J.P.

Service.

So after a busy day yesterday, Earl and I were frankly too lazy to do anything about making supper last night. So we decided to go out. Not wanting to spend a lot of money and not in the mood for anything extravagant, but still wanting a relatively healthy menu to choose from, we went to a diner that isn’t too far away. We go to this diner often, but I don’t think we had ever been there on a Monday night. We figured it wouldn’t be too busy.

It wasn’t busy at all and before we knew it, we were seated in a large booth and looking over the menu. It was kind of weird being in the place on a Monday night because it was a completely different staff; it was kind of like watching a Broadway show with all understudies or something (nothing against understudies, by the way). The energy of the diner was more subdued than usual. We figured it was the Monday vibe.

Looking around I noticed a table of older woman sitting directly behind Earl and Jamie. They looked familiar to me but I couldn’t place where I knew them from. Had I encountered them at the grocery store? At a bank, perhaps? This gave me something to ponder for a while.

The server came over and didn’t really seem interested in pleasantries. She just kind of asked what we wanted to drink and shuffled off. When she came back, Jamie asked if he could have a plain, grilled-cheese sandwich to go along with a bowl of the tomato soup he had just ordered. She kind of clucked and said, “of course we can make a plain, grilled-cheese sandwich.” Her reply felt incomplete, like it was missing the words “you idiot” at the end, but perhaps she was into word conservation. Earl asked for a hamburger. She looked at him incredulously as he continued with his order.

“Uh, how would you like the hamburger cooked?”, again, with “you idiot” silently implied. Her cluck was accompanied by an eye roll.

At this moment I decided to keep my mouth shut and tweeted my frustration instead with a vague tweet:

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I placed my order, filling in all the gaps that I already knew about because I always order the same thing and the pleasant server just confirms. There was no way anyone was going to cluck or roll on my watch.

She shuffled off to do her thing and I watched her busy herself around the diner. The kitchen door would wave open far enough where I could see food assembly in progress. A few observations:

1. She doesn’t like ice scoops. She’d rather use the serving glass as a shovel. That’s a NYS Health Department no-no.
2. She doesn’t like tongs. She’d rather throw a lemon wedge in a glass of water with her hands. That’s a NYS Health Department no-no.
3. She doesn’t like tongs. She’d rather throw the a pre-made lettuce salad into the bowl with her hands and then casually wipe her nose. That’s a NYS Health Department no-no.

I wasn’t in the mood to be confrontational so I let these things go because honestly, I had observed this behavior after we had all of our food and drinks and I figured I was already going to die so I might as well have a crowd join me in the better place.

As we made our way through the meal, she stopped by once and without ever looking us in the eye, she asked if everything was ok and then shot away. No refills for you!

She stopped by the table behind Earl and Jamie before stopping by our table to give us our check. Jamie snickered as he overheard the conversation at the next table. They had decided not to tip the waitress because of her rude demeanor. And that’s when it hit me.

The ladies at the table worked at the local DMV office. They worked with the woman I had called Donut Breath!

Now, if the ladies at the DMV think the woman is rude, there is no doubt in my mind that we weren’t being overly sensitive last night. So we learned a couple of things:

1. The diner shall never be visited on a Monday night.
2. The diner probably won’t be visited in a long, long while due to the health concerns that were observed.
3. If you’re having a cantankerous time at the DMV, remember, there are places where it is worse.

I have considered calling the county health department to set up an inspection, but I don’t want bad things to happen to the diner. However, I will probably send an anonymous letter to the location to let them know what I observed.

Monday Music.

I heard this song whilst sitting in Ruby Tuesday in Durham, N.C. last night. It caught my ear, so I Shazam!-ed and discovered that the artist’s name is Lenka and the title of the track is “You Will Be Mine”.

I love smooth, dreamy vocals. She reminds me of Imogen Heap. And I really like the train-like syncopation of the percussive track.

The track is from 2011. Enjoy!

Manners.

I love kids. I think their presence is important for the continuity of the human race. I have to admit that without kids, the world would certainly be a different place. Especially in a hundred years or so.

I believe that kids should be given the opportunity to vocalize and be creative and find their path, no matter what it may be, with as much encouragement as possible from the adults around them. A kid that is free to express him or herself appropriately will hopefully grow up to be a well-adjusted, contributing member of society. And that’s what we all want, right?

Please note that in the previous paragraph I said, “express him or herself appropriately.

I try not to judge people based on stereotypes. I do it, but I really tried hard not to do it. But when I saw a scrubby looking family of four, complete with two young tots, headed to the row behind me on this flight, whilst carrying take-out pizzas, I knew it was not going to be a quiet flight. I knew there would be little in the way of napping. And I could really use a nap today.

I’m not going into the intricacies of wondering why an airport vendor would serve full-sized take-out pizzas in an airport terminal, nor am I going to question as to why they brought them onto the plane, especially when we will be landing in relatively close proximity to the lunch hour. I’ve smelled worse food on plane in the adventure with the yak sandwich Earl and I encountered on a flight years ago.

Apparently the child bouncing on the tray table on Friday’s flight was just an appetizer for my airlines experience this weekend. For this scrubby family of four with their airport Chuck E Cheese in tow have kids that are screaming at the top of their lungs, kicking the seat at an almost amusing velocity and, from what I can tell from the sound, trying to exit the airplane by banging on the window as hard as possible while making a shrieking noise not to be equaled by the whine of the aircraft engines.

It’s not that I’m a snob. Ok, perhaps I am a bit of a snob, but I believe that we should train our children to behave appropriately in public and that starts by behaving appropriately at home.

The father of the group has put on headphones and sunglasses and has tuned out what is apparently SNAFU. The mom is gazing at the scabs on her new arm tattoo. The tattoo is that of a wolf head. I don’t think her biceps quite do the tattoo justice. She’s busy, so the two children are doing the aforementioned jumping and screaming and banging on the window.

On lookers from outside might see large letters forming the words “HELP ME” on an iPad in the window of the aisle in front of them.

Frequent flyers are probably chuckling knowingly because this is apparently the way flying works today. I’ve lamented on the loss of dressing nicely and behaving civilly while on board an aircraft. Those days are long gone, apparently, and have been replaced by the McGrubby to go set.

I know, I know, I sound old and cranky and I’m really trying not to be. Earl says I sweat the small stuff. But when you can’t take a needed nap and the flight you’re on doesn’t even offer any sort of entertainment, sweating the small stuff is basically the only thing you can do.

33 minutes and counting.

GoGo.

So I’m currently en route from RDU to DTW on Delta flight 4936. The flight attendants are Michael and Chrissy. They’re very friendly. And I’m in an even more sunny mood because the GoGo wifi service is a GoGo today!

Yay for iPads and being able to easily catch up on online happenings!

When GoGo works, the speeds are very impressive. This makes the plane geeks quite happy.

NoGo.

One of the reasons I look forward to flying on Delta is because their flights often offer WiFi via their GoGo service. I have used it before and it’s actually quite an impressive service.

When it works.

This is the second flight out of the last three that has had a broken WiFi connection. There are placards all over the plane exclaiming WiFi, but GoGo is a NoGo yet again. The flight attendants have also announced that the coffee maker is broken and that they forgot to put beer on the plane. Hot tea is also out because without a coffee maker you can’t have tea.

Now granted, these are all first world problems and there are many, many, many more horrible things in the world, such as the child that is bouncing up and down on the snack table that is attached to the back of my seat. Why there are two young children flying this late at night is a little behind my admittedly old-fashioned comprehension, but to have one of them bouncing themselves on the snack table is making me really wish someone had remembered to put the beer on the plane this evening. Especially since departure was delayed due to catering dragging their feet.

On the plus side, my economy comfort seat is quite nice with lots and lots of legroom in front me. It was worth the extra $40, especially since it comes with a vibrating chair that is now making wailing noises.

And I thought the child that communicated through random noises that sounded like “bip bip bip” the other night at Panera was bad.

I’m curious as to whether other gentle readers who fly Delta have the same issue with GoGo being a NoGo. Perhaps it should be “Went Went” because NoGo is just a little too obvious.

As a quick aside and mostly unrelated topic, I find it humorous that NCR calls their point of sale software “RealPOS”. When I see that, I see “real piece of shit”. Nice!

The child is now bouncing around at a higher velocity and apparently has a saggy diaper because the smells coming from the row behind me resemble something I smelled once in a conference room at work on Taco Day.

Perhaps the kid needs a taco.

“Are you sure you don’t have a beer? I’ll even drink something really warm”, the passenger pleaded.

Nothing.

My next flight will definitely be in first class. Even if we have to take a second mortgage on the house for the luxury. Hell, I’d even sell some of my swimmers to fund a first class trip.

Let someone else deal with the bouncing on the tray table.

Daydream.

So I’m on Delta flight 6163 en route to Detroit. Once there I must make a quick connection to Delta flight 5611, which will take me to Raleigh-Durham, where I am spending the weekend with friends doing creative endeavors.

Creativity is good.

I’ve mentioned before that I really love flying, and tonight is no exception to the rule. When we took off from Syracuse I had a big smile on my face because I could imagine all those times playing in the backyard at Grandma City’s house and watching the jets fly overhead as they made their way in or out of the airport. Flying over tonight I was able to spot that backyard with ease and it made me happy.

Looking out the window right now, we are over the southern tip of Ontario on the shores of Lake Erie.

Earl and I have been actively talking about our retirement years, though they’re still a ways off. We are going to live elsewhere someday, which makes me happy, and we’ve talked through the pros and cons of having a winter home and a summer home. Other than the beauty of our current home, I have little desire to stay where we are, though I wouldn’t mind if our summer location was in the Syracuse area. Of the Upstate New York cities, that’s the one I feel most comfortable in, and for obvious reasons. I’ve tried others on for size and they just don’t fit right. There’s something about the vibe of Syracuse that fits like a well-worn t-shirt, and I like that feeling.

Back in it’s day, Syracuse was known for the work ethic its citizens had. There are still elements of that in the Salt City but as with everything else in this day and age, times change. I still think Syracuse has a good future ahead of her, if she puts her mind to it, and I’d like to be around to see that future.

The other day Earl sent me a text message telling me he’s ready to go on an adventure driving across the New Mexican desert. If pressed to pick the winter location at this moment, it would have to be Albuquerque. We have been there a few times and I have always enjoyed the visits. I might have to take Earl up on his vacation suggestion and head out that way with the Jeep. Our next big Jeep adventure is to Wisconsin, Arkansas and all points in between, but it’s never too late to plan the trip after that.

We need to win the lottery.

If we did win the lottery, Syracuse would still be in my hopes for our winter location and we’d have more money to explore places like Albuquerque.

We have started descending. I should probably bring this documented daydream to a close.

Different Drum.

I just gave a presentation on software that I wrote this week. The software was conceived on Monday and the first draft was presented today. Not too shabby, if I do say so myself.

As the kind people in the audience made comments about the software and provided a couple of suggestions, my mind went into overdrive with the six ways from Sunday that I could improve what I had already written. They could hear the excitement in my voice and I had to admit that I’m full-blown geek and I love doing projects like this. Part of it’s a control issue; I’m writing the software so I know how it’s suppose to behave versus the other half of my job where I help maintain software that was purchased by the company. Anyone want to venture a guess as to which half of my job I’d rather be on all the time?

Because they could hear the excitement in my voice, there was a comment that I was just ramping up on a Friday when everyone else seemed to be ramping down for the weekend. That’s true. I find a lot of energy on Fridays for some reason. I get a lot done on Fridays. It’s just my own drum beat out of sync with the drumbeat of everyone around me. I’m used to that. I think I relax and get stuff done on Fridays because I don’t feel the pressure of the work week ahead of me. Maybe in addition to control issues I also have stress issues. I wouldn’t be surprised about that.

So now I’m all geared up to get my to-do list cleared off and head into the weekend with a smile on my face. If you were sitting near me as I type this I’d make a ‘w00t!’ noise or something of the sort.

Detour.

This is my second blog entry of my lunch hour. My first blog entry was just deleted on purpose. Instead of blowing off steam and ranting and raving about something that is bugging me today, I decided to stop letting it bug me by preventing it from having it monopolize my thoughts and my bloggy creative juices.

Instead I’ll enjoy the cool waters of a mud puddle.

Reoccurring.

I can still remember the first time I had this dream. I was very young in my own little bed in the bedroom of the mobile home I grew up in. Since it was prior to my sister sharing the room courtesy of bunk beds, this means it was before I entered kindergarten. The details of that first version were scarce, the scene was very impressionistic. Later versions of the dream, which would occur ever few years would fill in some of the details here are there.

The world around me is dark. As I open my eyes, the ground has just stopped shaking. The wind is warm and the ferocity of the wind comes and goes. Orange and red hues light the area around me. The light is flickering. I feel heat but I don’t feel a burning situation. People are running in fear but I’m not scared. There is a cliff or a cavern that I’m standing near. I don’t know if it’s deep or wide, there’s just something in the landscape. A woman with long hair runs by, looking back briefly and then continues her hurried pace. I look down at the ground and I look at my hands. When I had the dream as a kid, my hands were big. The last time I had the dream, my hands are my hands. I look up and straight ahead. More red and orange light. Someone is walking towards me.

There was always some version of a conversation. “You know that it’s the right thing to do.” The person gestures around at the people running away. Off in the distance, I see one or two people standing around calmly, just as I am doing. I feel no fear.

“It is”, I reply.

I look at the face of the person speaking to me. I could never see who it was until I was in my 30s. When I couldn’t see their face, I’d look down and grab their hand, my right hand grabbing their left.

A variation of “Let’s do it”, as we grab hands and run towards the cavern or space.

“I love you!” is exchanged simultaneously.

We then jump. Admittedly, once in a while there would be the “bionic” sound effect, but that was apparently just part of the bonus material as it’s happened only once or twice of probably two dozen repeats of the same dream. As we jump, the scene gets more red and orange.

We never land. I always wake up after we jump but before whatever is going to happen, happens. Strangely enough, I wake up smiling and feeling very peaceful because I was holding their hand when I jumped.

The other person never had a face until I met Earl. The half-dozen or so times of having the dream since the late 90s, Earl has always been the one holding my hand. He’s the one telling me that he loves me. He’s jumping with me. Because it’s the right thing to do.

And this morning, I woke up smiling and feeling very peaceful.

No bonus material on this run of the dream, though.

Panera.

So I’m at Panera this evening for supper. Earl is out of town on business until late tonight, Jamie off being a Cub photographer and quite frankly I didn’t feel like cooking tonight nor did I feel like sitting in a sit-down restaurant alone, so I decided on Panera. These are the types of actions that are packed to living here.

This Panera isn’t like others in surrounding cities; it was built in a shopping center in a long and narrow space. It doesn’t have the little nooks or cozy fireplaces or anything like that. At times it has the ambience of a school cafeteria except generally without the food fights. The high top tables that were here when the location was first built are long gone because people had a habit of falling of them and flailing in the walkway. I wish I was kidding about these things.

Just a few moments ago when I walked into Panera I noticed an older man and woman sitting and presumably enjoying a meal together. I locked eyes with the woman whilst I was walking by. In response she returned my gaze, stood up and pointed at me. I have no idea what was that was about as there were no words were exchanged. I cocked my eyebrow in a quizzical fashion (I feel very Spock-like when I do that, but not Dr. Spock-like, more Mr. Spock-like, because after all, I know little about babies outside of the fact that they’re small and sneeze things like popsicle juice.) I felt her eyes on me as I made my way to the cafeteria line but I never bothered to ask her why she was standing and pointing at me. Perhaps it had something to do with gay marriage. On the other hand, maybe one of my antennae was peeking out of my disguise or perhaps I left the lights on on the saucer that I had parallel parked between a Fiat and a beat up Buick.

In all reality, she stood and pointed at me because I am one fine look piece of human male. There’s really no denying it. The distinguished gray in the beard, while dressed to look stylish yet not too stuffy and carrying an assortment of Apple products, what person could resist me? I guess I’m fortunate that she didn’t rip my clothes off right there.

Coming to this Panera is always an adventure. I am thankful that no one in line ahead of me was asking for fries with their meal. I look forward to the day that I can sit down at a Panera without being recognized by the unknown masses.

Being a famous blogger is such hard work.