A Good Plan Goes Awry

Man arrives at box office to pick up his tickets. Per policy, I ask for ID. He hands me a credit card, on which he has written in the signature space: "Ask for ID." I did. He gave me another credit card, on which, in the signature space he had written: "Ask for ID." I did. He gave me a third card. Guess what it had written on it?

Man whose every last credit card said "Ask for ID" does not carry ID.

People Will Talk

Chicago's 2006 Pride Parade. I'm standing behind two young gay men, waiting to be let into the theater to work. A man in a kilt passes by.

The one fellow says to the other: "You don't wear anything under a kilt. No. That's the traditional Irish way. Oh, if I wore a kilt... what if I dropped my coconut?"

Woman approaches theater doors. Tugs on one. Door is locked. Tugs on another. Door is locked. Reads the sign listing hours. Pulls out cell phone, calls someone. "They don't open for half an hour." Hangs up. Tugs on same two doors again. Hm. Still locked.

Where Do I Sign Up For That Raffle?

Seen at my local library branch, as part of a display promoting their summer reading program for children:

WEEKLY RAFFLE WINERS

What's New At The Chicago Public Library

Bored, I went to the Chicago Public Library website and did a search of their catalog for my favorite singer, Dolly Parton. Much to my surprise, they had a number of her albums, including several that have never been made available on CD (I'll admit, usually for good reason).

I was delighted to see the CPL had a copy of "The Great Pretender" in its collection: a mid-80s album Dolly did covering songs she liked. One of my favorite songs is Petula Clark's classic "Downtown," and Dolly does it. So I ordered the LP. I can copy it to CD and enjoy Dolly doing "Downtown" whenever I like.

I went to my local branch and checked out some books, and the librarian (unlike most CPL librarians, he was young, attractive and male) told me I had something to pick up. He got it. It was the Dolly album.

I asked if I could come back and get it, as I was riding a bike and the bag I had was not big enough to hold a record album.

"Oh!" He exclaimed. "Do you know what I would do?"

Um, no. What?

"This!" Whereupon he placed the album carefully atop his head, spread his arms out, and took a stroll behind the desk.

Oh. Okay.

A Diva Detour

First: I was flipping channels the other day and when I came to C-SPAN, I stopped cold. I was looking at Cher.

Cher. A call-in show guest.

On C-SPAN.

Ater checking the window to see if frogs were falling from the sky like rain, I watched as Cher discussed her support for Operation Helmet.

Cher. On C-SPAN.

Second:

Barbra Streisand is being sued.

Why? Because the last time she went on a farewell tour, a number of people bought very expensive tickets for their last chance ever to see Babs perform live. Now that she's launching another farewell tour, they're (understanbly) miffed.

Here we've been mocking Cher for her Neverending Farewell Tour, and here she's just been a savvy diva, avoiding lawsuits down the road.

Detour ends.

More Fun With The TSA

Having successfully met the challenge of disinterested TSA employees carefully reading from prepared, and dreadfully dull, scripts, I went in for the required physical.

Now, I've been told by more than one doctor that I have high blood pressure, and I also have white coat induced high blood pressure. That is, my slightly high blood pressure skyrockets when I go to the doctor.

So: the nurse takes my blood pressure. 140 over 100. She's disturbed. Some time later, the doctor takes my blood pressure. 160 over 110. She's terribly concerned. Aside from that white coat induced HBP, I couldn't help but think that my experiences during the physical -- for example, when the nurse shut me in a booth for a hearing test and forgot that I was there -- made a significant contribution to that horribly high reading. The doctor thought not.

It should be noted that medical professionals saying, "Now, relax," as they strap that cuff around your arm for the fourth time and once again inflate it 'til it's so tight your fingers tingle, are not contributing to a relaxed state of mind.

Now I have medication. Three different pills to take each morning.

I realize the warning was placed on the label to reassure the consumer, but when I read a reminder about how my doctor prescribed the medication because the threat to my health is greather than the effects of the side effects, well, it doesn't exactly make me feel at ease.

When I read the potential side effects (dizziness, headaches, blurred vision, slurred speech, uncontrollable vomiting -- oh, and/or vomit that looks like coffee grounds, weakness, less urine, more urine, dark urine, yellow face, yellow eyes... to name a few) I'm left wondering about how worthwhile these drugs are.

A Momentary Temptation

I was at the Village Thrift today, the one on Clark Street near where I live.

(Unfamiliar with the Village Thrift? They're a chain of thrift stores. The stuff is cheap. The stores all smell bad.)

They play music with occasional announcements. Today, one of the announcements announced that the Village is hiring, full-time, benefits, just ask!

I seriously considered it, for about 2.7 seconds. Just think, dibs on the cool stuff that comes in... maybe an employee discount (Sure, a pair of jeans for five bucks is a great deal. But five bucks, 10% off? Better deal.)

Then reality reared its head. I don't speak the language, for one. I would end up smelling like the Village Thrift (see above).

At which point, I happened to look up. A woman nearby had decided to try on a skirt. This woman had dropped her pants and was shimmying into the skirt when I looked up, allowing me, and all the other folks around, the chance to take in her too-small panties in their valiant struggle to contain her posterior.

Fun With The TSA

Last summer, when I was looking for work, I was meandering around a federal goverment website. Which allowed one to put in one's qualifications and the system would find the perfect job(s) for one. So I put in my qualifications.

According to the system, I was well-qualified to be a Transportation Security Administration screener.

I wasn't clear on how "Demonstrated abilities in QuarkXPress and other design software" made one qualified to wear a white, short-sleeved shirt and ask people to remove their shoes, but, who was I to argue with the United States government? So I applied.

Some time later, I was asked to go in for a three-hour test. I did.

Mostly, they showed x-rays and you had to find the knifes, scissors, pointy-things and other dangerous items. I was there for an hour and fifteen minutes; I would have left when I was done, but I spent 15 minutes wondering if I should leave or not.

Some time later, I learned I had passed the test and could now take my e86 on-line assessment. How exciting was that? And they were very helpful: the email had four pdf attachments. The first one told you how to open the website. (I wondered about that. If you don't know how to open a website, how would you know how to open a pdf?)

Some considerable time later, I was called to schedule an interview/assessment near Midway Airport. Which is how I came to be riding my bike west on Archer on 1 June to the assessment center.

First, I met with Tim. Tim's job was to administer the visual test. (You line colored dots up in a row, lightest to darkest. Just to make things interesting, I flipped two of the dots. I still passed.)

Then, I talked to Shakita. Shakita's husband works by the theater, so we talked alot about that.

Then I waited.

And waited.

Then I talked to Mike. Mike was kinda cute. Mike looked at a laptop for a long time and then we got to take my fingerprints, using the inkless digital fingerprint scanner. This was fun. Mike had to manipulate each of my fingers across the scanner, and in order to do facilitate him doing so, I had to stand right behind Mike, brushing up against his backside...

Then I got to wait some more.

For entertainment, I listened in on one of the other applicants. (I was later told she had been in almost daily. She doesn't know how to use a computer, so one of the TSA folks had to sit with her and type her answers into the computer.) She knows her mother's date of birth, but not her father's date of birth. I know this, because she announced it, loudly, 17 times. In a row.

I was waiting for the manager to return. I had passed each of their seemingly low requirements and was now qualified to proceed to a conditional offer of employment (but, they urged, don't quit your job or relocate for the job!), once the manager returned.

Once he returned, it turned out he had been the head of security at the John Hancock building, when I worked there in the most nightmarish job I've ever had. We chatted, he signed off, and I had successfully completed my assessment session.

So watch out. I may be screening your luggage. Remove your shoes, please.