Redacted

And so it came to pass that I redacted, well, my team did, that which was contracted and whom it impacted so I was able to gain traction with my retractions.

Without cause I related effect and I suspect interjected some respect for the other side, who held me in contempt but I was content with that. 

There is no insinuation that quite gains the appreciation of all my fans more than tangental reflection, redirection, and apprehension over what has been occurring and at the same time obscuring some glaring objectifications coupled with high aggravations taking place at the far end of the room, in the corner.

Game O’ Thrones couldn’t dream this up.

Michal Parzuchowski- Unsplash.com

Looking there you will see Exhibit A or is it B, a moving target full of cunning and guile hidden by a smile and it would be worth your while to go in that direction and not be subjecting me to such inspection

for though I like the attention I would like to raise an objection to these unfair accusations that might lead to realizations of conduct long buried under the rug why you'd think I was bugged by my own department who share my indignation that I should answer calls of resignation. I will do no such thing!

  For you see…

  I am king.

Underemployment Office

     "Underemployment Office. May I help you?"
"Hi, uh.... ....maybe. "I was told to come here to fill out some A1072 forms. I guess I'll also hafta look for a job 'cuz my last one ended"
"Are you one of the guys that was recently laid off at Exco?"
"Yeah"
"Did you work in the foundry?"
"No. I worked in the fabrication department. Sort of like an assembler. I ran a contraption called an 'AutoPress'"
  "I see". She grabbed some papers nearby and pushed 'em over to me. "Here are the required forms you need to fill out to collect unemployment. Can you give me a little insight about the position you held? I'm not quite sure I understand what you did"
"If you're thinking there might be another 'position' in a similar field available, forget about it. What I did was a very unique, specialized, and archaic job, one that is not even worth description. Technology made what I did totally obsolete anyway"
"Ok then.... uh... ...what other skills do you have? Carpentry? Mechanical? You look the tradesman type"
To that inquiry "Oh Gawd, here we go again" I inwardly sighed. "Down the road to nowhere!" 
I hedged a bit, mentally retrieving some dusty files, before I got back to the patiently waiting lifetime civil servant. "You don't understand...... ...let me explain..."

  I tried to give her The Story, you know, about how there has never been a job out there for me. She was only trying to help, as all of them do, but what they can't conceive of is the notion that 'what I do' has never even existed! 

Rumor is, there is job fulfillment out there.

David Siglin- Unsplash.com

Now I know that sounds strange and rather impossible, but it's true, for 'what I do' is not in any career manual and no matter how many corporations exist or have been formed in the entirety of my life there has been no job created, visualized, think-tanked, proposed, or ever briefly spawned that has ever matched what it is I 'do'.
Thus, my fate. Always underemployed.

  Like a stranger in a strange land have I wandered, through the business world, the structured world, the world that says that there are X number of options or slots or positions or avenues. Choose one! Find fulfillment there. 
"No can!" say I. To that. You don't understand me.

  "Balderdash!" and "Harrumph!" (good words) thunder those of The Republican Party, if there is such a thing anymore, dour entities I picture as having the energy, say, of railroad tycoons of the nineteenth century. "Get a job! Fit in!"
"Nay" say I. "I have tried".
"You have not applied yourself!"
We could go round and round with this. You just don't understand. 

Jobs... ...well.... ...they're supposed to come with some kinda juice, right? I know they don't want me (God forbid!) 'lounging around' on the dole but, you know, if you're not on top (definitely lounging around) the offerings of the job market are, to me, uh.... ...how can I say this politely? 'Less than delectable'?

Whatever. Choose a word! Many descriptors fit. I don't know why but for some reason or another my expeditions in the world have been through numerous unfulfilling shadowlands, only 'cuz the job that fits for me has never showed up. It's like I landed on the wrong planet or something or was born in the wrong time and have been waiting, waiting, waiting. 

All I can tell you is I'll know it when I see it. So thanks for the guidance, Forbes, Inc., Fast Company, Entreprenuer, Money, and all those other magazines. Thanks for the glimpses of what could be, SportsCenter. Thanks (I guess) to Monster.com, Indeed, Glassdoor, Career Builder, Craigslist, and the Classified Ads. Though all your input hasn't helped solve the issue it has whiled away the hours, like watching TV does. 

Oh, should it be that the great and glorious day finally comes for me, as I imagine it has come for others. "I shall be a dentist!" exclaimed one in a moment of realization, a moment that also delivered extraordinary happiness. "An airline pilot!", gushed another, during his "Aha!" moment. "A professional golfer!" fist-pumped another still. At a portentous moment in time each citizen saw possibility (and passion) for them in what was being offered, honed in on it, and eventually realized their dream. 

Least they had one, which is something the underemployed don't. But I feel I'm not alone in my underemployment angst. From talking to people I sense that there are many, many others who carry this burden. However, don't pity us. We don't want that! Nicht, nay, und nein! Keep sending offers our way is all we ask, and pul-eeze don't worry about us. You'll know when we've found 'it' because we'll never stop telling you about it!

It's something we really look forward to 'cuz man, we've been listening to your stories for years.

The Symbology Of The Prevailing Culture

Sounds heavy, eh? Let's make it not. Wanna keep this light here. As a person with artistic leanings, not quite an 'artist' (I haven't labeled myself as such) I have been on the lookout for the next picture. I thought it would be a portrait.

Yeah. A portrait of a striking face, a startling face. Maybe the face of a celebrity, but that would be soooo done already and indeed, in doing searches online, I saw that such was true. There are untold numbers of artists who have drawn, painted, or even sculpted the likenesses of celebrities the way musicians endlessly cover popular songs. 

So I couldn't go there. Perhaps online or even in the neighborhood there were art worthy subjects but..... .....celebrities usually aren't physically flawed like normal people are and the people I saw online or on the street were mainly (no offense, nothing personal) not worth the effort. 

What I did see, though, was that I was actually searching for the representation of a quality (or qualities) of energy. Name a few examples? How about confidence? Bearing? Attitude? Sadness? Weariness? Wisdom? On and on that list could go. 

Then, through doing that, I saw that people's faces held, and their bodies housed, only temporary representations of something that can’t be seen. I was searching for something to draw that can't ever be drawn. It can only be alluded to. 

Superman of centuries ago?

Andreas Nextvoyagepl- Unsplash.com

This was sobering. Energy refuses to be captured and any picture that we see is just some artist's interpretation of energy that he or she has offered up to the masses to consume. (Writing is the same way, it is the assemblage of words that point to things beyond words).

This is why there are no pictures of God and never will be. The formless can take a form pleasing to the eye or something that scares the pants off of you because the formless can shape itself into all forms. It's only our interpretation of what we see that makes the difference because to some thing, some being, that has no form what difference does taking on one form or another make? To them it's only another costume, another set of clothes. 

Associations I've made with people I have known who have passed on, whose forms no longer exist, cause me to almost automatically link the energetic qualities they had to present time people possessing similar physical traits. Anybody having something close to old Uncle Harry's big bushy eyebrows, thick black hair, and big fleshy hands suggests to me that they are gluttonous and rather fun, while people having Aunt Edna's wide mouth, hawkish nose, and rather narrow face give me an almost kneejerk reaction that they should be avoided if possible as they possess a haughty sense of refinement- and could employ cutting disdain. You know how it goes. It's hard to get the pictures of them, and the energies they represented to you, out of your mind. 

Ditto famous people. Marilyn Monroe (voluptuousness, sexuality) has never changed in my view, Abe Lincoln (morality, virtue) always looks the same way to me, and Winston Churchill (indignation, resolve) scowls forever in my consciousness. 

Taking this line of thought further, what about pictures (other than actual photographs) of 'spiritual people'? The saint, shaman, healer, earth mother, religious warrior, world savior? There are webpages galore of them to peruse. Many of them are beautifully drawn but none of them are real. Or you could just skip all that and hurry over to the DC comics universe, an even better example of what I'm talking about. Superman! The very picture of pure selfless nobility. Wonder Woman! Physical representation of amazon warrior protector energy. Batman! Clever, witty guardian angel of Everyman, and his nemeses The Joker, The Riddler, Mr. Freeze, The Penguin, etc., evil minded criminal elements able to be tripped up due to the blind spots contained in their wacky schemes.  All representations of that which we cannot see. 

It's getting so bad that no matter what I'm looking at I'm seeing it for what it is- only a caricature. I've got to say, this being a budding artist has been unexpectedly traumatic! 

I see the formless hiding within everything now.

Swensons's Sacred Shift

     (I can't help but present the experience I had in the forthcoming way for 'twas as if the gleaming Halls Of Honor demanded my words be fashioned in such a manner. Swenson's Sacred Shift would not have been done justice in the using of ordinary methods of description). 

The opportunity came up and I took it. Swenson had gone on vacation and the guy above me, Clark, in hallowed seniority didn't feel like working so I swooped in and signed my name on the schedule. 

My request was, after the painstaking reviewing of union rules, subsequently approved.

Swenson, let me give you a little background here, is an old, old hand. He probably doesn't know what working nights and weekends are like, it's been so long. He also has perhaps dim and distant memories of staying late to help out the ever-shorthanded night shifters but he, like everyone else, plays all the angles so it's not like he can be faulted for taking advantage of every small, miniscule, or even microscopic way to distance himself from pulling his true weight at the jobsite.

Now Swenson has been spotted coming in earlier, here and there, but when he does (to cover for the absent 'King Of Seniority', a guy named Krueger) he just leaves earlier! It's not like he's helping out, he's helping himself. But, that's his M.O.. (I've got everybody's charted around here). 

It took Swenson many, many years to get to the lofty heights his perch overlooks the jobsite from and he'll never let those under him or any newbies forget it. He has aches and pains, or makes like he does, when he bails out the door ("after a ruff week", as he puts it) on Friday afternoons. N'er on a weekend day is he around. Folks tell me that this is the way things have been since long before I showed up. 

Well, enough about Swenson. Let's get back to where we started, talking about his venerated shift, one that is simultaneously protected like Fort Knox, the secrets of the Vatican, and what actually happened at Area 51. 

Swenson's start time is at 7:00 a.m., and his quittin' time is at 3:00, but Swen (as he's known around here) starts putting his tools away at 2:30 in order to 'tidy up some'. Not in a hurried way, mind you, but in a time killin' way, 'cuz he's eyein' the time clock and doesn't want Chief (the supervisor) to find him waiting in front of the time clock to punch out. 

Studying a layout

Thomas Sweeny- Unsplash.com

Monday through Friday Swen is on the job, that is, unless he's on vacation (he gets more than a month off every year). This guy is hard to take, he's kind of a know it all, but I've managed to avoid him mostly and now here I find myself, driving to work to work his shift at the ungodly hour of 6:00 a.m.! Is this what Swen's day is like every day, driving to work in the pre-dawn darkness? It is. I marvel at the amount of traffic I encounter. Lotta other Swenson's out there! More than I imagined.

Upon arriving at the jobsite, I clock in and station myself at Swen's work area. It's like entering a damn enemy camp! Dayshifters all around eye me warily. They know I'm only a temporary apparition but still, they don't want me to establish any toehold. This is what I'm thinking but a few of them greet me warmly. I'm a breath of fresh air to them, it seems, 'cuz they've had to weather a lot of Swen's gruff attitude and I'm appearing to not be (they're checking) carrying any of that. I'm actually grateful to be at work at such an early hour and that shows, even if the light is awfully bright and the shadows that are being cast are lying in odd directions. 

"So this is what it's like!" think I as I get my tools out and get to work at Swen’s actual work station. It's like holy ground I'm standing upon. Few mortals have ever had the privilege. How have I come to be so blessed?!

As the shift progresses I witness any number of odd, only seen during the day, things. Some of what I see disturbs me, but I say not a word. If I'm ever going to hope to fit in with this crew I'd best be holding my tongue. They've got a system, a hierarchy, a pecking order, a certain flow that has developed over the years, one that has been reluctantly yet continuously modified. Swen has his place in all this and I represent it, but only for a day. Some other employee, also unimaginably blessed, will get to experience Swenson's Sacred Shift tomorrow, for tomorrow I must resume my regular shift on my regularly scheduled day. I wish I could stay, oh I wish it were so, but "Nay!" say The Gods Of Seniority, who rule with ruthless, merciless, and heavy hand. 

"'Tis not fair, the system!" I cry, or think about crying out, but like most of my other thoughts inside the confines of The Company, I keep such matters to myself. Swenson earned his exalted perch through the toil and sweat of many years labor. Who am I to question this, ask for any boon, or beg for lenience when before me sits Swenson's workbench, supremely weathered and worn, ample evidence of Swenson's selfless devotion to those selfsame gods of profit that we all must answer to, in some way or another? Swenson's trek up the mountain was entirely honorable. No greater sacrifice could one give but his life and I must acknowledge that. I must know my place and dare not overstep any bounds. 

And then, alas, alas. As all days do, this one progresses and I find myself once again at the punch clock, holding my time card, about to punch out at the absolutely astounding and utterly amazing time of three o'clock p.m. With trembling hands I steady the card in its receiving slot, then press the machine's button. 'Click!" My time is recorded and I think I ought to frame this particular time card, or take a picture of it, to show to my coworkers, wife, family, and friends, for who will believe that I have worked Swenson's Sacred Shift were I not to provide any evidence? In any case, I am sure to be hotly queried about my pulling off the impossible for Swenson's Sacred Shift is known to all who work at the facility, in most every neighborhood home, at every after-work bar for miles around, by the governors of every adjoining state, and even to a gaggle of ship captains plying the distant and briny seas. 

Soooo glad I got to experience it.

Skeleton Coast

       Had on one of my favorite garage sales finds, a pirate shirt, the last couple of days. Garage sales are places where you can find the coolest and funkiest clothes. Some people have trouble wearing stuff that other people have found somewhere, purchased, and worn for awhile, their energy being in it and all, but I don't have a problem with that unless the energy is way way off in which case my guidance would have been to not be at that garage sale in the first place. I would have passed it by.

So back to my pirate shirt which looks really cool and fits me perfectly, which is another thing that happens every once in a while, you find a piece of clothing that seems tailor made and wear it over and over until it's threadbare because you don't think you'll ever find any piece of clothing like it again, but you do.

Anyway, this post is about being a pirate and what was that like. I was a pirate at one time, in one life, I feel it in my bones and I will tell you it wasn't a glamorous life. It was a lot of time spent out at sea looking for ships to raid and running like hell if they looked at all threatening because the Royal Navy was on the hunt for people like us and would take us out if they could. If we were ever spotted we would head for the coast and inlets there that we and only we knew about because our vessels had shallower drafts than their ships did plus we had compadres in the local area. The navy wouldn't follow us onto land and we knew it. Our safety was in sticking close to shore and never venturing out too far. 

About all that is left of us.

Markus Spiske- Unsplash.com

The trading ships also stuck close to the shore in case supplies ran low and because venturing too far out used up valuable resources like manpower and time. They were on the clock, same as us, trying to eke out profits before the hazards of their occupation took too big a toll.

Pirating was a desperate life and once you got into it you were no good after that. Marked for death, you were, for being a pirate or associating with pirates in any way was almost automatically answered by trips to the gallows. Governments hated us, citizens too, and so we lived on the very fringes which weren't very popular places to be, let me assure you of that. I don't recall any lusty port where we could sail into the harbor and be welcomed by kegs of grog and women fluttering their handkerchiefs at us from brothel windows like you see in the movies. That would have been a dream come true but our dreams were mainly to plunder a gold bearing ship and get the hell off the water and make our way to the frontier where we couldn't get found or spotted by anyone and live out the rest of our lives but disease took us, storms, fighting (or the wounds we suffered from doing that), malnutrition, and drink. The navies of various governments vying for control of the seas constantly sunk our vessels and even the best and most cunning of our breed were eventually outclassed and outmaneuvered by the ever changing outside world which developed countermeasures against us that made The Life less than worthwhile. Just wasn't any chance for us to score anymore. 

Yeah, we were drunks, plunderers, and looters, scourges upon society, debauched lechers and freaks of nature, but at least we were honest about who and what we were. We didn't pretend to be anything else- and that was our downfall. We should have taken our cues from the Slick Willies of the time who were far better at the game of amassing booty than us.

The trick back then, which is the same one used today, was to hide behind respectability to do thieving. In that way you could be gathering up all the gold in the world and still able to walk down the street unmolested, the population unaware of your crimes, and maybe even cheering you.

Brace Yourself, Here Comes Smarmy

Smarmy is a word that describes an attitude that is quite prevalent today. I have been awash in Smarmy people for quite some time and I find this trait highly irksome. It's like people are infected with it or something. I really wish they'd get over it but Smarmy seems to be here to stay so if you're continuously in an environment containing a lot of Smarmy people, I don't have to describe the identifying qualities of Smarminess to you but if you aren't out in public that much, here's a primer:

Smarmy people carry a particular attitude, sort of like they Know It All coupled with Been There, Done That even if they haven't Been Anywhere or Done Anything much. Maybe they saw 'it' on  a web page, on TV, or they watched a video. They've 'been around'. Exuding from them is comparison, coupled with scorn. Whatever it is they are surveying they survey it with jaundiced eyes. 

Young women are usually Smarmier than young men, but the men can be surprising in their ability to be Smarmy. I've seen them one-up some of the Smarmier women that I have encountered. "Well done, son!" think I. "Touche!" Older women and men can also unexpectedly stun you with Smarminess who woulda thunk it?

Smarmy men tend to be young, late twenties into their early thirties, while the women tend to be Smarmy at an even younger age (think Valley Girl) and somehow, through innumerable interactions with their like-minded sistahs, they can hone their Smarminess to a razor's edge of sharpness, which they casually whip out and employ should any occasion for Smarminess arise. It is at these opportune moments when these adepts at Smarminess let loose some exquisitely voiced disapproval, which can be devastatingly effective while being simultaneously awe inspiring in the way the Smarminess was so effortlessly crafted. Truly, to observe this is to see mastery in action. 

Smarmy people like to dress down those they deem worthy of being Smarmed, which could be just about anybody. They also like to rain down Smarminess on just about everything they observe, always comparing, comparing. Whatever is being measured against their golden standard always falls short and thus justifys the unleashing of utter and complete disdain, for Smarminess never comes out in varying degrees, only at full force. 

Contemptuous might be another word for Smarminess, it is as if the Smarmy one is aghast at just about everything he or she encounters, which is a world falling far short of expectation and needing to be corrected but it won't be the Smarmy one fixing anything, for he or she is above it all.

'Critics of life' might be still another way to describe the Smarmy tribe. Smarmy ones strut around like cosmopolitan dandies, noses in the air, perhaps ideally peering through a single eyepiece like the icon of The New Yorker magazine does, examining that which is before him while running through his mind a plethora of experiences, words, and scenarios in which to conjure up the absolutely precise way in which to describe in devastating fashion to his equally astute companions what he is witnessing oh my God these people.........

Oh ho! I’m trending!

Bruce Mars- Unsplash.com

.....can be pretty damn annoying but I suppose they are necessary for without them we would be as unaware as backcountry bumpkins so it's good that cultured, urbane, studied, and intelligent ones should appraise for the rest of us our shortcomings for without them in the picture we would be hopelessly lost. Generations might go by and slowly and imperceptibly we might indeed become denizens of The Planet Of The Apes were it not for them curbing our impulses to (gasp) continue down that road, that path, one that they wouldn't set foot on in a million years, it containing mud and all. 

Thinketh I exaggerate? Not at all. Smarmy people would tell you exactly that, were they to even bother, which they won't, for to them a mere raising of the eyebrows is all that should ever suffice. 

Where does or did this come from, this creeping malaise? Is it the internet? The hipster phenomenon? Are people so different than they were before, now that they are armed with information and trivia galore, so that they think they know everything and if they don't the answer is only a click away? Are we Instagramming ourselves into thinking that we know everything that is going on and can ever go on for now we have our fingers on the pulse of life itself and are steering it according to our incessant tweets about what is happening this very minute and if ever we consider writing an actual paragraph that's the domain of Facebook and blogging where we, if pressed upon, may even go so far as to include a link to a video......

Ok, enough! I gotta run. I'm sure to encounter many Smarmy ones today, they're unavoidable anymore. At least they're not walking around and scanning me with those damned Google Glasses. 

Not yet.

Oversharing

"It's not like I'm adverse to hearing your story.... uhm...."
(she doesn't want to hear it)
....and I don't want to interrupt...."
(oh no time's up)
".....but I really have to change the subject before I forget...."
(yeah I know, revert the conversation back to your stuff)

".......to tell you about what happened at my new gig inside the offices of Domenite Corporation yesterday, which has sort of been a theme to my life. It's a...."
(oh here we go)
".....pattern of injustice that actually really became apparent during the time I held that human resources position at Blurt Company......"
(she's not interested in my life at all!)

".....which was like, really traumatic! Grayson and Frederika were soooo mean. I mean they- and especially Grayson- saw that I had an in with Terrell, who's was grooming himself for upper management, and they......"
(it's okay for her to share)
"....set up that meeting, the one I told you about, remember? Terrell was warm to me when we sat down but when Frederika said what she said...."
(you shoulda got over this months ago)

“Yup….. ….I see…… ….uh huh…..”

Andrea Tummons- Unsplash.com

"....that's when Terrell's attitude changed towards me and after that it was never the same. I had been branded somehow with the Scarlet Letter- for doing absolutely nothing! The head of human resources and a few other people in other key management positions....."
(staring blankly, nodding occasionally)

".....started giving me the cold shoulder, like I had the plague or something. And I did! The BlurtCo black plague! I had been marked for death! It was so unfair. Frederika got promoted soon afterwards...."
(I wonder what I'm going to make for dinner tonight?)

"....but didn't last, did she? She only thought she had the right stuff! Grayson (laughs) had to run solo after that, and that enabled Terrell to clearly see that he was incompetent. Justice, huh? But then Janice showed up. Ugh! That little tart! When she came onto the scene my career became as good as over! Terrell......"
(sigh... ....trying to look like I’m listening)
".....and her started going out and I knew. I knew that it was the end for me. That's when I started sending out my resume. Anything was better......"
(I feel so alone)

"...than the oppressive environment that BlurtCo became. But you know what it did for me, that whole experience?"
(what?)
"It changed me into a better person. I wasn't bitter about it. Being bitter only makes it worse. I chose to move on. Other people don't care what has gone on in your life!"
(tell me about it)
"My getting shot down at BlurtCo was what got me to take classes. Classes in human development that were offered for free by the local community college. Group therapy sessions, they were, hosted by a psychologist. A group of ten of us....."
(maybe I should join one…)

"....shared the experiences we had had, wrestling with pain. We listened to and supported each other's journeys. Sometimes it got really deep. I remember there was this guy named Jason....."
(please do go on)
"....who had been persecuted at work, not exactly in the same way that I was....."
(I think I'm gonna pass out)
"......which was by a tag team duo. Jason got picked on by the whole department he was in. He was gay, you know. In a construction company! When the guys he was working with found out...."
(what were you saying? I think I missed something)

"....it was like he was radioactive. The whole environment of camaraderie he had been enjoying with the guys shifted right under Jason's feet. Not a single one of them would talk to him anymore....."
(I know what that feels like)
"......so he retreated to this inner world. I guess we all have one. I know I do! That's the place I go......"
(when the outer world gets to be too much?)

".....when I feel I'm not being heard. It's a place where I can express my feelings and maybe get some feedback, like when I'm talking to a close friend. A friend like you! I really treasure...."
(is this really happening?)
".....these times when we talk".

Das Ist Das Ende

     There was a scene in the movie 'Patton' where the Nazis, on the verge of being overrun by the American army, were furiously burning papers in some bunker and one of the German officers was lamenting 'Das ist das ende!" while another officer was looking at a photograph while wryly muttering the cause for all this trouble:
       "Patton!"
       which I thought was pretty damn cool. Change was coming hot on these wannabe world dominators' heels. 

Well, not so dramatic but equally forceful, at least to me, is the fact that the place where I am working is undergoing a metamorphosis. Change is being thrust upon my company. They are being forced to relocate and when any operation has to do that, bunker mentality sets in. Lots of old business props are relocated, some are discarded, and you get to see that all of it was just a bunch of movie set material anyway. 

I've been through this three times now and it's like the damn MASH unit is bugging out or the circus is leaving town. There is a flurry of activity and then it's over. Only the detritus of the business is left behind- the vacant facility, the empty lot, the rusted signs, the bent entrance gate fence. 

Battlefield energy is what lingers at the site. The thousands of people's energy that animated the place, or passed through it, somehow remains and it's kind of eerie because you can sense it. Though the grounds may be vacant, they're still charged. No energetic healing work is ever done, no remediation of any kind occurs. What takes place is simply a real estate transaction, a purely third dimensional thing. Remodelers afterwards come in to fix the place up, demolition contractors arrive to level it, or the place gets scavenged and then is left empty 'cuz nobody wants the location or building(s). 

Don’t be the last one out of this place

Krisztian Matyas- Unsplash.com

But long before the lights go out the people working there get nervous. Very nervous. The herd senses that change is afoot. A smell is detected in the air, an odd movement by upper management is seen by some employee and is breathlessly reported to the others. Snorts issue forth and agitated hooves claw the ground. Old familiar surroundings are going away and new, brighter facilities are coming. "Where will I be able to hide?" employees think. "What will be asked of me? What will the new work area be like? Who is going to be in my department?" Soooo many questions and soooo few answers. 

But there isn't time for answers! The enemy is approaching and their arrival is imminent! We have to evacuate!

Das Ist Das Ende!

Can't say that some of the employees aren't happy to leave the old facility though, which months and even years ago went into slow decline as management steadily withdrew their support from it. The facility got to looking worse and worse over time 'cuz upgrades weren't happening and maintenance wasn't being done. Oh, that sort of stuff was being done enough to keep the place functional, in good enough shape to prevent any customers passing through from complaining, but pleasing to the eye it was not, especially in the areas the public couldn't land their eyes on. Deplorable and atrocious are words about those areas that come readily to mind. 

Which illustrates the point of all this. Businesses don't as a rule invest a lot of money on employee workplace satisfaction. The average work area is as spartan as it can be, containing only running machinery, necessary other equipment, things being stored, and lots of noise. Inside of any employee ‘comfort’ area there's usually a crappy coffee maker, lousy chairs, some banged up cabinets, ratty carpeting, barely functional old computers, fixtures and furniture lifted from who knows where, from thrift stores even, a ghastly refrigerator, and a florescent-lit break area. Just enough and no more. Workplaces are not esthetically pleasing like corporate offices are, they're depressingly functional. And this is what most places look like during the good times! Towards the end they get, well, kinda where you don’t want to be touching anything you don’t need to be touching grungy. 

But that's okay, sez management. "The new facility is where all our focus is! We're going to be packing up and moving over there soon to set up shop. So what and who cares about this dump?!"

"It's only business!"

A Different Day At Work

I must admit, I wasn't ready for what transpired this Monday. It took me totally by surprise.

The first thing that occurred was that I was waved into a parking place right in the front by two smiling attendants who welcomed me and then said that they would be detailing my car while I was on the job. To this I was amazed, I must say, but there came more. Much more. 

Entering the gate that leads to the building that leads to the punch clock, I was ushered down a flower strewn path, past managers standing at full attention, sort of like an honor guard. What UP?
  No less than the head of the division- The Man- met me at the front door, where he shook my hand vigorously. He called me by my first name, as if he knew me. I had seen him from afar many times, where he had been sort of surrounded by a fawning entourage of managers so to be recognized by The Man was disquieting, let me assure you. He led me inside the building, away from the managers, who I could see immediately scattered to reman their positions, and asked me if my pay was enough. I mentioned that I had seen that Bryce Harper of the Philadelphia Phillies had signed a 13 year, 330 million dollar contract just yesterday. My division head said he couldn't pay me that much, but he would see to it that I was taken care of. 

Now what that meant I could only surmise, for my idea of 'being taken care of' has always seemed to clash with management's idea of fair compensation. I'm tellin' ya, I was waitin' for the Candid Camera guy to come out at any moment at this point but the division head right on the spot wrote me out a check that got my eyes to poppin'. He said it was for all the past due 'favors' that I had done for the company, where this or that Manager On Duty (MOD) had promised me they would ‘see to it’ that this favor or that wouldn’t be overlooked but they never did pay me back 'cuz they forgot about my beyond the call of duty contribution like a minute or two afterwards. 

Man, I'll tell you I was quite pleased and wished I wasn't at work right then 'cuz I wanted to hustle down to the bank and cash that check before it bounced or somethin' but I had to get on the job and mechanically searched for my time card in the rack. It was getting to be time when my coworkers were going off duty and the passengers were going to be waiting. They pile up quick, you know, but the division head gently put his hand on my shoulder and guided me away from that area while saying "Don't worry about that. It's been taken care of. Come with me"

Well, ok, I hope he's got things covered 'cuz ya know these upper level muckity-mucks don't have a clue about what's going on at street level and I was concerned that my coworkers coming on duty were going to be overwhelmed but next I know I'm sitting in a very comfortable office and The Man is sitting across from me.

“Hal-e-lu-jah!”

Nghia Le- Unsplash.com

"We've had our eye on you for some time" he began, and damn if I didn't get that drop-in-the-pit-of-my-stomach feeling that all employees get hearin' something like that. Was I gonna be fired?

The Man must've read my mind 'cuz he chuckled some before continuing. "No, no, it's nothing like that. You're not in trouble! Quite the contrary. We'd like to offer you a position higher up". 

Not bein' the kind to take a shine to takin' on responsibility, I hardened up some, as if to brace myself for what was coming. But it wasn't like that at all. Company car, nationwide travel on the company's dime, and a hefty per diem. Why, they were offerin' me- me- the kind of a job that, from the standpoint of what I'd been through, wasn't even work at all. I can't go into the details about it, it's not something that an outsider would understand, not bein' in the company and all, so I won't go there. Suffice it to say that I couldn't believe what I was hearin'. But there was really nothing to think about and so lest this opportunity go to another, I accepted the position on the spot. 

"We'll set you up nicely, you'll see" The Man said, while rising from his chair and shaking my hand in conclusion. "There's nothing to worry about. We're confident that you are the right man for the job"

"Thank you, sir" said I, exuding gratitude. 

"No, thank you” The Man insisted. "I was worried that our offer wasn't going to be generous enough. I'm highly relieved that you have accepted our terms"

I guess a uncomfortable moment or two then passed. Seemed our meeting was over. I didn't know what to do next, and my mind drifted back to the punch clock and the taking on of my duties. 

"Take the rest of the week off" The Man then said, addressing my unspoken concerns. He then reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a credit card, which he handed to me. "Here's the corporate card. Take your significant other out to dinner. See some shows. Whatever you want. The corporate jet will fly you to headquarters (“The corporate jet?!”) next Monday".

"Okay" I stammered, not knowing what else to say. My kness were shaking. Felt like I was gonna pass out.

The Man laughed. "It's a little much, I know. But you'll get used to it. All of those who have been elevated go through a period of acclimatization. I have to get on that jet myself so, um... ...see you Monday next?"

"I'll be there!"

"Good!”

The Man then left, and after he did, I caught many of my coworkers eyeing me as I strode out the door on the flower strewn path, back towards my freshly detailed car. I knew they were curious as hell as to what transpired but I also knew that speculation about the details of my meeting with The Man were already circulating 'round the departmental gossip network. My only hope was to get to my car and get the heck out of there STAT. A few of my coworkers hearts were gonna be broken by the news, many of them wouldn't even notice, and some were going to be gnashing their teeth in envy, wishing it woulda been them, but I had just been being me. There could be no fault in that, could there? Thus I was unperturbed about the ramifications that were going to transpire, well, as of now. As of my leaving. 

And most likely never to return. 

That is, unless my new gig within the company calls me to. But I doubt that's gonna happen. 

You know, maybe when I'm flyin' across the country some day, then landing in some big city, my freshly prepped company car at the ready there, and later find myself driving to a nice hotel I might think about the strange world I once inhabited where (chuckling here) I was like them, in the trenches. At the front. Down below. Yeah, I'll reminisce. Those were the days….

…..days best forgotten! 

But you never really can forget, can you? The only thing I know is this- my conscience is clear. I didn't step on any toes on my way to the top. I truly have been blessed and don't even know how it happened! 

Life, huh? It's weird like that.

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The future is green hair!

Kevin Grieve- Unsplash.com

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TOTD Is One Year Old Today

   Happy Birthday, TOTD! You are one year old today. 

A year ago, when I began this project, I didn't know if I'd be able to write about different things every day for a year but I have nearly pulled off that feat. There were days that I missed posting something but I can honestly say that I gave it a go every day, I gave posting something a thought. Life intervened, however. 

Writing each day's piece at times is ridiculously easy and fun, most times it's a process of having a general idea and honing that over and over, sometimes it's extremely difficult for some reason, and there have been times where I wrote something and decided not to post it due to it being not to my liking, unclear, incendiary, or the energy is just not there. 

So where from here? Right now TOTD will continue as usual. I know that for a fact because during the last year I tried a few times to drop it and couldn't do it. Tried to set it aside and then wouldn't ya know it I had a thought that I thought I oughta write about. That's when TOTD is at its best. 

Ideas of things to write about come to me and I might not write about whatever that idea or topic is until days later but I'll think about it from time to time. At the time I actually write the piece I guess it couldn't really be considered TOTD because I've been thinking about it for many days but when it comes time to sit and write it never comes out like I think it will so that is TOTD right there. Fresh. Present. That day is just the right day to write about it, is my feeling. 

Technical-wise, at the beginning I thought I'd insert all kinds of cool videos and provide all these interesting links to this or that page but Facebook is full of that kind of attention grabbing content. That's not really satisfying, most of it, so I go for the real and valid and try not to stand too high on any soapboxes like I’m some carnival barker trying to get people into my tent. 

No. That's not how I roll around here. I hope to present thoughtfully written pieces that entertain and compel and build a following that is more than about flash. My content is substance-based.

There were times during the year when I struggled with putting pieces out. Ideas just didn't flow and I hate to use the word 'filler' or to move in that direction to simply post something- anything- on those days and maybe I did but the intent was that even that would be of interest to someone, frivolous as it was. 

Some pieces I wrote were whimsical and in other ones I figure people definitely sensed that I was possessed by some sort of mood and I probably was. 

Also I must say that I am old school, not of the social media generation, so it was a bit of a stretch to even put myself out there, not naturally being that way, but the tools were there to do so and I used them and now I can't retrieve from the internet all of what I have written, even if I tried. I imagine it will be circulating through a network of servers forever, like a space probe in the far reaches of the solar system that continues to travel, who knows where or why.

I tried during the year to make my prose relatable. Not florid or pretentious or overly casual or hillbilly or ALL CAPS or heavy in the use of italics and a slew of other writing tricks and styles but if I did I did so for a purpose, to illustrate a point. But sometimes doing that stuff is just plain fun.

Format's not going to change, I don't see that happening soon. The text and picture or two I put in each piece seems to work best. I have recently added more space between the paragraphs for easier reading. Place concepts too tightly together, in too dense a fashion, and they can swirl and get lost in a sea of related topics and lose their ability to be comprehended. Too many ideas clumped together, too many associations and things to ponder packed too tightly together does not a happy reader make. 

Yippie! Cupcake!

rawpixel- Unsplash.com

As you can see, I have a lot to write about even when I don't think I do because when I sat down to write this all of these 'items to mention' just flowed. But I think it's enough..... 

I'm pleased myself to have presented the public with this body of work, these vignettes of daily life. I look back and marvel at it sometimes and then I move on, not resting on any laurels. 

Some things I wrote and posted are probably crap, in some minds, while others are too woo-woo but unless you swing the bat you're not in the game, eh? I thought I'd be writing about more metaphysical stuff but that comes when it comes. I fully intend to stretch boundaries there, what we're about, where we're going, so expect more of that. That's the stuff I really enjoy. 
I like the fun stuff too. The humorous postings. Love writing those. They're totally spontaneous, most times I write them. 

Statistics-wise, I tried for 365 but actually posted 297 times. That's a lot of work. Did I get paid for it, monetize it? I didn't make a dime. Did I enjoy it? Thoroughly. Writing is, for me, one of the things I'm passionate about. 

Ideas? Where do I get them from?  Ol' Johnny Carson got plenty of material from just commenting on the news of the day. I do the same but also mix in longer term musings and things that come right outta the blue. Expect mo' of the same, and hopefully they'll be mo' betta. 

Oh, blow out the candle already and get back to ‘work’!

Families

A cloud of dust rose in the distance, and I heard a mighty rumbling. "What's this?" I wondered. Deep in the pit of my gut I felt a sense of dread. Were we about to be invaded?
As the rumbling grew louder, I could begin to see that the thundering feet of thousands of individuals at a brisk pace was what was causing the racket. 'Twas a mob leaving the airport, heading to all points. 

That's the last thing I clearly recall for soon I was swept up in the maelstrom. I could hear shouts and cries. My feet were stepped on and my back and head were lashed by various pieces and protuberances of luggage. I distinctly remember the swoosh of a safety belt buckle narrowly missing my head as a frantic father stalked by, swinging a sticky car seat. 

Mommies were crying for their children to wait up or keep up or shut up while grandparents were dragged along at a pace they were uncomfortable with. 
Tiny crackers, sippy cups, and candy bar wrappers littered the ground, while Starbucks frothy drink containers, straws, gum, mints, and other food debris were stuffed into trash cans and crammed into places where trash shouldn't be stowed. Some family members were eating on the go and the smells of whatever they were eating filled an atmosphere already packed with aromas. 

Baby strollers, car seats, booster seats, crutches, wheelchairs, walkers, and even motorized carts emerged from the fog and din. People wandered about, looking this way and that, unsure of their direction while others confidently strode ahead. Lines formed at bottlenecks and grew and grew, seeking relief. Here and there a customer service person was overheard, somehow foolishly trying to contain the crowd. 

“Jaimie! Where’s your sister?!”

Victor Rodriguez- Unsplash.com

A sense of entitlement was palatable and lengths of time were being micro-measured against some mythical standard impossible to attain. Complaints were bandied about while workers processed the rabble fast as they could. 
And then suddenly the dust cleared, and all was silent. The last of the pack was seen to be exiting the scene and those working at the airport breathed a sigh of relief. But the calm was short-lived for more planes landed and the rumble rose again, along with the cloud of dust and the usual cries of the afflicted. 

Early on in this round an elderly passenger fainted and an ambulance came onto the scene. A storm then came upon the airport. Rain started to come down, considerable darkness descended, and though this cleared the dust, the storm, the flashing red strobes of the ambulance, and the presence of paramedics in baggage claim raised the drama level considerably. Traffic slowed, then began to back up. As a result, waits happened and the various families’ energy levels dropped. Daddies, their jobs being to appease and contain their charges, grew increasingly desperate and restless while Mommies, their jobs being to continuously feed and monitor their charges, found themselves at a loss until movement happened and they found themselves on the go again, fully in their element and living their purpose. "Go family! Go Team!" you could almost hear them exulting while beleaguered airport workers toiled as fast as they could, not for customer satisfaction reasons, but just to get these people out of their hair.

For there is little joy to be found in processing families. You aren't part of their tribe and never will be. While interacting with them might bring a smile or a laugh here and there it’s only for a moment because families have their own agenda and need to get on with that so 'get ‘em outta here and on their way' is every airport worker's mantra. Experienced airport workers know that there’s a minimum of gratitude coming for any heroic efforting they do on their part so they’re not overly disappointed. 

Far better it is to observe this from afar, perhaps from a slightly cracked and heavily tinted window of the limo that pulls up to the airport loading area that you duck into. "Ah yes, James (speaking to the limo driver). I see that the usual flurry of unconscious and unconscionable behavior is taking place. Whisk me to The Club, won't you, my good man? I am in need of rest and good company, not the kind that is to be found here!"
James, who has no fondness for mobs either, readily agrees as he peels away from the curb, heading for the pristine grounds and refined atmosphere The Club is situated in. "Right away, sir!" 

James happily complies because his employer is no slouch. There's a separate yet delightfully well equipped and decorated lounge area for limo drivers and best of all, families aren't allowed past The Club's gates.

Brewpub Name Generator

     Thinking of opening a brewery? If so, perhaps this handy Brewpub Name Generator might help. Just pick one or two names from each column!

    Bigfoot's                                Bombastic                      Alehouse
    Chop Factory                          Grub                                 'N Brews
    Kickbush Avenue                  Collusion                        Alewerks
    Cousins                                  Red Dog                          Saloon
    Overweening                         Spirited                        Meeting House
    Scalded Pig                            Gourmet                         Brewery
    Asinine                                    Skullduggery                Tavern
    Petulant                                  Partners                          Bar
    Old Millyard                           #5                                     Brewpub
    Cock & Lion                            Bleary                               Haus
    Grumpy Uncle's                    Ancient                            Kraft Manufactory
    Incipient                    Sunset                              Lounge
    Stoopid                                  Brothers                          Roadhouse
    Hold Up                                Crew                                 Beer Joint
    Moe's                                      Train Wreck                      Tap
    Hazy                                      Steampunk                      Place
    Bottom Of The Barrel        Boulevard                         ‘Q ‘n Brew
    Crusty                                    Alley                                   Keg Repository
   Shady Lady’s                        District                              Speakeasy
   Enchanting                            Buzz                                   Dive Bar

Critical Mass Drunken Lager Works

Alien Ingredients Inn

Kaiser’s Private Stock Bottle Club

Area 51 Select Pool Hall  

Back in the day up in old Wisconsin there was a local truism that went like this: "There ain't noplace in the state where you can pull up to a four way stop and there ain’t a tavern on one of the corners".

This is true of the whole country now. 

Rise up, proud Wisconsinites! We have successfully exported our culture!

Sweet Spot

     Got me an old Nissan Sentra 'n she's a runner. Ain't too pretty to look at but man is she the perfect work car.
     My partner purchased her used a couple of years ago. By then she was most likely an old second-hand rental car fleet car. There's tons of them (this make and model) on the road around here. The owner put her up for sale on Craigslist for $2000 but the first four 'buyers' didn't get to own her 'cuz the seller wanted cash, all of it, and they didn't have it. My partner and I did though, so the seller drove the car to us. I was at work at the time so my partner, with the help of a friend, looked her over a bit then made the call. Sold!

Under the hood she looked good but the tires were old and worn, and were from three different manufacturers. I guess the rental car company just put whatever tires on her that would fit. The fuel pump was weak, she wouldn't start on the first crank but (the seller assured us) she always did on the second. "Been that way for months!" the seller said, convincingly. It sounded exactly like something a long term owner would oh so casually say.

   Had to dump a little money into her to fix a few nagging problems but that came early on in our ownership. Now she don't call for any maintenance. Just gas and a little bit of oil every now and then.
She's the perfect work\errand runner car now. 

Like I said, she ain't purty to look at but if ever a car screamed "owned by a local" it's this one. She fits right in, her tan paint all faded from the sun.
Her suspension is shot, she needs new front struts, but that ain't gonna happen on my watch and 'cuz of those struts being bad, she rides low. I had to put a cushion on the driver's seat to raise myself up proper. Her saving grace is she’s great on gas. I drive her to work a couple days a week and leave my other, newer car, in the driveway.

Handling-wise, she drives like a go-cart. The stereo is good, an aftermarket one that puts out righteous sound. The wipers work well and have a plethora of intermittent settings, which are great to have where I live 'cuz you drive in showers a lot, showers that come and go.

Our mechanic insisted we get new tires 'cuz some of the old ones were cracked, and we did, after a while, so no worries there. A few months after we bought The Sentra my partner lost a hubcap after getting a flat with one of the old tires. That hubcap never has been (and never will be) replaced.
The stiff rubber tracks for the windows and softer rubber seals for the doors and such are weather-beaten but cost way too much to replace. A little silicone spray works wonders on the window tracks but the trunk lid has some seal issues and is on my to-do list.
There of the doors open- who needs four? The rear passenger one has a broken door handle interior thingy that will never get fixed. I'll see to that!

The heater/air conditioner fan only runs on setting ‘4’, 1,2, & 3 being inoperative. The windows fog up some in heavy weather so I got a work-around for that. I pop the windows open a crack and run the fan if the windows fog up too bad. That, and paper towels.
There's also a little rust spot that needs paint and the clear coat is peeling but nah...
…..fixing any of that is work. Which ain't the point of this car at all. This car's service life has entered the low or no maintenance whatsoever Sweet Spot.

I think she’s rated 118 horsepower.

Antor Roy- Unsplash.com

I love using this car for junk duty. Errand running. Stops at the bank. The grocery. The post office and hardware store. The mall. Fill-up-the-propane-bottle runs. Taking out the recycling and the trash. I park it anywhere I want to. Worries about door dings are worries that I have with my other car. 

The beauty of a car like this is in popping the hood once every two weeks and seeing that all of its vital signs are still stable. A wee bit of maintenance and years of experiencing this car’s blessed prime-of-life cycle could pass.

The biggest expenses we have with 'The Sentra' (we never gave it a nickname) are the yearly registration and semi-annual insurance payments.

Let her sit for too long and the battery will go dead. I got a battery charger because finding out the cause of the slow electrical leak stumped our mechanic and if he couldn't do it..... 

So, long as she runs I'll drive her. The check engine light comes on and stays on sometimes and she seems to have a hard time breathing for a while and then something happens, I don't know what, she starts running smooth again and the check engine light goes back off. I've tried to figure out why this happens but nothing has clicked so far.

A few other things I oughta mention are the model we've got has a timing chain so no worries there. 
Underneath, the muffler rattles sometimes after a strenuous day and the plastic splash guard on the passenger side of the engine is hanging down some.
The washer fluid reservoir's plastic mounting plate cracked so I tied the reservoir up with some zip ties. The tranny fluid and engine oil need to be replaced but not right away I wish I woulda saved the paperwork on those fixes....

I know car enthusiasts are thumbing their noses at a lot of this because your ride has to be sexy, new, and perform but I like The Sentra. I might even love it. It's practical and utilitarian and that’s golden to a frugal guy like me. But it's not that I need to be frugal, I’m not obsessive like that. I just love being around mechanical devices that last and last.

Now, should the day come when she tanks on me, or makes the kind of sound that has my mechanic giving me The Baleful Eye I think I'll find it in me to let her go. It wont be easy, though.

Cars have personalities, don'tcha know? Ending our relationship ain't gonna be something I look forward to but I've gone through final rites of passage with other cars before. The Sentra and my partner and I’s time together was actually supposed to be up months ago. I took The Sentra to our mechanic and he gave me something close to the dreaded Baleful Eye. "I'll check out that rough starting issue" he said with reluctance, that reluctance coming from the diagnostic headache that all old cars bring to mechanics. So much can go wrong. 

About that rough start issue....
Every now and again, she stumbles a bit upon being started up, runs rough for about two, three, sometimes five minutes, then smooths out. This has been going on for well over a year now. Some internet forums say it's the notorious head gasket issue, where coolant leaks into the cylinders and has to be burned off. Some say it's the EGV (exhaust gas recirculation) valve sticking closed. Some say it could be temperature related, or spark plug/electrical system related. My partner thinks it might be due to being driven in the rain, or from colder than normal temperatures. 
My mechanic says it's the head gasket. But, that was six months ago and I'm still driving The Sentra three days a week. It runs fine and is not losing any coolant. So??? 

Methinks it's 'cuz The Sentra and I had a little discussion. I told her I knew she might have a head gasket issue but that I wanted to keep her on the road and out of the junkyard for as long as possible. "We'll drive around" I said. "We'll see things and have fun". 
The Sentra seems to have agreed with that proposition because it's been business as usual ever since. 

You know, I got half a mind to think that all cars want to be in that Sweet Spot position. They wanna be kept around- like they're part of the family or something.

These Are The Good Old Days Of The Future

     "Grampa, what was 2019 like?" asked one of the young 'uns hanging around. There were many present. Some were even teenagers. The year was 2059.
Grampa sat back and puffed a great plume of vape. He loved being asked about the past, and what it was like. 
"Well, young people, it's hard to know where to start because there have been a lot of changes". 
"Woo hoo!" cried seven year old Tara. "I'll bet! I took a trip back through the Virtual Reality Portal and explored your world some...."
What a precocious young woman. Wiser than her years. But then again, all the kids nowadays were. Gramps decided to cut her off. 

   "Now wait just a minute, young Tara. There's a big difference between virtual and actual. You might think you were seeing things the way they was, but you weren't. Programmers built that world and put things in it that you don't even know about or how they worked and you just assumed that that was the way it was. It wasn't exactly like that. If I know human nature, ‘n I think I do, I'll bet they fudged on the details some. Anyhow, try as they will, they can't duplicate what it was like to be physically there 'cuz bein' physical you experience sensations. Cold. Heat. Wind in your hair. Things like that.  

Let me give you some examples. Back in the good old days, before self drivin' cars, we used to drive cars our own selves!"
"Wasn't that super dangerous?" piped up young Jennifer, wide-eyed and holding onto every word. 
"Yes it was! It was crazy dangerous! People drove cars past each other on two lane roads. There were things called traffic lights and road signs that told drivers what to do. But lots of people didn't follow the rules, bent 'em some, and sometimes there were horrible crashes. But still, 'sides that, drivin' was fun! Steering you own car around!

'n I'll tell you something else. We used to sit around at night and do something called 'watching TV'. We didn't join others on safari or ice climbin' or at rockin' house parties wearing virtual reality goggles, like kids nowadays use. TV was two dimensional. Anonymous. All we had, other ‘n that, was Alexa and Siri listening’ to us. It was a lot more relaxin'."
"Sounds boring" chimed surly teen Brad, from his seat in the way back. 
"You kids are too hyped up these days" Gramps drawled, again pulling on his old school vape pipe and releasing a huge cloud. "Why, none of you even know how to cook"

"I can make toast!" little Stacy crowed.
"That's good that you know how to do that" Gramps acknowledged Stacy before continuing. "But for the rest of you, how many of you know the joy of making your own food?"
The kids all fidgeted, looking around at each other, but none offered up anything to Gramps. 

"All that food drone delivery has spoiled ya! You call a number, the drone shows up and hovers right there at your door with Chinese or Mexican or Indian food, and you grab it like you're at a cafeteria or something"

"Grampa, what's a cafeteria?" sad-eyed Joey wanted to know. 
"That was a place we went to in the old days where the food was already prepared for us. We walked down past the food that was on display under things called heat lamps, or food that was sitting in ice baths, and took what we wanted. We'd place the food on our trays and pay for what we had chosen to the cashier at the end of the line"
"What's a cashier?" Tommy wanted to know. 

Lucre- lots of it but nowhere near a billion.

Jonny McKenna- Unsplash.com

"Cashier's handled cash. Money"
"Paper money, like they have in the museum?"
"Yep. That very same. I know you don't know what that felt like, to handle paper money, but it was a good feeling back in the day. Money wasn't all digital then. There were no blockchain currencies. You could hold money right in your hand. Feel it. Smell it, even, if it was freshly printed. I loved the smell of fresh greenbacks, which was what we used to call individual notes"

Gramps continued. "Why, back then they even had things called Billionaires. People that had so many greenbacks that they added up to a billion or more"
"Must have been before the Billionaire Ban of 2027" jibed studious Laurel, from her seat right in the very front. 
"Yes" Gramps sighed. "I guess you kids don't think that unbridled greed was a good thing"

"Yuk!" blurted Jimmie, at even the thought of it.
"But back then, everybody was greedy! Couldn't get enough of anything! It was okay to want and want and want, even if you had all that you could ever need"

"What was so 'good' about that?" Jason asked, puzzled.
"People weren't telepathic so much back then. Their thought fields were more contained. It's hard to describe. Greed was sort of like a secret thing. Manipulation and trickery were skills that people developed to get more, and then even more, once they figured out how to do it. Whole schools of thought were developed to influence people to get them to act in ways that benefited just you! There was great satisfaction to be had in outfoxing the others"
"Did you feel good about 'greed', Grampa?" Edwin asked, while searching Gramps' eyes, as only a kid can.

  "Oh yeah, I did! It felt good to be smarter than the average bear. But, I have to say, there was a downside. I experienced pangs of guilt after a while. But enough of that! We're talking about the Good Old Days here"

"What was 'work' like, Grampa?" Zach just had to ask. Gramps eyes narrowed for a bit, but then brightened. Those days, thankfully, were past.

"Well kids, let me tell ya. Back before robots took over, doin' every damn thing for ya, people used to have to hold things called 'jobs'. Most people, I certainly was one of 'em, didn't like to have to go to work, because of the greed thing I mentioned earlier. But that's just the way things were. We didn't know any different! 
The thing about jobs was it forced us to do tasks with other people, and probably the kind of people that we wouldn't have crossed paths with otherwise in a million years. Now I know that sounds like an exaggeration, but it's true. We were so different from each other. But people being naturally lazy, most of us found ways to get along, and that lightened our individual loads. We learned a lot along the way. You kids......" Gramps trailed off for a bit. Obviously, this is something he had given a lot of thought to. He seemed to be searching for the right words. 

"You kids...   .....are facing a four hour workweek, which ain't nothin! Society asks you to contribute just that little bit. The rest of your lives is gonna be play. I don't know if that's gonna be as good for ya, but I'd hate to see you have to spend your time doin' something you don't wanna be doing any more than that. You might think four hours a week is a lot, but the workweek used to be forty hours long. Can any of you imagine that?"
Blank stares all around.

"So much has changed, and will continue to change" Gramps was summing things up, 'cuz kids bein' kids, they were starting to get restless. "I know you want to get back to your gaming, and some of you got to catch drone taxis to soccer practice and whatnot, so even though I could talk all day you ain't got the attention spans for it. There'll be another time. Now go. Git! All o' ya!"

The kids got up and more or less quickly scattered, leaving Gramps alone in his easy chair. He stared out the window at the drone food and package delivery contraptions flying by, at the lawn mowing robot in the neighbor's yard, and thought about what he might do the rest of the day. There were entertainment options galore. Once the aliens had landed, here and there, around 2036, feeling it was safe to do so because the funding for wars had completely dried up, peace and abundance had ruled the land and that had took some getting used to. In fact, it was still unsettling to Gramps to not have any News to read, the 'news' being mostly good nowadays instead of the other way around. He was still wary, which the kids weren't, waiting for the other shoe to drop, as the saying used to go, but after a couple of decades the other shoe hadn't dropped and probably wouldn't anymore. 

"Maybe" mused Gramps, "the 'Good Old Days'...... 

......really hadn't been so good".

Maybe I'm Amazed

Or maybe I’m just numb, I don't know. Both. 

I've been in the people business for nigh nine years now and I would say that easily 100,000 people have crossed my path. Many for only five minutes, some for over an hour. Some of these encounters were recurring, most were one time. 
Most people don't experience this degree of exposure to The Public. They live out perhaps the entirety of their lives and through their choice of careers or physical location or both they don't encounter that many different people. They might see them on TV or on the internet, in movies, or maybe watch them if they're on a trip through a bustling city, or in an arena or stadium, but as far as directly interacting with them, no. 
They don't go there. I do. I have to, I chose to. I have to answer people's questions, greet them, listen to their complaints sometimes, and a host of other things. 

  When you start in a people-intensive line of work, you think you can handle it. If you're a typical candidate, there is a degree of resistance that you know is there and probably a lot that you're unaware of. You have rough edges. Because of those, you do it all wrong sometimes and receive heaps of repercussions. A lot is also projected upon you because you are wearing a uniform and there are associations made. 
But over time, and through much practice, thought, and effort you get better at handling situations but even so you can't ever rest and say 'I've seen it all!" because you haven't and never will. Nor have you heard it all. Because customers can and will surprise you. Never Assume is another way of putting that. 

And so everybody that's been in the people business for awhile has stories. This encounter and that one, tales about events that were handled with aplomb, spiraled out of control, or were a comedy of errors. 
Because the customers just don't understand, sometimes, how things work. Even though you have gone through the process or procedure literally ten thousand times it's new to them and so you have to have the patience of a saint while they don't but that's beside the point. 

Never can you say that you know what's coming for you don't, when you encounter a person. They might look like trouble, be dressed in a way that sets associative alarms off, or be acting in a manner that looks benign (but is really not) so your outlook has to be neutral. Guarded, definitely, in obviously problematic situations, but neutral to a degree even in those. The jury must still be out. For the most menacing figures can turn out to be pussycats and the sweetest appearing people can turn out to be lions sometimes and unexpectedly claw you.

Over time, pros at customer service become blank slates when it comes to dealing with people. We look for all the 'tells' but we still don't know what we're dealing with, for you might have come upon us pre-loaded and broiling due to an unrelated issue that we know absolutely nothing about. In order to assess you we quickly read your body language, facial expression, tone of voice, and whether or not eye contact is being made. We look for the way you are dressed, how you approach us, and at what speed, any evidence we can pick up that might give us a clue on what we're dealing with, because we don't know you from Shinola and due to that have to act super fast. All sorts of calculations are going on in our minds. We have extensive databases of former encounters, believe you me. The way you talk and the vocal inflections that you purposely or unconsciously use might tell us a ton about you. We listen for any catch phrases that are commonly used. You might think we haven't heard them before and that you're the only one who uses them but Sir, Buddy, Miss, & Ma'am, we've heard them a thousand times or more but you don't know that. How could you? You would only know how glaringly obvious these phrases were if you were in The Business, which most people aren't. 

You're probably, very likely, not outsmarting us but we'll let you think you are, because that makes for a smoother customer service interaction. 

Our skill comes from practice. Civilians will never truly get what we have from reading about it in a book, or from watching a video. Those tools help but there's something about actually doing it that seats customer service understanding into psyches because in doing it you can't escape, into thought, into disassociation, into observer mode. You have to come up with solutions. Answers. Redirections. Something! (And if it comes out rambly and doesn't really help at least you tried. It's okay that you don't know everything). 

I know this is a lot, and it might be viewed as I have wandered off point, but sometimes you have to illustrate a point in its entirety to bring home the message. The message is, despite everything I have said about all this experience and my so-called ability to read people, that I (and every other CSR out there) still don't know who is in front of me when someone is in front of me. I am not distressed, bummed, or jaded by my lack of mastery and continuous frustration at trying to read you, I am merely, and continuously, surprised. 

Exhibit A- Left the accountant’s life for a go at being a guitar shredder in leather.

Andrew Spencer- Unsplash.com

For I sense an astounding amount of life experience in you, whoever you are. I know that most Americans speak English, and that they understand much of what goes on and has gone on in the culture, that they can operate computers and hold jobs and raise kids and have families that they interact with, ditto friends and coworkers, but there is so much more. I look at people now and prejudge them not, if I am able, because I have realized that I can't possibly know what is driving them. So much has happened in their lives before they got to me. Each and every time I encounter a person I know I am encountering a truly unique individual and that the story of their life is, well, probably incredible. 

(I didn’t say it was good, I said it was incredible).

Yeah, people also put off an energy vibe, a signature, I forgot to mention that earlier. I try and read that too, everybody does. There's a flavor there, you might say. An aroma. A fragrance? A sense of 'warm', 'cold', 'weird', 'yuk', 'yum' and of course that's all mixed together too, little of this, little of that. 

Maybe, with all this going on, is why most people don’t work in customer service. It can be very destabilizing to encounter all these different energies. You have to be solidly grounded, firmly able to maintain a sense of yourself in the face of all the other selves out there. 

This subject is deep, deeper than I imagined it would be when I first sat down to write it. People are much the same on the surface but below that they are very different from each other. The individual proclivities they have interact with the family dynamics they were born into and then it spreads out from there into friends and coworkers and partners into social networks that now span the globe and I know that sounds quite grand but it's true, it's happening. We’re influencing each other more than ever. 

I've noticed that in the social networking arena, young people are painfully (to an older generation) real with each other, and maybe that's driven by this need to understand each other, for nobody really knows who they're dealing with. 
So much is there! And if we can find it, share it, reveal it, express it a little bit more, that helps bring us closer together, because we then might finally be able to understand that there is more than a persona, a mask, that is standing in front of us. 

Discovering the real person? 

That is (almost always) an amazing thing.

Thank God It's Monday

     I started noticing something a while ago, but I couldn't quite figure out what it was. These Millennials, some of them, were different (when I refer to 'Millennials' from this point forward, I am referring to these ones).
     Young and full of vigor, they really liked to work out. Push themselves to the limit. I saw it first in the gym, I guess. There was a thing called 'Spinning' where a group of them would get on stationary bicycles and get coached through a intense workout by a group leader. Getting all hot and sweaty, out of breath, and fully loaded with adrenaline was the payoff. Cardio to the Nth power- but not cardio done solo. Much better to be in a group. 

I also saw this odd performance ethic in the mudder phenomenon I wrote about earlier, where they happily volunteered for a version of military boot camp. This was something no 'slacker' from the 70's would ever do, which I was- but I was not alone in my slacker mentality. Working out and jogging were things that relatively few people did back then, these actions were not yet mainstream (think of Forrest Gump beginning the jogging phenomenon by leaping off of the porch and deciding spur of the moment to run) nor were they seen as overly beneficial. Since then my attitude has changed, I see the benefit in working out and do so strenuously but still not at a level that Millennials would find acceptable. There is a point where I say "Enough!" but for them that is the point where they dig in deeper and push through 'The Wall'' to get to the other side. Rarified air there indeed! The prize, once gained, is known only to them for I can only imagine it. 

Millennials choice in hairstyle and accessories puzzled me next. Lots of them seemed to fancy short hair. Not quite military short, but management short. The types of hairstyles a manager would sport. A businessman. Their glasses were throwbacks to the fifties, the kind Mr. Whipple used to wear ("Don't squeeze the Charmin!"). Strange as well, they dressed conservatively. Their attitudes were not the laid back "Wha's Sup?" that I grew up around, where casual and unhurried was the rule. Here it was something different. Time was definitely on these folks' minds. They seemed as obsessed about it as any high school principal. 

The internet provided some clues. There was a lot of talk about 'life hacking', where clever ones exposed the truth(!) about day to day life processes and how much time they stole from you. Did you not want that extra time? Of course you did! Follow our lifehack and eliminate that which is unnecessary! Be more productive! 
"In every thing that you do?" wondered I, for I didn't understand what was wrong with doing some things the old way.....
...but boy was that ever prehistoric thinking! Maximizing every moment seemed to be the new mantra floating around, an unwritten rule to be followed, obeyed even. It was there, underlying everything. Food was 'fuel', to exercise was to undergo a 'performance workout', your education level was measured in the number of 'skill sets' you had, on and on.

Hot dog! Back at work!

rawpixel-Unsplash.com

I didn't realize it, but all of us, those long at The Game or new to it, were now in serious competition with each other, on every level, for every thing. Gulp! Guess I shoulda seen that coming. These Millennials were not like the people I grew up around, the ‘live and let live’ kind. These guys and gals were out for all the marbles and woe to the losers on the playground but even the Millennials occasionally suffered defeat at the hands of ones more capable, which was alright. Which was just. Which was fair. The way it should be. Those that died on the competitive battlefield had put up a fight, but they had died with honor!

  Had we all been suddenly turned into Klingons? Apparently so.

I can't ever say a 'slacker', which I or those in my generation didn't even know we were, ever ‘died with honor’ through losing at some aspect of The Game though, 'cuz we ain't the kind to think anything is so very important, but compared to these Navy Seal corps d’elite, these Army Ranger upper crust, these highly trained, specialized, multitasking, frickin' ninjas, whoa! Somehow, somewhen, The Game had changed and these Stormtrooper people had suddenly and without warning crested the hill and caught a lot of us elders off guard. Where the hell did they come from?

In order to find out I looked at tech culture, especially at the culture of start-up tech companies. Oh man! Those cats expected their workers to operate at superhuman levels of performance and take no prisoners when it came to company dedication. Sure, the workers- the 'talent'- were driven, a lot of them, by the prospect of hitting it big like their leaders had. They assumed they would ride whatever company wave they were on to their reward, as if that was somehow destined, due to their being on the inside, ripe with connections and spinoff potential, start up potential, but I had to wonder, when I saw the ghosts around their leaders, if such wasn't really the case. 
Lenin and Marx, Chairman Mao, Stalin, various members of royal houses from ages past, the land barons and industrialists of the early twentith century, and other notorious figures were standing near these tech leaders and marveling at what was occurring. The buzz going around all these nonphysical entities was that they had tried to sell the masses on their particular systems, which had also promised the world to their workers, but eventually what they preached didn't satisfy. How were the tech guys doing it?

The tech guys were selling the same old thing in an almost unrecognizable yet seemingly fresh format, and the gullible were snarfing it up voraciously. Hook, line, and sinker, as they say. A glorified work ethic was what I had been witnessing all along, something so far out of the realms of believability that I had been unable to see it. The same old thing was being presented in a reinvented package, and even more compelling, it was up to the nanosecond New and Improved! Work was not something to run away from, it was something to run towards! Dedication to the workplace now approached religious fervor. Living conditions for the worker bees were horrible, yet seen as necessary and acceptable! Housing was prohibitively expensive, any chance at social life was being sacrificed, competition was ruthless, the understanding was winner takes all, and these bees were loving it! The tech guys had sold the impossible!

Eight a.m. or eight p.m.? Who cares?! We are fascinated with these graphs and pie charts!

rawpixel- Unsplash.com

Gig economy. No loyalty expected from the company. Forty hour weeks were for lightweights. Why, the bees were all mercenaries, as if they'd en masse volunteered for The French Foreign Legion. 
They were compartmentalized, individualized, frenzied members of what we in the 70's called The Rat Race and wanted nothing whatsoever to do with. How had this ultimate Management Miracle been accomplished?

If these bees in tech were so smart, smarter people had outsmarted them, which was to be expected and was of course seen as perfectly acceptable. The buzzwords and catch phrases in tech that are commonly used to motivate workers also serve to neutralize or downplay any potential rebellion or resistance.  

  It's as if some super clever management guy started a new religion. He took the ingredients of the times- the workout performance culture, the lifehacking phenomenon, people's insatiable appetite for experiences (which costs great deals of money), the prospect of making a pile of dough in a short period of time, the ethical acceptability of unbounded personal wealth accumulation, and voila! An army of worker bees, preprogrammed to pit themselves against each other and the clock in order to hit it big, totally ready to subject themselves to early burnout, arrives on cue clamoring to gain entrance, chanting "Thank God It's Monday!". 
Talk about conditioning- this is a throwback to working long hours at the mill six days a week and only getting Sundays off!

(FYI Millennials-You don't need to lifehack if you're pullin' a forty hour week).

Beyond Work

Exists a land called culture, which many people either know not of or very little of, for they are not used to having it. 
In mankinds' quest for survival, culture is one of those luxuries most often done without. Private enterprise, hell-bent on growth and dominance, cares little about culture and government- our current political climate especially- only sees supporting culture as a financial drain at best or a necessary evil at worst. 'The Arts', as they are called, which is a blanket term encompassing many 'frivolous' things, seems to be best presented via digital platforms where people can view culture but not participate in same. 

Cooking shows, traveling epicurean adventures, travelers reporting from various points on the globe, orchestras on You Tube, operas, street festivals, concert footage, sporting events, tours of art galleries, hunting even (and this just in- virtual reality plays where people can put on goggles and experience being in the scene), all are portrayed via the screen so that people, homebound in Podnunk or whatever, can experience cultural things vicariously and don't feel so very left out. 

For in Podnunk they're not so good at arts and culture, though they try and compete with cities around the area for things that their citizens might be interested in but, money, you know, drives this luxurious thing called culture, something they'd very much like to have. However, the roads need fixing and the town is over budget on the new jail and the school district is clamoring for more money and that means raising taxes which nobody wants and damn it would be nice if we could draw more real jobs here but- yada yada yada. 

Ya get what ya get where you live so the moneyed have flocked to well established cultural founts New York and San Francisco, Disney-esque islands where they knew they could experience mondo loads of culture, but real-time demographic data is showing that gentrification sets in when the cost of living rises and the very thing the rich want to forever experience is getting slowly killed off, artists not known to be as financially astute as the wealthy, nor are the artists so willing and able to hold day jobs and then perform for audiences at night. Or on weekends. So what's a city, or a group of cities- a nation- to do?

(Gasp!) Support the arts? OMG! That would cost money, but if culture was supported in not just The Big Apple and The Bay Area but across the land maybe, just maybe people would take more of an interest in where they lived, and go out more. Turn off the box, shut down the screen, see it live, participate even and be happy where they were instead of barrelling down The Boulevard afta work, you know, the one that seems scary and vacant even in the daytime, is lined by fencing on either side, and leads into the 'neighborhood' that the developers promoted as a 'community' because it has a walking path threading through it and a tiny, scrubby park with a playground for the kids oh dear God take me already!

Business, business, business, the economy, the economy, the economy! Don't the wealthy have enough already? Yes they do but they didn't put any of that in when they built The Podnunk Addition. 

Not dressed for ergasia (work)

Xuan Nguyen- Unsplash.com

The Arts fill a need, and that is to fill the soul with something that resembles Home. We did not come from a sterile environment and we won't thrive within one either. We yearn for the richness that naturally rises from the wellspring of our beingness. Art and culture is who we at heart are, and that thing we call work is included in there too, though it would be better put as 'craft', 'mastery', or 'skill'. We're not one dimensional in our expression, we're multidimensional. We function best when we operate in balance. Too heavy the focus on work, too little our exposure to culture, and we wither. 

On the upside, progress has been made! Most of the planet seems to have this survival thing down. America has Costco, which is a very good survivability indicator, so perhaps it's time we took things to the next level. We're new at this luxury thing, frivolity is still frowned upon- especially by The Boss, The Board, The Shareholders, and other stern entities- so it ain't gonna be easy moving forward because we've been relentlessly conditioned to live mainly without, but if we introduce arts and culture into the mix imagine the growth potential there! It's really where we're going as a species. I can't imagine our dreams to be building mega-factories, 2.7% annual GDP, or blasting off to Mars or some other planet only to recreate the world we have already made. 

Arts and culture is what the world is sorely lacking because it's the least cost effective element in a world fixated on creating wealth (for the very, very few). Marginally feeding and sheltering humans isn't the 'cost of doing business'. Creating satisfying lives is the true cost of doing business, but business doesn't want to factor that into their miserly calculations, thus the world 'is as it is'. 

Evolved societies always contain loads of culture. Like it or not, businesses, governments, we're headed in that direction. The olde 'labor camp' model isn't going to work anymore. 'Military barracks' model. 'Shopping center surrounded by suburbia' model. People want more. 

How to get there? Art incubators worked in the past. Give creative people places to practice and hone their craft. Finance entire districts where culture can be presented in concentrated form. Enable entreprenuers to marry their need to make money with their drive to support culture. Tell the Zoning Board and the SWAT team to stand down some so a bunch of people can eat street food, make noise, and roam from venue to venue (safely) at night. Build parks- big ones- that have lots of things in them that people can do for in doing, the people's lament “There's nothing to do!”, will be quelled.

And throughout, make whatever is built beautiful. 

How did we ever get away from this? Where did we err, drop the ball, and miss the handoff because European cities are packed with this stuff and that's where a lot of us came from? (Not to slight other cultures, though, I'm sure if I looked into any one of those the people from there would probably feel like there was a little- or a lot- left behind). 

America is a nation of immigrants that was 'tasked' with the job of filling a vast land and those immigrants were in a rush. Gold rush, land rush, mad rush. We didn't build those arts and culture 'extras' into our cities, most of them, though some people tried. And now that our cities are all built up, politics and tremendous redevelopment costs are involved, the wheels turn slowly or not at all, and a lot of us are left with something like Podnunk. 
So that's where we're at. Again I say, though, that that is not where we're staying because the simple fact is that people want more than 'just enough'. If I don't say it someone else will, and then somebody after that, and so on. And maybe that's what it takes to get the ball rollin'.

Because, deep at heart, we're all culture vultures and will, given the chance, sup at the glorious banquet table of culture and heartily consume its many offerings.

You Hang In There, Dave

Around mid-shift, after a particularly obnoxious group had passed through, one passenger lingered because she had something to say. She waited until the others, hurrying, were out of earshot, then looked me right in the eye and gasped "I can't believe the lack of gratitude! Do people treat you like this every day?"
"Yes. I get this on a daily basis" I sighed, an authentic edge of weariness in my voice.
"People just don't appreciate blue collar workers! I could tell from watching you that you really don't like your job"
"I hate it! But it's only going to last a few more months"
She, older, wiry, and strong, reached for my hand and gave me a firm handshake. "I'm an ex UPS driver, and my partner over there worked at UPS too. We know what it's like. You hang in there, Dave!”
"I will. Thanks for acknowledging me" I said as they left, not knowing if they heard that last line. 

There's people in the world that know, and there's people in the world that don't. The ones that know, that have been there, might not ever let me know that they know. They might just observe and then leave the scene. But others that know might give me a telling look, a glance, met, that indicates that they have been there too. A pat on the shoulder. A genuine thank you. They might engage me in light conversation. But rare is it that I'll have a full on 'encounter' because acknowledging the fact that the public as a whole is generally a rude and insensitive mob isn't exactly something that those in the know want to bring up, probably for the same reasons that veterans don't want to talk about their time on the battlefield. 

If you see these guys coming, it’s time to run.

Adam Whitlock- Unsplash.com

Those of us that have worked with the public, we're different. I can read faces pretty good and I can just tell, when I watch workers dealing with the public, by the way they are talking or gesturing, if they've been at it for a while. I can almost tell what thoughts are running through their minds for I have been in the breakrooms and I've heard the stories. All of us in customer service have had highly individualistic encounters with the public and while the particulars vary, the encounters themselves run kinda the same. The gist of it is that members of the public wear on us with their attitudes and unrealistic demands and think nothing of it.

We weather their insensitivity because we have to get the job done, whatever our function is, which calls for focus and though it may seem like we aren't doing a lot sometimes we're still on the job. We have to be ever present. The public knows we're duty bound to be approachable so they think nothing of asking us a question, or hitting us up for a little one on one working through an issue that should have been handled beforehand, or a host of other things that are like 'favors' being asked of us, not realizing that the cumulative affect of this takes a toll.

Well, we think that the public does realize that it takes a toll on us but the public does what it does anyway, because we're there and because they can.

It's amazing to witness this from the inside, from the front lines, because only there do you realize the full extent of the sense of entitlement that customers imagine they are granted just because they're buying or paying for something. Instantly at the counter or over the span of a flight away from home people can go from nobodies to playing King or Queen For A Day (or a week). They think nothing of lording over others, which is something we in customer service find alarming. It's a good thing that these people aren't given any more power than just the little bit they are granted, because their tendency to abuse power seems to be unbounded. 

So- when that ex-UPS lady firmly shook my hand, she infused caring into the situation, something she knew I would absorb like a sponge because I had been walking in the dry and barren desert that the public offers up, a dusty, cruel, harsh land completely devoid of any nourishment. She brought me back to life and became my instant soul sistah. I didn't need to know what she had gone through to get the understanding, the fact that she understood to the degree she did told me everything I would ever need to know. Her suffering had been similar, yet different than mine. But I knew that she had come out of it on the other side.

  Through being on the front lines she had developed compassion, tolerance, and patience. She hadn't broken, she hadn't become one of the numberless rude members of the public, spewing forth her impatience, disdain, petulance, and all the rest. No, she had risen above it, like I have, and despite the actions of the public has become a better person. I know she's gonna do well wherever she goes, and I know she thinks the same of me because she saw in me that even though I didn't like my job, I still treated the people with kindness, though with kindness the people treated me not. 

That's big. That's huge. If you've learned that lesson, you have arrived. That lady knew the value that both of us could bring to the world through having the understanding.

  It takes one to know one.

Had To Laugh

Read on the internet yesterday that there had been quite a stir down unda, down New Zealand way. A group of twelve or more, an extended family, had been so unruly, unpolite, and unrespectful that media started to track their movements as they traveled through the country and I thought "It's about time!"
It's about time these sorts of people got called on that sort of behaviour because I definitely have been on the receiving end of it and did not fancy it. Like everybody else this has happened to, the ones on the receiving end never saw it coming.

And then 'it' was upon them. A moving train wreck. Noise. Debris. Odors. Discord. Like a storm it comes, messes with you for awhile, then off it moves, leaving you reeling in its wake. 
Families can be like that when they're on the move. Customer service, 'customer care' oughta be forewarned so “Jolly Good, New Zealanders!” We can be like you, ready at the gate, prepared for their arrival. 

Seems a proper traveler.

Aaron Birch- Unsplash.com

Families can view themselves as automatically having been granted more liberties than are given singles and couples. All three entities can also carry 'tourist entitlement'. I've seen various numberings of people barge into situations like they're taking over the place and suddenly everybody 'round has to make room. Family units, especially, carry momentum. Who's going to stand in their way? One person at the counter? Tourists (especially families) bring in revenue! They consume! 

So what if the families have packed enough for an army, take up all the space, and could care less about any people on the periphery? Those 'others' aren't part of the tribe!
Also, children and teens are usually held loosely in their traveling parents' charge so those kids or their parents can't be held to standards of behaviour expected of solitary travelers or couples because those people aren't bearing the responsibility (or continuing the noble endeavor) of bringing children into the world. Such sacrifice! Grant these ones not a solitary boon, but endless forgiveness! 

But 'twas not so in New Zealand. The media there caught onto this one family and would not let go. Whether this family's antics were fairly portrayed or not is unknown but what is known is that the family's behaviour gained worldwide attention. Finally, somebody somewhere drew the line. Like Gandalf, the media declared "This far and no farther! You shall not pass!”

"Our citizens are not to be targets for your low level scams! Don't leave trash on our beaches! Curb your wild children and adults, act appropriately, for we do not wish to harbor any fugitives from restraint!"
"While we don't wish to dampen tourist enthusiasm for our country, this kind of behaviour will not be tolerated!"

(Already many nervous innkeepers are no doubt aghast at how quickly this has spiraled out of control, at how rapidly it has gone viral. "Tone it down! Tone it down!" they are probably urging behind the scenes. "We need more tourist revenue, not less!”)

Ah yes. This is the sort of event that spurs further measures to come to pass. Tracking just might start to become employed, for business' protection, and the protection of the employees within those businesses. When you rate our hotel, we rate your family! Your family’s rating then gets added to your history and you'll be monitored along your way through the country because we can do it and problem travelers, while relatively rare, will be identified. Car rental companies would love to know about you beforehand, and resorts, eating establishments, airline stewardesses, tour operators, and others. 

"Brace yourselves! The Wilsons arrive in five minutes!" could come over the radio or through headsets and for the first time ever we in customer service would be ready for you and yours. I, for instance, could look on the daily passenger manifest and see what flight your squad is arriving on and the time you'd be hitting the ground and moving my way or through my position. This would greatly lessen the shock and resulting trauma that comes from having to deal unprepared with the swirling vortex of disharmony that is the well documented hallmark of The Wilson Family.

To be fair, single travelers and couples would also be rated but being less gang-like, they're far easier to deal with, should dealing with them need to be done. 
And all this discreetly, for we do enjoy the revenue you provide, though at times we wonder if we need revenue that desperately, or if pawning you off to others is an option.

The world has long departed from the genteel travel days of olde, where politeness reigned and courtesy flourished. What is dealt with now is volume. Numbers. Mobs. Crowds. Travel providers process people in, and process people out. Experience is what people want. They want a lot of it and so the travel and transportation world (hospitality industry) is modeled like a convenience store where people simply walk in, grab, and go. No waiting, no patience, no respecting the staff is required, it's all about me (and mine) and so off the travelers go, flyin' the ‘friendly’ skies, to who knows where and when they get there they walk in like they own the place, which they do, temporarily, 'cuz they paid for it. 

And because they did, all of heaven and earth shall bow before them, or at least that was the way it used to be, until those brave folk from New Zealand said enough with this entitlement culture and endless forgiveness. Let it be known that we will tolerate you and yours up to a point. If you become a problem, you just might find your posse on TV!

(I personally would not like to be portrayed on the British press, who have sensationalized this case, as is their wont, to the extreme. So okay, this family, from all appearances and reports, is a band of louts and Artful Dodgers. But to hound them until they have to go into hiding? That’s unfair and should not be allowed. But, once you’re in the British press’ crosshairs, it’s already too late.)