I hate to do this because I don't want to get in the habit of writing about the mundane annoyances in my life - or continue the habit, I should say - but I have to share a quick story about some minor structural damage to our condo and the surrealness of working with building contractors.
Last fall we noticed during a storm that water was coming in through the top of our door and one of our windows (while you're reading this, please keep in mind how far removed we now are from last fall). After a lot of complaining, wading through red tape, and sitting in on home owner association meetings (which I can now cross off of my "Things To Do Before I Die" list), the manager of our condo's maintenance company finally agreed back in April to fix the problem. The only thing that was holding him up, he said, was all the rain we were getting.
Please feel free to read back over that last paragraph if you missed the irony in the maintenance manager's comment. For those of you who are short on time - the company who receives my $106 check every month for the purposes of exterior upkeep and repairs preferred to wait until it stopped raining before fixing the LEAK over our door.
Now I admit that our situation isn't exactly similar, but after thinking on this a moment, I couldn't help but ask, "Do you think Noah ever said to God 'Look, I'll be happy to build an ark. It's not the time or the materials that bother me. I'm just waiting for all this rain to let up. I mean, have you looked outside lately? Jesus it's really coming down!'"
I don't think he got it. Or maybe he got it and just didn't appreciate my sarcasm. Either way, the leak still isn't fixed.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Flying High
Come with me, if you will, back in time. Back to a period historically referred to as “last week.”
I’m anxiously awaiting to board a plane that will take me home. I’m anxious, in part, because I want to get home, but at this particular moment I’m anxious because I have to board a plane to get there. And it’s a cross-country flight, so I’ll likely be anxious for a few hours.
I’m not an overly worrisome flier – you won’t see me gripping the arms of my seat, taking deep, audible breaths while the person next to me says, “Sir we’re at the airport dropoff. You’ll have to get off the parking tram now” – but I’m as equally excited as the next guy about plummeting 40,000 feet to the ground. Luckily, as I’m trudging down the aisle, some of my worries subside as I realize I once again get to choose among a slew of middle seats scattered throughout the plane. Ahhh, the beauty of flying Southwest, where you’re not just assigned a middle seat, but you get to choose which middle seat you want.
I should take a moment to point out that while Southwest’s unassigned seating practices create potential and, oftentimes, actual bloodshed among passengers, the airline has managed to stay lucrative and avoid the massive employee layoffs affecting a lot of its competitors. The reasons are two-fold: 1) They offer some of the lowest rates in the industry and 2) they have a customer-first business model that enhances the flying experience for their passengers by offering, in terms of perks, absolutely nothing. The cramped spaces, the lack of in-flight movies and the complete absence of food create a level of comfort unmatched in the industry.
And in case you were wondering about food on their flights, here’s the breakdown of what to expect, according to the back of each boarding pass:
For flight times less than 2 hours long: Drinks will be served
For flight times between 2-4 hours long: Snacks will be served
For flight times between 4-10 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served
For flight times between 10-20 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served, followed by another round of drinks and snacks
For flight times more than 20 hours long: Look, you’re not getting food, okay? You can bring food onto the plane or nibble on your neighbor. We don’t care. Just don’t ask us for a meal.
Anyway, back to my flight. After our smooth, easy takeoff, I’m reading comfortably and happy to be headed home. All of a sudden, my nerves kick in. Chills shoot down my spine. Something is amiss; something unmistakable in the air. The man in the seat next to me just farted.
As eight other people sit within a 10-foot vicinity of him, this man has no problem introducing his unique aromatic brand to the pressurized air around us. And, acting in a manner that I guess we all would if we committed such an egregious flying taboo, he is chomping away on his non Southwest-issued chicken fajita as if nothing happened.
I suppose that’s his only real option. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s not looking at those of us around him and saying, “My bad. Sorry about that.” He can only hope that everyone will wonder where it came from, but at the same time, he could crinkle his nose and look around as if to say, “Do you smell that? Who would do such a thing?” At least that would show an attempt to pass (pun intended) blame onto someone else.
Oh well. I should probably get back to my book. I’m making too big a deal of it. It is, after all, a perfectly natural bodily… Wait a sec. What the hell? Oh my God, he did it again! Are you kidding me? Dude, get a hold of yourself!
I don’t think this guy knows where he is. And once again, despite looking at him with my jaw dragging across the top of my seat-back tray, his expression doesn’t change. No burying his head out the window, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. No awkward repositioning in his seat. Nothing. I haven’t seen such an unabashed, shame-free display of public flatulence since my one year old ate pizza rolls for dinner.
Mercifully, before the oxygen masks can deploy, the plane soon lands. Not surprisingly, Stinky McToots-A-Ton, who chose a window seat, is now nervously standing and trying to figure out how he can get off the plane as soon as possible. Guess he has some sort of emergency to tend to.
See, Southwest? This is what happens when you let the customer make all the decisions. You get chicken fajita-eating farters taking up the window seats on four-hour flights. I hope you’re proud of yourselves.
I’m anxiously awaiting to board a plane that will take me home. I’m anxious, in part, because I want to get home, but at this particular moment I’m anxious because I have to board a plane to get there. And it’s a cross-country flight, so I’ll likely be anxious for a few hours.
I’m not an overly worrisome flier – you won’t see me gripping the arms of my seat, taking deep, audible breaths while the person next to me says, “Sir we’re at the airport dropoff. You’ll have to get off the parking tram now” – but I’m as equally excited as the next guy about plummeting 40,000 feet to the ground. Luckily, as I’m trudging down the aisle, some of my worries subside as I realize I once again get to choose among a slew of middle seats scattered throughout the plane. Ahhh, the beauty of flying Southwest, where you’re not just assigned a middle seat, but you get to choose which middle seat you want.
I should take a moment to point out that while Southwest’s unassigned seating practices create potential and, oftentimes, actual bloodshed among passengers, the airline has managed to stay lucrative and avoid the massive employee layoffs affecting a lot of its competitors. The reasons are two-fold: 1) They offer some of the lowest rates in the industry and 2) they have a customer-first business model that enhances the flying experience for their passengers by offering, in terms of perks, absolutely nothing. The cramped spaces, the lack of in-flight movies and the complete absence of food create a level of comfort unmatched in the industry.
And in case you were wondering about food on their flights, here’s the breakdown of what to expect, according to the back of each boarding pass:
For flight times less than 2 hours long: Drinks will be served
For flight times between 2-4 hours long: Snacks will be served
For flight times between 4-10 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served
For flight times between 10-20 hours long: Drinks and snacks will be served, followed by another round of drinks and snacks
For flight times more than 20 hours long: Look, you’re not getting food, okay? You can bring food onto the plane or nibble on your neighbor. We don’t care. Just don’t ask us for a meal.
Anyway, back to my flight. After our smooth, easy takeoff, I’m reading comfortably and happy to be headed home. All of a sudden, my nerves kick in. Chills shoot down my spine. Something is amiss; something unmistakable in the air. The man in the seat next to me just farted.
As eight other people sit within a 10-foot vicinity of him, this man has no problem introducing his unique aromatic brand to the pressurized air around us. And, acting in a manner that I guess we all would if we committed such an egregious flying taboo, he is chomping away on his non Southwest-issued chicken fajita as if nothing happened.
I suppose that’s his only real option. I shouldn’t be surprised that he’s not looking at those of us around him and saying, “My bad. Sorry about that.” He can only hope that everyone will wonder where it came from, but at the same time, he could crinkle his nose and look around as if to say, “Do you smell that? Who would do such a thing?” At least that would show an attempt to pass (pun intended) blame onto someone else.
Oh well. I should probably get back to my book. I’m making too big a deal of it. It is, after all, a perfectly natural bodily… Wait a sec. What the hell? Oh my God, he did it again! Are you kidding me? Dude, get a hold of yourself!
I don’t think this guy knows where he is. And once again, despite looking at him with my jaw dragging across the top of my seat-back tray, his expression doesn’t change. No burying his head out the window, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. No awkward repositioning in his seat. Nothing. I haven’t seen such an unabashed, shame-free display of public flatulence since my one year old ate pizza rolls for dinner.
Mercifully, before the oxygen masks can deploy, the plane soon lands. Not surprisingly, Stinky McToots-A-Ton, who chose a window seat, is now nervously standing and trying to figure out how he can get off the plane as soon as possible. Guess he has some sort of emergency to tend to.
See, Southwest? This is what happens when you let the customer make all the decisions. You get chicken fajita-eating farters taking up the window seats on four-hour flights. I hope you’re proud of yourselves.
Sunday, June 8, 2008
Am I Missing Something?
A few head-scratching stories from this week’s print edition of
The Obvious Observer…
Shocking news rang out across the sports world yesterday when overwhelming Belmont Stakes favorite – largely because his trainer said he would win – Big Brown failed to win the race and subsequently this year’s Triple Crown.
The shock hit Big Brown’s trainer the hardest as he did all he could to aid the horse’s chances leading up to the race, including making risky, karma-defying comments like, “I don’t see how he can lose” and “We’ll be in the winner’s circle when the other horses are coming around the first turn.”
Entering yesterday’s contest, the horse seemed to have everything working in its favor: weeks before the race, he suffered a cracked hoof, which kept him from properly training for the event; he did not receive his latest regular monthly steroid injection; he was facing a 1.5 mile run, the longest of the three Triple Crown races and a typically difficult one for hard-charging, short-distance runners to overcome; and history was definitely on Big Brown’s side – no horse had captured the Triple Crown in the last 29 years, including numerous contenders in the last dozen years who managed to win the first two races of the elusive milestone.
When asked for reasons why the super stud could have failed so miserably, every “racing expert” working for ESPN and all the outside “experts” that the network interviewed had the same response: “Big Brown’s performance in the Belmont is absolutely inexplicable.”
Indeed.
In other puzzling news…
Gas prices continue to rise despite growing worldwide demand, spurred by years of rural-population growth and consumers buying gas-guzzling automobiles. Also adding to the perplexity of high gas prices is the ever-increasing cost of crude oil and the record quarterly earnings of petroleum companies everywhere.
When asked if they will ever cease following this backwards business model, a spokesman for the petroleum companies said, “Absolutely. Taking home piles and piles of money every pay period just isn’t working for us anymore. Plus, we can’t risk it anymore now that all those e-mails are circulating that ask readers to participate in bizarre and impractical methods to lower gas prices, like refusing to buy gas between 7-8 a.m. on the third Thursday of every other month. If one more of those e-mails goes out, it could mean the death of our industry.”
In perfectly reasonable celebrity news…
Former drug addict, death-threat maker, and prostitute aficionado Charlie Sheen had no trouble recently landing a new wife. Brooke Mueller is Sheen’s third and, quite possibly, most ignorant mate.
When asked how she felt about Sheen’s past, which includes hard-core drug abuse, connections to Hollywood madame Heidi Fleiss and threats made to his former wife, Denise Richards, while she was pregnant with their second child, Mueller responded: “I know, isn’t Charlie adorable? And he has his own show!”
O.J. Simpson’s current girlfriend and Mike Tyson’s most recent ex-wife could not be reached for comment.
Finally, Clay Aiken will soon be a dad. Oddly enough, the Barry Manilow-wannabe bypassed the natural form of conception by artificially inseminating the mother, Jaymes Foster.
As a side note, the favorite crooner of female octogenarians everywhere has been willfully appearing in public looking like this.
Aiken’s sexual preference continues to remain a mystery.
The Obvious Observer…
Shocking news rang out across the sports world yesterday when overwhelming Belmont Stakes favorite – largely because his trainer said he would win – Big Brown failed to win the race and subsequently this year’s Triple Crown.
The shock hit Big Brown’s trainer the hardest as he did all he could to aid the horse’s chances leading up to the race, including making risky, karma-defying comments like, “I don’t see how he can lose” and “We’ll be in the winner’s circle when the other horses are coming around the first turn.”
Entering yesterday’s contest, the horse seemed to have everything working in its favor: weeks before the race, he suffered a cracked hoof, which kept him from properly training for the event; he did not receive his latest regular monthly steroid injection; he was facing a 1.5 mile run, the longest of the three Triple Crown races and a typically difficult one for hard-charging, short-distance runners to overcome; and history was definitely on Big Brown’s side – no horse had captured the Triple Crown in the last 29 years, including numerous contenders in the last dozen years who managed to win the first two races of the elusive milestone.
When asked for reasons why the super stud could have failed so miserably, every “racing expert” working for ESPN and all the outside “experts” that the network interviewed had the same response: “Big Brown’s performance in the Belmont is absolutely inexplicable.”
Indeed.
In other puzzling news…
Gas prices continue to rise despite growing worldwide demand, spurred by years of rural-population growth and consumers buying gas-guzzling automobiles. Also adding to the perplexity of high gas prices is the ever-increasing cost of crude oil and the record quarterly earnings of petroleum companies everywhere.
When asked if they will ever cease following this backwards business model, a spokesman for the petroleum companies said, “Absolutely. Taking home piles and piles of money every pay period just isn’t working for us anymore. Plus, we can’t risk it anymore now that all those e-mails are circulating that ask readers to participate in bizarre and impractical methods to lower gas prices, like refusing to buy gas between 7-8 a.m. on the third Thursday of every other month. If one more of those e-mails goes out, it could mean the death of our industry.”
In perfectly reasonable celebrity news…
Former drug addict, death-threat maker, and prostitute aficionado Charlie Sheen had no trouble recently landing a new wife. Brooke Mueller is Sheen’s third and, quite possibly, most ignorant mate.
When asked how she felt about Sheen’s past, which includes hard-core drug abuse, connections to Hollywood madame Heidi Fleiss and threats made to his former wife, Denise Richards, while she was pregnant with their second child, Mueller responded: “I know, isn’t Charlie adorable? And he has his own show!”
O.J. Simpson’s current girlfriend and Mike Tyson’s most recent ex-wife could not be reached for comment.
Finally, Clay Aiken will soon be a dad. Oddly enough, the Barry Manilow-wannabe bypassed the natural form of conception by artificially inseminating the mother, Jaymes Foster.
As a side note, the favorite crooner of female octogenarians everywhere has been willfully appearing in public looking like this.
Aiken’s sexual preference continues to remain a mystery.
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