Not one, but two people at work today told me I was dressed drably, and not up to my usual standards. As my boss put it: "Jeans? A polo? K-Swiss sneakers? Where are the great clothes?"
Which means one of two things, I think.
I am incredibly stylish.
Or the people I work with are so incredibly not stylish, that I seem to GQ material by comparison.
Thursday, August 31, 2006
Give Me An S!
I was at Chicago's Shedd Aquarium recently, in the company of some dear friends from Michigan and their (as it turned out) adorable children. We made our way to the elevators that take guests down to the Wild Reef exhibit.
There was a woman there, we'll just say an older woman, a Shedd employee.
Was she enticing guests to visit the Wild Reef with charming patter, or a winning spiel?
No.
What she was doing was this: she was (almost) yelling "Sharks! Sharks! Sharks"
She would occasionally mix things up by adding "S! H! A! R! K! S!"
There was a woman there, we'll just say an older woman, a Shedd employee.
Was she enticing guests to visit the Wild Reef with charming patter, or a winning spiel?
No.
What she was doing was this: she was (almost) yelling "Sharks! Sharks! Sharks"
She would occasionally mix things up by adding "S! H! A! R! K! S!"
Saturday, August 19, 2006
Where's My Geritol?
Late summer, 2000. Around 10 o'clock in the evening.
I stand at the corner of Broadway and Montrose, waiting to cross the street.
Someone calls out, "Ooooh, daddy." It's obvious from the tone that the young man calling this out has seen someone he would like gain conjugal knowledge of.
I look around, to see the young man, and to see who he might be referring to.
I see a young, muscular man, shirtless, glistening with sweat.
I see no one else.
I realize he was referring to me.
I realize that the young, muscular, shirtless, and it appeared, non-underwear wearing, hung, young man, who is smiling at me, was referring to me.
I realize he just called me "Daddy."
I feel old. I appreciate the obvious compliment... but... daddy?
I stand at the corner of Broadway and Montrose, waiting to cross the street.
Someone calls out, "Ooooh, daddy." It's obvious from the tone that the young man calling this out has seen someone he would like gain conjugal knowledge of.
I look around, to see the young man, and to see who he might be referring to.
I see a young, muscular man, shirtless, glistening with sweat.
I see no one else.
I realize he was referring to me.
I realize that the young, muscular, shirtless, and it appeared, non-underwear wearing, hung, young man, who is smiling at me, was referring to me.
I realize he just called me "Daddy."
I feel old. I appreciate the obvious compliment... but... daddy?
A Brief Update About The Airline
A letter arrived yesterday, addressed to me, from that airline I loath.
I opened the envelope. I pulled out the letter.
Dear Ms Yvonne Cole*, it began.
I can't figure out if Ms Cole had the same complaint that I did, or if they are just utterly inept.
*Name changed.
I opened the envelope. I pulled out the letter.
Dear Ms Yvonne Cole*, it began.
I can't figure out if Ms Cole had the same complaint that I did, or if they are just utterly inept.
*Name changed.
News From The Cube Next Door
Friday, 18 August.
Woman in next cube over is on a lengthy personal phone call.
(This may be due to the fact that she left her Blackberry -- given her by the company, that her clients may call or email her at any time, and she can respond immediately -- at home. Because she uses it as an alarm clock, which means she puts it under her pillow, which means that it's not in her purse, which means that she doesn't think of it when she leaves in the morning.)
Woman in next cube tells her friend on the phone -- and thus tells the entire office -- that all of her log-ons and passwords -- work, banking, shopping -- are exactly the same, as she can barely remember the one set of log-ons and passwords. Why, she'd be lost if she had different ones for different sites.
I consider pointing out to her that announcing such information to the entire office is, perhaps, not wise.
I decide not to.
Woman in next cube over is on a lengthy personal phone call.
(This may be due to the fact that she left her Blackberry -- given her by the company, that her clients may call or email her at any time, and she can respond immediately -- at home. Because she uses it as an alarm clock, which means she puts it under her pillow, which means that it's not in her purse, which means that she doesn't think of it when she leaves in the morning.)
Woman in next cube tells her friend on the phone -- and thus tells the entire office -- that all of her log-ons and passwords -- work, banking, shopping -- are exactly the same, as she can barely remember the one set of log-ons and passwords. Why, she'd be lost if she had different ones for different sites.
I consider pointing out to her that announcing such information to the entire office is, perhaps, not wise.
I decide not to.
Friday, August 18, 2006
Step On A Crack
Friday, 18 August. Adams Street, between Clinton and the river.
Mother and child strolling down the street.
Child is enthusiastically stomping on each crack in the sidewalk, yelling with great delight "I broke your back! I broke your back!"
Mother and child strolling down the street.
Child is enthusiastically stomping on each crack in the sidewalk, yelling with great delight "I broke your back! I broke your back!"
Sunday, August 13, 2006
Why I Loath That Airline, What I Learned About Warts, And Other Things From My Voyage To Virginia
I recently flew to Virgina for an extended weekend.
Last year, when I flew to Virigina, the airline made such a muddle of the flight (I don't want to refer to them by name, so I'll make up a clever fake name to use... um... ah! Untied Airlines!) that they sent me a $100 voucher good against another flight. I figured, one flight, $100 voucher, my out of pocket expense will be minimal.
So I logged on Untied's website. Turns out you can't use such vouchers online. You have to call. So I call. Turns out you have to pay a $15 fee when you phone Untied, they'd really like you to book online. At the time, I was tired, it was late, I just wanted to book the flight, so I said nothing.
Later, though, I emailed Untied and expressed my disappointment that they would require me to book by phone and then penalize me for "choosing" to book by phone.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I told them that I would much rather have booked online, as I don't particularly enjoy talking to Untied employees; sadly, their own rules prevented me from doing so.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I expressed my concern that perhaps they were not actually reading my email, and if that were the case, I would prefer they simply ignore me altogether, rather than respond with foolish advice.
I have not heard from them since.
The flight took off just two hours after the scheduled departure time, something of an accomplishment for my Untied friends, and I was certainly better off than a young lady on my flight. She had booked an 8 am flight to Denver, which had been cancelled. She was on an early afternoon flight to Baltimore, to get on a flight from Baltimore to Denver, as that was the only way Untied could see to get her where she was going.
The flight itself was uneventful, and the delightfully warm weather in Maryland was most welcome. I caught the Metro bus to the Metro Green line station. I took my seat on the train, and, as it turns out, a young lady and her parents were seated close by.
Her first topic of conversation was warts. Specifically, hers. On her left hand. And how her doctor couldn't get rid of them. And it cost her $3o a visit. And her old doctor could get rid of warts, but she wasn't on the plan. This topic of conversation lasted through the first four stops the train made.
From there, she moved on to summer, and how it makes people stink, and how much she hates that. This consumed several more stops.
By the time the train arrived at the L'Enfant station, I was more than happy to grab my bags and go.
My first stop on my little vacation was the Arlington home of: Kim and Rich, two dear old friends from my days in Michigan; and a new friend, Jared. I spent several delightful days in the company of these fellows, enjoying delicious home-cooked meals, a visit to the National Portrait Gallery, and much beer.
From Arlington, the four of us motored through the lovely Virginia countryside to Arlington, where my sweetie Matthew was appearing in the Shenandoah University Summer Theatre production of "The Wizard of Oz" as the Scarecrow.
We enjoyed several delightful meals, and a disappointing one at the Triangle Diner, where Winchester's own Patsy Cline once worked as a waitress. Matthew and I had dined there in 2005; but this time, things were different. We especially enjoyed the show; Matthew was great, and the woman playing the Witch was wonderful, too.
The Virginia boys left on Sunday to return home. Matthew and I left on Monday, bound for Chicago and our own bed. Our plan was to stop at a hotel in Maumee, Ohio. The room was paid for with a coupon I'd gotten, good for a night's stay, after the awful time I'd had checking out at one of their hotels in 2005.
(What had happened was, the rate I'd booked online had not been put into the file the hotel had for my reservation. Which is fine, things happen. What made me angry was how unpleasant the staff was when I checked out: the old guy working complained about "You people" -- it seems he hates how we people think we can get things for free. And the young lady called me a liar, to my face. Subsequent conversations with the hotel's general manager led to the acknowledgement that I was right and they were wrong.)
You can imagine my concern, upon arriving at the hotel around 11.15 pm, to find that one of the two on-duty staff members had locked herself out of the hotel. She finally had to pound on a window, summoning one of the housekeeping staff to let her in.
The next day, many hours, many dollars of gas, and several thrift store stops later, we arrived back at Balmoral Avenue in Chicago, happy to be home.
Last year, when I flew to Virigina, the airline made such a muddle of the flight (I don't want to refer to them by name, so I'll make up a clever fake name to use... um... ah! Untied Airlines!) that they sent me a $100 voucher good against another flight. I figured, one flight, $100 voucher, my out of pocket expense will be minimal.
So I logged on Untied's website. Turns out you can't use such vouchers online. You have to call. So I call. Turns out you have to pay a $15 fee when you phone Untied, they'd really like you to book online. At the time, I was tired, it was late, I just wanted to book the flight, so I said nothing.
Later, though, I emailed Untied and expressed my disappointment that they would require me to book by phone and then penalize me for "choosing" to book by phone.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I told them that I would much rather have booked online, as I don't particularly enjoy talking to Untied employees; sadly, their own rules prevented me from doing so.
In response, they told me that, had I booked online, I could have avoided the fee.
In response, I expressed my concern that perhaps they were not actually reading my email, and if that were the case, I would prefer they simply ignore me altogether, rather than respond with foolish advice.
I have not heard from them since.
The flight took off just two hours after the scheduled departure time, something of an accomplishment for my Untied friends, and I was certainly better off than a young lady on my flight. She had booked an 8 am flight to Denver, which had been cancelled. She was on an early afternoon flight to Baltimore, to get on a flight from Baltimore to Denver, as that was the only way Untied could see to get her where she was going.
The flight itself was uneventful, and the delightfully warm weather in Maryland was most welcome. I caught the Metro bus to the Metro Green line station. I took my seat on the train, and, as it turns out, a young lady and her parents were seated close by.
Her first topic of conversation was warts. Specifically, hers. On her left hand. And how her doctor couldn't get rid of them. And it cost her $3o a visit. And her old doctor could get rid of warts, but she wasn't on the plan. This topic of conversation lasted through the first four stops the train made.
From there, she moved on to summer, and how it makes people stink, and how much she hates that. This consumed several more stops.
By the time the train arrived at the L'Enfant station, I was more than happy to grab my bags and go.
My first stop on my little vacation was the Arlington home of: Kim and Rich, two dear old friends from my days in Michigan; and a new friend, Jared. I spent several delightful days in the company of these fellows, enjoying delicious home-cooked meals, a visit to the National Portrait Gallery, and much beer.
From Arlington, the four of us motored through the lovely Virginia countryside to Arlington, where my sweetie Matthew was appearing in the Shenandoah University Summer Theatre production of "The Wizard of Oz" as the Scarecrow.
We enjoyed several delightful meals, and a disappointing one at the Triangle Diner, where Winchester's own Patsy Cline once worked as a waitress. Matthew and I had dined there in 2005; but this time, things were different. We especially enjoyed the show; Matthew was great, and the woman playing the Witch was wonderful, too.
The Virginia boys left on Sunday to return home. Matthew and I left on Monday, bound for Chicago and our own bed. Our plan was to stop at a hotel in Maumee, Ohio. The room was paid for with a coupon I'd gotten, good for a night's stay, after the awful time I'd had checking out at one of their hotels in 2005.
(What had happened was, the rate I'd booked online had not been put into the file the hotel had for my reservation. Which is fine, things happen. What made me angry was how unpleasant the staff was when I checked out: the old guy working complained about "You people" -- it seems he hates how we people think we can get things for free. And the young lady called me a liar, to my face. Subsequent conversations with the hotel's general manager led to the acknowledgement that I was right and they were wrong.)
You can imagine my concern, upon arriving at the hotel around 11.15 pm, to find that one of the two on-duty staff members had locked herself out of the hotel. She finally had to pound on a window, summoning one of the housekeeping staff to let her in.
The next day, many hours, many dollars of gas, and several thrift store stops later, we arrived back at Balmoral Avenue in Chicago, happy to be home.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Seen in the Subway
3 August, approximately 5pm. The L'enfant Plaza Metro station, Washington DC, waiting for the Orange Line train to Clarendon.
Panhandler approaches, asks for fifty cents. As is my custom, I pretend to be deaf and blind and unable to acknowledge existence of panhandler. Also, this was the very subway station in which I threw up, on a previous visit, due to overindulgence in alcohol, and I was trying to see if I could remember exactly where I hurled.
Panhandler moves on. Several feet away, he asks a man for fifty cents. Man digs in pocket, proffers quarter.
Panhandler is annoyed. "No. I need fifty cents. I don't need no quarter. I need fifty cents."
Man extends quarter, perhaps feeling that panhandler is simply politely protesting his generosity.
Panhander continues: "No, I need fifty cents! I know you're gay! But I need fifty cents!"
(Based on the yamulke and the copy of a Chaim Potok novel in his hand, I'd have pegged him for observably Jewish rather than observably gay, but whatever.)
Man returns quarter to pocket. Panhandler walks off.
Panhandler approaches, asks for fifty cents. As is my custom, I pretend to be deaf and blind and unable to acknowledge existence of panhandler. Also, this was the very subway station in which I threw up, on a previous visit, due to overindulgence in alcohol, and I was trying to see if I could remember exactly where I hurled.
Panhandler moves on. Several feet away, he asks a man for fifty cents. Man digs in pocket, proffers quarter.
Panhandler is annoyed. "No. I need fifty cents. I don't need no quarter. I need fifty cents."
Man extends quarter, perhaps feeling that panhandler is simply politely protesting his generosity.
Panhander continues: "No, I need fifty cents! I know you're gay! But I need fifty cents!"
(Based on the yamulke and the copy of a Chaim Potok novel in his hand, I'd have pegged him for observably Jewish rather than observably gay, but whatever.)
Man returns quarter to pocket. Panhandler walks off.
Bitter, Party Of One...
Arlington, Virginia, around 8 in the morning. Friday, 4 August.
My hosts still asleep, I decided to shower, dress, and stroll down Kirkwood to the Giant grocery store. My morning Coca-Cola and the Friday New York Times in hand, I queued up in the express lane. Which is where I saw Bitter Bruce, the Crabby Cashier.
Bruce had struck a pose, one hip thrust forward. What few hairs remain atop his head were each brushed in very precise lines towards the back of his head. Bruce did not look at anyone, whether he was talking to them or not.
The customer being checked out, a gentleman in (expensive) casual clothes, made a comment about it being "casual Friday."
"Oh." said Bruce. The bitterness in that 'oh' was palpable. "Yeah. I remember casual Friday. THAT was a whole OTHER lifetime."
My hosts still asleep, I decided to shower, dress, and stroll down Kirkwood to the Giant grocery store. My morning Coca-Cola and the Friday New York Times in hand, I queued up in the express lane. Which is where I saw Bitter Bruce, the Crabby Cashier.
Bruce had struck a pose, one hip thrust forward. What few hairs remain atop his head were each brushed in very precise lines towards the back of his head. Bruce did not look at anyone, whether he was talking to them or not.
The customer being checked out, a gentleman in (expensive) casual clothes, made a comment about it being "casual Friday."
"Oh." said Bruce. The bitterness in that 'oh' was palpable. "Yeah. I remember casual Friday. THAT was a whole OTHER lifetime."
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