similar your reaction resembles the general daze of finals week in college.  You might lose track of time, not sleep too soundly, not be too sure of how long you've actually slept, and eat at odd hours, if at all.  Your anxiety makes you pace around unproductively, and it's difficult to check mundane tasks off your list.  At times, you wonder, "Did I actually get that done, or did I just think about it?"  This morning, for instance, I'm honestly not sure if I took my vitamins.  I looked at the container and thought, "Did I actually take them, or do I just think I did?"  I refrained from opening the jar, just in case I'd taken them already.

As one of my family members mentioned, being in public is difficult initially because you wonder which of the people around you allowed this deeply unsettling election outcome to happen.  Everyone was cordial and orderly when I went to the polling place Tuesday; it's disheartening to realize that at least some of those ostensibly friendly voters have such a distasteful view of the world that they had no problem electing a disturbingly divisive candidate whose vision of the future has virtually nothing in common with mine.

A little while ago, a tree service worker asked me to move my car because a crew was going to be sawing limbs off of the trees.  I moved my car, but as I was driving away, I thought, "Damn!  I should have asked, 'Did you vote for the enemy, not vote, or waste your vote on a third party candidate?!'  If so, I will not be moved!"  Granted, falling tree limbs might have smashed the roof of my car in, and I don't need that.  Still...

Tomorrow, I'll most likely go back to writing about non-political topics.  'Til then, though, grappling with this post-election disgust is no easy feat.

Heavy sighs and Pepto-Bismol ingestion

The last question on my political science final in college was refreshingly, unexpectedly broad.  It was, "How are politics relevant to you?  Explain."  I still think that should be the last question on the final in just about any class.  When a class's subject matter is worth learning, you should be able to explain, by the end of the semester or school year, why it matters.  The answer I would write today is a combination of what I wrote in the early '90s and how I've come to feel since then:

Politics are relevant not only to me but to every citizen.  When you vote, you ask a president, senator, governor, mayor, or other elected official to be your voice.  You ask that official to improve the quality of living for your fellow citizens and you.  These improvements take many forms.  A road or bridge on which you drive each day might be falling apart.  Citizens don't have the authority to start paving the roads themselves, but by reaching the right ears, they can set the repairs in motion.  You might believe that certain judges don't dispense sufficient justice in their courtrooms.  Citizens can't march into the courtroom and start issuing verdicts, but they can vote on which judges should be retained.  You might believe, as many citizens do, that everyone deserves access to affordable, reasonable health care.  No one, after all, deserves to get sick.  Citizens can't decree what their health care premiums or bills will cost, but by electing a president and congresspersons sympathetic to their cause, the Affordable Care Act becomes law, and millions of formerly uninsured people benefit.  That bridge, those judges, your health, and so many other facets of life improve or deteriorate because of decisions that elected officials make. 

My American history teacher in high school used to say, "Even when you don't vote, you still vote.  You vote for or against an issue or candidate, or you vote, 'I don't care.'" If you didn't vote because you thought the results of the election were in the bag, or if you squandered your vote on a third party candidate who had no realistic chance of winning, I hope you can live with the consequences.  The rest of us will have to.

Voting musings

Election Day thoughts:

• Voting was a satisfying experience today.  I only had to wait 20 minutes to cast my ballot, which isn't bad for a presidential election.  The wait would have been even shorter if I'd chosen a paper ballot instead of the touch-screen option.
• As I was voting, I heard someone in line exclaim, "First-time voter!"  The room erupted in cheers and applause as a sheepish teenager shrugged.  "It's like we're celebrating someone's birthday at Happy Joe's (Pizza & Ice Cream Restaurant)," I murmured.
• There was something moving about seeing two adults who had already voted doubling back to claim their "I voted today" stickers.  I have to admire someone who cares enough about the democratic process to go back and get proof of their participation.

Whew!  After an election cycle that seems to have lasted for at least a decade, the excessive "In case you missed the message the first 47 times, here's what Candidate X stands for..." commercials, mail, and robocalls are finally over--for now.

A candidate's top priority

In memory of former co-worker Todd, who passed away recently:

The radio was on at work one night before a 1994 local election.  A slimy-sounding announcer intoned, "(Candidate So-And-So), you said you wouldn't raise our taxes.  You llllliiiied to us!"
Nearly everyone in the office burst out laughing at the announcer's sinister inflection.

"He once kicked a kitten!"  Todd exclaimed, pretending to be the announcer.  "How can you vote for someone who kicks kittens?!"

The commercial continued, listing the supposed virtues of the opposing candidate. 

"(Other Candidate So-And-So), we can trust, however.  He represents our values.  Family.  Patriotism.  Hard work.  Job opportunities.  Economic growth..."

"Kittens!" Todd cried out.

In this contentious election season, surely we can all agree that no candidate should be in favor of kicking kittens.  Todd's priority was the starting point of a sensible, winning platform, I think we can all agree.

A linguistic irritant

"Whatsoever" is one of my least favorite words.  Consider these two sentences:

• This is having no effect.
• This is having no effect whatsoever.

"Whatsoever" isn't needed in the second sentence.  The first sentence's meaning is clear.  When does "whatsoever" ever add value or clarity to a statement?

I can imagine a character in a movie, TV drama, or play using it but only to sound overly fussy or melodramatic.  Even then, however, "whatsoever" is best left unsaid.

Tackling the big issues of the day...That's what I do here.

I know you mean well, but...

...most of the time, it's ill-advised to act out a scene for someone who hasn't seen the movie--or even, sometimes, if the other person knows it by heart.  Most of us are not actors.  Most of the time, when quoting from a movie, we don't get the timing, inflections, or emotional intent quite right.  Even worse, we sometimes ruin the effect by paraphrasing the dialogue.

Monty Python And The Holy Grail is one of the films I've seen most, and it's still, in my opinion, just as funny on its 50th viewing.  If you've seen it, you probably remember this exchange during the bridge-crossing sequence:

Sir Bedevere: How do you know so much about swallows?
King Arthur: Well, you have to know these things when you're a king, you know.

A former co-worker attempted to act it out for me and changed King Arthur's line to "I am a king, and that is my job."

It was all I could to do to keep from responding, "I'm sorry, but I don't know you anymore."

Reaching the age of reflection

I think I was 11 or 12 years old when I learned 51 is the age at which it's acceptable to pontificate.

In the early '80s, an associate pastor at my church began his sermon, "In these 51 years of life that God has given to me..."

"So, that's the age when people get to look back on their lives and make sweeping, official-sounding statements," I thought.

Given my penchant for nostalgia, I'm pleased to be five years ahead of schedule.

Autumn: Metaphor for reduced sodium intake

November 8, 2007: A photo I took during a visit to Des Peres Park in Des Peres, Missouri.  Clearly, the trees' colorful leaves are metaphors for a blazing inferno about to engulf Earth, and the geese represent villagers biding their time before said destruction.  My apologies for stating the obvious...

Twenty-five years ago, I took an English literature class in college.  Our first assignment was to write an essay on the theme of the John Keats ode, "To Autumn."  After the professor collected our papers, he said, "Let's discuss the theme of the poem."

I didn't think the poem's theme was difficult to detect.  Clearly, Keats thinks we should appreciate Autumn for its beauty, just as we should appreciate the beautiful moments of our lives when we have them.  Just as the seasons transition from Autumn to Winter, it's also advisable to accept that time moves on.  That's the essence of what I wrote in my essay.

The other students had more baffling interpretations, however.  One after another, they raised their hands. One student said, "I think Keats is talking about the calm before nations go to war."  Another said, "No, I think he's alluding to pregnancy."  Still another suggested, "It could be the Big Bang he's talking about and the peaceful order that resulted after the initial chaos."

I sat there, bewildered.  "Where are you all coming up with these off-the-wall ideas?" I thought.  "The theme of the poem, is, essentially, 'Autumn is a beautiful season, so appreciate it.'"

After listening to seven or eight offbeat interpretations, the professor said, "I appreciate your efforts, but it's customary when discussing a theme to cite language from the poem that justifies your case."

Most of these students majored in English, but my guess is, after seeing things that weren't there in such an on-the-surface poem, at least a few of them soon pursued other degrees instead.

Coffee with cream, sugar, and audacity

While shopping at a convenience store about 12 years ago, I saw a customer fill up her coffee cup, breeze past the checkout counter, fling a dollar bill at the cashier, and leave without saying a word.

"I've never seen anyone do that before," I told the cashier.  "That's really presumptuous."

"Yeah," he replied.  "Especially considering that the coffee costs $1.23."

On that note, welcome to my new blog.  My name is Drew, and since September 1, 2014, I've been the author of musicandradiomusings.blogspot.com.  I thought it was time to start a second blog for musings in the back of my mind that aren't specifically about two of my strongest interests, music and the radio business.  I plan to post an eclectic array of memories, thoughts, and non sequiturs that might be out of place on my other blog but are suitable for this broader platform.  At the moment, I have only a vague sense of where the muse will take me.  That makes the journey all the more intriguing to me, though, so check this site tomorrow and in the coming days to see what sharp left turns my mind takes.