Many Happy Returns

…Why do people say that about birthdays? What is one returning?

I am taking advantage of this being my birthday to…do something, I guess.

SODA WARS

…as I grew up calling it. Not “pop.” Or “soft drink,” which was just what the companies called it. Anyway, one of the things that always intrigued me about the Drumpf (Trump’s father changed the original family name, I suppose to sound less Germanic) presidency (OK, the Drumpf hanging-around-the-White-House interval) was the red button on his desk to summon Diet Coke. If I win the presidency, I will summon Pepsi Zero, but I will summon it by just mentioning that to anyone who happens to stop by. They don’t have to make me a red button AS IF IT WERE A NUCLEAR LAUNCH. Anyway, if you thought someone just brought him a can of Diet Coke, you would be wrong. They had to pour it into a glass in front of him, and then hand him the glass on a silver tray. (Why not a gold tray?) This was continuing the ancient Mar-a-Lago practice, in which servers had to do the same. They also had to bring him a fresh bottle of ketchup each time, and open it in front of him so he could hear it go “pop.” It is also Mar-a-Lago practice for other diners to stand and applaud when he walks in. It makes me wish I could go there, just so I could remain seated, and use some old bottle of ketchup that hadn’t been opened in front of me. I don’t even care for ketchup much, but I would use it, on principle. However, I would like other people to stand and applaud when I walk in. I haven’t done anything to deserve it, but neither has he.

My birthday weather fit the definition of my happy place–gray, with red roses blooming nearby. When I came up with my Happy Place, I realized, You know, you’re just describing your own front porch. It’s like on The Office, when Dwight told Jim that his dream was to be assistant regional manager to the Devil in Hell. And run a bed & breakfast on the side, but that’s too much work for me.

Ooh, I just noticed I can change the type or background color on this. Intoxicating! But how will I decide? It’s not like when I was still working, and changed A Certain Person’s type color to red when she was out of the room, so the screen looked like a bloodshot eyeball, and she had to pretend she didn’t care. Or the time they left Nick 2000 messages, and he thought he had to delete each individually, not knowing he could delete them all at once. A memory I cherish, even though I wasn’t there.

See how I can’t handle even a small amount of power? Vote for me!

Crises in Progress

English: Northern curly-tail lizard (Leiocephalus carinatus armouri) in Morikami Gardens, Delray Beach, Florida (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

No, not really. Someone just wanted to know what the plural of “crisis” is.

BRANDING MYSELF

No, not with a red-hot iron (sorry, Nick, maybe some other time). It’s just that I read that yet another celebrity is starting a “lifestyle brand.” Now, the rationale for the celebrity is obvious–sell as many products as possible. It’s the rationale of the consumer that gets me–“I want my clothes, furniture, everything, to look just like The Celebrity’s.” So you’re saying you have no taste. Not in the usually-taken sense of having bad taste, but having no taste at all. This is a chilling prospect. But I’m as willing to make money off a chilling prospect as the next person (at least I believe so–I don’t think the person sitting next to me has expressed an opinion on the subject). Therefore, I propose the SCRATCHY GLITTER {trademark, copyright, patent pending} brand, featuring, among other things yet-to-be-thought-up:

–rose-scented body wash

–home decor featuring strategic use of spiderwebs (by “strategic,” I mean “not within my reach”)

–glasses, whether you need them or not

–soft stretchy clothes

–a refreshing lack of trendiness.

More to come, as that’s what the Lifestyle concept is all about. But right now I have a pressing errand…

THE DESOLATION OF NICK

“We’re off to seek a lizard,

The horrible lizard named Nick,

Because, because, because, because, BECAUSE–

Because of the terrible things he does!”

….I’m actually by no means certain that Nick is a lizard, although the scaly tail and predilection for burrowing would lead one to think so.

I found him pacing, restless and glittery-eyed. I was armed with his vial of pain pills, which his owner had given me to assist in reasoning with him.

He whirled, his tail knocking several toys to the floor. Luckily, everything in his den is unbreakable, although most objects have been chewed on at one time or other.

“Accursed wretch who troubles my quiet, what is your will?”

“You can skip the ceremonial language. When are you coming back to work? You seem greatly improved.”

“Improved enough to pace my cage! My wings are cramping! I tried chasing my tail, but then I caught it, and the thrill was gone.” He came to a halt before me. “I wasn’t allowed to play in the snow,” he growled.  “The cubs got to do it, but I had to stand and watch.” The faceted eyes were brilliant–in fact, they seemed suspiciously wet.

“Beast, are you crying?”

“No,” he said coldly. “Your eyesight is faulty.” He crouched down. “I’ll take that pain pill now, if you please.”

I toyed with the idea of hand-feeding him, then decided that would be a good way to lose a hand. After all, he looked all too ready to spring. I tossed the pill to him, and he caught it with a snap of teeth. The eyes, normally gleaming with malevolent intelligence, became cloudy and dull as the drug took effect.

“Is everything OK in here?” his owner inquired brightly from the doorway. He stumbled over to her and collapsed at her feet. From this vantage point, I could see that his haunches are, indeed, lightly furred.

She crooned to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll release you soon. Very soon. Maybe for Christmas, how would you like that?”  Watching this tender scene made me wonder–could the best taming method possibly involve kindness and consideration? Surely not!

To be continued…inevitably.

REVENGE OF THE TERRORIST SOFT DRINKS

As I was getting my drink at Phillips yesterday, I leaned over to reach for a cup, and my arm hit the 7Up lever, getting 7Up all over my sleeve. Luckily, my coat is waterproof, and hence sodaproof, so I brushed the droplets off smugly. I became un-smug when I reached work. I set my cup down on the decorative Central Dispatch Wall in front of the building while I fumbled for my key. When I then grabbed for my cup, it almost tipped over. Ironically, while attempting to prevent this, I squeezed it a little too tightly, and my thumb went through the styrofoam {trademark of Sty-Ro-Foam Corporation} and ruptured the cup. Most of the 44oz landed on the ground (squirting like a ruptured artery), but a good shot of icy liquid went up my sleeve, on the inside, where it isn’t waterproof. I am a cup-crushing force to be feared!

Maycation Day 9: No Common Sense? No Problem!

English: This is the picture of the original Ronald McDonald. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Commercial on the radio for a counseling service: “Give us a call and make sense of life again!” They’re assuming I’d made sense of it before.

I had a Mildly Embarrassing Adventure when I went to McDonald’s for lunch. No, I’m not embarrassed that I ate at McDonald’s. I’m embarrassed that I’m not smart enough to eat at McDonald’s.

I got a large drink, as is my custom. As is also my custom, I didn’t put a lid on it, because I planned on refilling it before I left and putting the lid on it then. (Then after running my errands, I get another drink at Thornton’s–can’t imagine why I have this acid-reflux problem.) Can everyone but me see what’s going to happen? I filled my drink, proceeded down the line collecting napkins, straw, etc. Then I knocked my elbow on something, which knocked my tray, which tipped the entire drink over, and all 32 ounces of it poured onto the counter, the floor, into my bag, over my billfold, soaked my food, etc.

I grabbed frantically for a fistful of napkins, but the manager assured me it was somebody’s job to take care of this. (I guess it beat cleaning the bathrooms, which is the other thing that person does.) The manager also let me have more food for free. Contrary to what you might believe (see previous paragraph on my soft drink consumption), I did not want to eat soda-soaked food, but I was prepared to pay for more, since it wasn’t their fault I’m a dumb@ss. So hurray for that manager, who prevented me from having to face the consequences of my actions. Well, except for the consequences to my bag and billfold, but they were worn out and due for replacement anyway. Oh, and my umbrella, but it is the nature of umbrellas to be rinsed, and I can only hope I get caught in a downpour soon.

Thought for the Day:

“Most people would succeed in small things if they were not troubled with great ambitions.”

–Longfellow

Um, yeah.

Repressing the Irrepressible

Remember when I offered helpful tips for officers?

Avoid, when given a run,

“Clear, from Barker & Ray Becker,” in huffy annoyed tone. I very nearly answered, “Barker and Ray Becker? I’ve been there quite a bit myself.” And nearly got barred from that convenience store, too.

Anyway, my supervisor and blog-follower muttered, “He didn’t get your memo.” Well, that would be because this blog is not required reading for officers. And shouldn’t it be? Besides being entertaining and informative, it would boost my readership out here in Free Contentland (there’s a good blog title!) by 10x!(Free Contentland is made possible by the fact that writers write because they have to, so you don’t even have to give them money. This is an Inescapable Fact. I know this because I’ve tried to escape it for years.) And I suck (to use a technical term) at self-promotion, so mandatory readership is the only solution.

“But–but” you all are clamoring (or at least I think you are, it might just be voices in my head), “tell us how you almost got barred from a convenience store! You’re so quiet and well-behaved, we can’t imagine such a thing happening!” Well, that would be because the convenience store soda machine at Barker/Becker was ancient and usually  produced flat soft drinks, so I got in the habit of running just a bit into my cup and tasting it to see if it was OK before I would buy it, and they told me to quit that. They did eventually fix it, so shop with confidence.

Memo to the guy in the white pickup at Franklin & St Joe yesterday: Before you floor it to whip around that corner, CHECK TO BE SURE THERE’S NO ONE IN THE CROSSWALK, KTHXBYE! If you had hit me, Nick would have been the investigating officer, and he would have cried.

I haven’t been posting that often lately (see Ideas, Shortage Of). Peaked early, didn’t I? Good thing this isn’t my job! But I have a topic for tomorrow that promises to be entertaining and informative and stuff, so stay tuned!