Good Grief!

A good friend of mine recently unexpectedly lost her mother. As her father has never been in the picture, she had to deal with all the aftermath on her own. I must say, for being in her 20's, she behaved admirably. What I found truly horrifying was how several people thought it was a great time to try and take advantage of the situation. While visiting her mother's home to pay their condolences, several of her mother's friend's laid claim to some of her various knick knacks and other possessions telling my friend that they were gifts they had given her mother in past years. Awash with grief and flustered with making funeral arrangements, she could do little but nod and let them carry off her mother's things. Whether they were telling the truth or not, she had no way of knowing until someone tried to claim a lamp she knew she had given to her mother for Mother's Day. How dare they? Later on when she was attempting to sell her mother's home, something she didn't wish to do but had to due to financial constraints, the buyer pulled all sorts of crap and even down right lied on several occasions to try and get a better deal. He figured she was young and too wrapped in grief to notice. Why do people behave this way? How can they look themselves in the mirror? Luckily my friend is sharp and was able avoid most of the pitfalls, but it's really sad that she had to spend the months following her mother's death just trying not to get screwed.

The Heartless Judging the Homeless

I was recently eating lunch out on the patio of a downtown restaurant. A well known, homeless panhandler came by and did his usual chatter asking for spare change. After he wandered off I overheard a group of dinners making disparaging remarks about the homeless in general and about that man in particular. The term crackhead came up. Having worked in the area for many years, I'm aware of certain details about that particular homeless man. He is not a crackhead, he's simply not sane. Back in the 80's, Regan closed down numerous government-run mental health facilities. Anyone who was deemed as not a danger themselves or others was turned out. If they didn't have family to take them in, they would up on the streets. Remember the giant homeless problem back in the 80's? It didn't appear from nowhere. Remember all the celebrity pleas and shows like "Comic Relief"? And then in the 90's, the homeless problem went back down to previous levels. Those people didn't suddenly get sane, find jobs and become productive members of society. They died of exposure. It's sad and horrible, but it's true. Just because someone is not a danger to themselves or others does not necessarily mean they can take care of themselves. The homeless man I mentioned above was part of that group back in the 80's that got turned out. It's only through the kindness of the downtown residents that he has survived. Not everyone on the street is there because of drugs or bad choices or laziness. Sometimes they're just the people we as a society have not taken better care to protect.

Drive Thru Annoyance

Ever go through a drive thru and get stuck behind a minivan packed with kids? Why do they always wait until they are actually at the speaker to ask every single kid what they want? Couldn't this happen at an earlier time, perhaps on the ride over, maybe? I actually got to watch a father flip out on his small child who couldn't make up his mind between a burger or nuggets. Kids don't make quick decisions. Ask them before you get to the window. You're freaking out the kids and annoying me.

Gum On My Shoe

I hate gum chewers. Not the quiet little chewers. I mean the chomp chomp chomp crackle pop variety. It's like pollution of sound. I do not enjoy listening to people masticate. What is wrong with you people? Are you cows requiring cud? I understand the desire to freshen your breath, but after that, spit that crap out. You look stupid. If it has reached the point of a chronic usage, ask yourself this, "What sort of oral fixation am I satisfying?"

Hunted By Spiders

This isn’t really an everyday unkindness so much as an everyday unpleasantness. I’m pretty sure at some point early on in my life I killed the king of the spiders. They have been hunting me ever since. I was not a natural arachnophobic. I was actually fascinated by spiders as a small child. I excitedly poured over the spider edition of Ranger Rick. I’ve had several people my age tell me that the close-up of the wolf spider’s face turned in that same magazine freaked them out for life. I wasn’t fazed. Didn’t scare me at all. But as the years passed, and the attacks continued, I learned to fear them. They stalk me. I’ve been bitten twice by brown recluse. I visited friends in Vegas and suddenly they had a black widow infestation. I leave and the spiders do to. I stopped getting the morning paper. The frequency of large wolf spiders inside them, no matter how hard I shook the paper, became too much to take before caffeine. I ask you, when you’re showering and you lean your head back to rinse the conditioner out, how often is there a spider lowering itself down inches from your face? This is not an unusual occurrence for me. It’s giant wolf spider season right now in my neck of the woods. My husband and I are averaging about two huge ones a day. Last night’s came out of the bathroom cupboard while I was gaggling. I could go on and on. They’ve been hunting me for at least twenty-five years. If there are any spiders on-line right now, and judging by size of the ones that hunt me there probably are, I extend my apologies for whatever offense I have committed against your kind. Please, at least stop biting me in my sleep.

WHY?

I purchase a DVD, CD or video game. I bring it home. Now the fun begins. There are super stuck on sealing stickers around every seam. The seams are too close to effectively slide a sharp object down, a few of my attempts ended with blood being spilled, mine. All there is left to do is try and peel the evil things off. I usually loose a nail, and my temper. Is this absolutely necessary? It can’t be theft protection, can it? Everywhere I shop has some sort of bizarre hard plastic cage around the edges that can only be popped off with some sort of unknown handy tool the girl at the counter wields. So, why the stickers? What sort of bloody mindedness thought those would be a good idea?

What's the Deal with Ranch?

Once, back when I was waiting tables, the restaurant ran out of ranch dressing. It was no fault of management. The supplier, who dropped off his order right before the lunch rush, brought double bleu cheese and no ranch. It was a Monday and we were coming off a busy weekend. Supplies were low. Before anyone had time to slip off to the local restaurant supplier, the lunch rush hit. No one had time to do anything except serve lunch. Of course, before lunch was anywhere near from over, we ran out of ranch. You would think we had taken up puppy beating. People were incredulous.
“What do you mean you’re out of ranch?”
“How can you be out of ranch?”
“You can’t be out of ranch!”
And so it went. I was well aware that ranch was the most popular of the dressings, but I had no idea how many people's existence depended on their daily dose of it. I was startled by how furiously they responded. Some slumped into sullenness as they consumed their food. Some treated me rudely for the remainder of their meal. Tips were definitely not up to par that lunch. As the shift ground on, hurried chatter around the service center indicated to me that I was not the only one experiencing this phenomenon. By the time lunch slowed down and someone was finally able to run out and procure some ranch, I had begun fanaticizing about what I would really love to say.
“What do mean you’re out of ranch? How can you be out of ranch?”
“It’s because of the ponies.”
“The what?!?”
“You know, ponies.”
“What!”
“Little horses. Go clop-clop. You know, ponies.”
Any further questioning, and I would stick to the pony excuse. Stay friendly, but act like they were the ones who just didn’t get was going on. I shared this fantasy with my fellow wait staff. For a while, when anything went wrong, we blamed the ponies. Is there something about ranch dressing that I don’t know?

Everybody Out of the Pool

The other day I headed to my local rec center for a yoga class. As I was checking in at the front desk I overheard an odd exchange between the girl behind the desk and a man surrounded by small children.
“What do you mean the pool is closed?”
“I’m sorry, sir, we’re having the pool painted and a few repairs done. It will be open next week.”
“So, you’re saying we can’t go swimming?”
“That’s right, the pool has been drained. They’re painting it.”
Now a hint of anger had crept into his voice.
“So we can’t go swimming?”
I’m sorry, sir, there is no water in the pool.”
Now, real anger.
“The pool is closed?!?”
“Yes sir, I’m sorry.”
Then he barked something at his kids and stormed out.
I thought to myself, “what a nut” and carried onto yoga. An hour later, stretched and centered, I headed out. As I passed the front desk I was struck by déjà vu.
“What do you mean the pool is closed?”
I stepped over to the bulletin board and pretended to need guitar lessons or something.
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sorry. They’ve drained it to paint it.”
This time it was a lady and she seemed to get the concept of an empty pool quicker than the man had, but she also got angry quicker.
“Why would you do that?!?”
In an interesting jump in logic, she seemed to assume all decisions involving the rec center fell to the girl at the front desk.
“It needed to be painted. We had actually had some complaints.”
“But it’s summer!”
“It is an indoor pool ma’am. Summer is actually the pool’s least busy time.”
With a huff she stormed out, somehow I could sense her writing a letter of complaint in her head. I couldn’t help inquiring at the front desk.
“Does that happen often?”
The girl smiled at me.
“Several times an hour.”
“Are they all like that.”
“Mostly.”
As I walked out of the rec center I glanced at the door. Sure enough, there was a sign announcing the closing of the pool and when it would reopen. I’m not sure if I noticed the sign on the way in or not. I would have disregarded it as swimming in an indoor pool during the summer seems somehow unnatural to me.
Why were these people so angry and indignant? I could understand some frustration, but why such anger at a minor inconvenience? I know they got the kids ready, which can be a pain in the ass, but my local rec center is not the only one. There are other places to go swimming without a membership. I can think of at least three of them only a ten minute drive away. I just don’t get it.

Big Families Are Back

I heard, on ‘Oprah’ so it must be true, that large families are coming back into style. Now, I had noted an increase in my own little world of people having four or more children, but I was terrified to hear that it’s not just a localized phenomena. Are you people insane? This is not the 18th century. You do not need to breed huge broods of children just to make sure a couple of them live to adulthood. It’s irresponsible in the grand scheme of things and the small scheme of things.
On the grand side, we live on a planet of limited resources with an ever expanding population. Don’t add to that. Just because there seems to be plenty now, at least in this country, does not mean there always will be. If you need to have a giant brood, why not adopt or become a foster parent? If you can’t love a child as much if it did not spring from your own loins, you’ve probably got some mental issues.
On the small side of things, unless you are wildly financially gifted, there will be less to around. More than likely, you will be able to help your kids go to college. It’s also not just money, it time. Your time. With each addition child it stretches any one-on-one attention a little more. Less time to help them with their homework. Less time listen to what they have to say. No matter how fabulous you think your parenting skills are, things slip by. The less time you have, the more things slip by.
Plus, you people are really annoying in restaurants.

Jellyfish Horror

Once, when on vacation, I witnessed something that I believe will haunt me for the rest of my days. It was a lovely day at the beach. I was sprawled on a towel drying out after a long swim. A mother and her little boy came strolling down the beach. The boy looked about two and a half, maybe three. The small child erupted into the type of tantrum that’s common for kids of his age. I have no idea what he was upset about, but it was the mother’s response that will always freak me out. She picked up a jellyfish that had washed up on shore. Then she grabbed her child’s hand and pressed the invertebrate onto his palm. The level of the kids wailing increased to a tone of fear and pain. The mother picked him up and stormed down the beach.
I was speechless. For her to come up on the spot with such a twisted punishment completely floors me. I have often wondered what home life would be like with that monster. But even more chilling is what could she come up with if given time and proper motivation? I bet she’s a bureaucrat.