Our internet service provider, Comcast. has an online tech support system. You log on and some techie (in India, I'll bet) logs on, and chats with you (via some chat room thing on their site). I'm having a problem with our service, so I had to try to use it tonite. Below is my entire conversation, transcribed (with no modifications whatsoever).
>>>Beginning of Conversation
user Paul_ has entered room
Paul(Wed Aug 20 05:07:01 PDT 2008)>cannot connect more than one comp through wireless connection; freezes the modem.analyst
Pearl has entered room
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:07:07 PDT 2008)>Hello Paul_, Thank you for contacting Comcast Live Chat Support. My name is Pearl. Please give me one moment to review your information.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:07:13 PDT 2008)>Hi there! How are you doing?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:07:17 PDT 2008)>good. how r u?
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:07:40 PDT 2008)>Glad to hear that.I am doing fine, as well. Thank you for asking.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:07:55 PDT 2008)>Paul, may I know if your router comes from Comcast?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:08:00 PDT 2008)>yes. it did.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:08:10 PDT 2008)>im sry. u mean the cable modem?
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:08:12 PDT 2008)>Thank you.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:08:19 PDT 2008)>No, the router.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:08:25 PDT 2008)>oh. no. it didnt.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:09:17 PDT 2008)>I see. Have you tried to bypass the router by connecting the modem directly to one PC to check if the router is the issue?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:10:04 PDT 2008)>the router isn't the issue. I'm connected directly through the modem now, but the whole setup works great as long as there's only a single computer trying to access the net.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:10:11 PDT 2008)>i've been using it for two months that way
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:10:22 PDT 2008)>but we just got another computer, and it won't work now.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:10:37 PDT 2008)>i also purchased another router today and tried that
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:10:47 PDT 2008)>same results. either one or the other computer will work
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:11:01 PDT 2008)>Have you configure the router before you connect it to the modem?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:11:00 PDT 2008)>but as soon as i try to get on with the second comp, it freezes the modem.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:11:15 PDT 2008)>yes. as i said, it works fine, until I add the second computer
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:11:15 PDT 2008)>Have you configured the router?Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:11:20 PDT 2008)>then the modem freezes.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:11:26 PDT 2008)>yes i have configured it.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:12:22 PDT 2008)>Please try to check first if the modem will work without a router. If it will allow the computer to work without a router then compare the results.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:12:50 PDT 2008)>yes. as I said, i'm working directly through the modem now; no router.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:12:53 PDT 2008)>so that works.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:13:11 PDT 2008)>Then it is verified that there is a problem with the router.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:13:15 PDT 2008)>nope.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:13:35 PDT 2008)>because i can plug the router in, and work online just fine with only one computer.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:13:39 PDT 2008)>so the router works great.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:13:54 PDT 2008)>If the router will work fine, Paul, it should allow another PC to connect after you connect the router to your modem.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:13:55 PDT 2008)>as soon as I try the second computer, the MODEM freezes (the router continues working)
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:14:03 PDT 2008)>I agree...it should.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:14:05 PDT 2008)>but it doesnt
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:14:08 PDT 2008)>so...
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:14:11 PDT 2008)>we have a problem.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:14:24 PDT 2008)>with the modem.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:15:10 PDT 2008)>May I know what made you say that there is a problem with the modem if it is allowing it has a connection?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:15:20 PDT 2008)>ok...
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:15:36 PDT 2008)>I mean if it is allowing the other PC to connect.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:15:38 PDT 2008)>the modem freezes as soon as a second computer tries to get out on the net
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:15:50 PDT 2008)>i can still see both computers through the router...
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:16:02 PDT 2008)>i just can't get out onto the net
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:16:38 PDT 2008)>does that make sense?
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:17:08 PDT 2008)>Allow me to explain.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:17:12 PDT 2008)>ok
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:18:28 PDT 2008)>The modem will provide connection to the PC. If there is a router, the signals will go through the router before it reaches the PCs. If the PC is not able to get a connection when you connect it through a router then the router is not giving enough signals to the PC, right?
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:18:51 PDT 2008)>Make sure that all the cable wires are plug in.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:18:54 PDT 2008)>i DO GET A CONNECTION through the router though...thats my point. I have been for two months
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:19:25 PDT 2008)>But you are not getting a connection but can connect with just the modem?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:19:38 PDT 2008)>yes. I ALSO have a connection when I connect through just the modem.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:19:47 PDT 2008)>THE PROBLEM is that i now have TWO COMPUTERS
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:19:59 PDT 2008)>and when the SECOND computer tries to connect, the modem crashes
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:20:13 PDT 2008)>NOT the router
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:20:38 PDT 2008)>(i have two routers, and I've tried them both independently tonite, with the SAME exact results, so the problem HAS to be the modem)
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:21:31 PDT 2008)>Okay, if you insist I will send a technician over to fix the modem which comes from Comcast to be able to check this on your end.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:21:47 PDT 2008)>Will that work for you?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:22:03 PDT 2008)>I'm not "insisting" anything...if you'd rather, we can just cancel the service, and I can go with another provider...
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:22:14 PDT 2008)>I'm simply saying that the modem has an issue...
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:22:27 PDT 2008)>and I've verified that against two routers
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:22:45 PDT 2008)>Paul, please understand here in chat there are certain limitations.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:23:13 PDT 2008)>We do have tools that is currently monitoring the status of the PC.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:23:18 PDT 2008)>I mean the modem.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:23:25 PDT 2008)>okPearl(Wed Aug 20 05:23:50 PDT 2008)>I have seen here that the modem status is fine and it is getting enough signals on our server.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:24:33 PDT 2008)>Let me try to ping the modem to further check it here.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:24:45 PDT 2008)>Here is the result.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:24:47 PDT 2008)>PING 73.77.144.111: 64 data bytes
72 bytes from 73.77.144.111: icmp_seq=0. time=54.6 ms
72 bytes from 73.77.144.111: icmp_seq=1. time=54.9 ms
72 bytes from 73.77.144.111: icmp_seq=2. time=54.6 ms
72 bytes from 73.77.144.111: icmp_seq=3. time=53.4 ms
72 bytes from 73.77.144.111: icmp_seq=4. time=54.7 ms
----73.77.144.111 PING Statistics----
5 packets transmitted, 5 packets received, 0% packet loss
round-trip (ms) min/avg/max/stddev = 53.4/54.4/54.9/0.59
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:24:52 PDT 2008)>the modem is fine now because i only have a single computer connected to it
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:25:28 PDT 2008)>in order to demonstrate the problem, I'll have to connect the router and the second computer; unfortunately that'll end our conversation
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:25:30 PDT 2008)>so...
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:26:29 PDT 2008)>Yes, please do that is the only way that we can check and verify the real cause of this. Make sure to Powercycle everything once you have connected the router before turning everything on.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:27:00 PDT 2008)>im going to lose you...how do I get back to you?
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:27:42 PDT 2008)>I may not be able to assist you once you chat back however you can inform the next agent who will handle you regarding the steps that we have done from here.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:27:50 PDT 2008)>we haven't done anything
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:28:17 PDT 2008)>When you powercycle the modem please do not forget to unplug the modem for a minute or two.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:28:35 PDT 2008)>yes; i know. i've had to do it like 30 times tonite...
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:28:33 PDT 2008)>Then re-insert cable modem plug into electrical outlet. Allow cable modem 30 seconds to initialize before starting computer.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:28:42 PDT 2008)>ok...
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:28:55 PDT 2008)>thanks.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:29:15 PDT 2008)>You are welcome.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:29:26 PDT 2008)>So are we now set to go from here?
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:29:30 PDT 2008)>sure.
Paul_(Wed Aug 20 02:29:32 PDT 2008)>thanks.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:29:53 PDT 2008)>You are welcome.
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:29:59 PDT 2008)>We are here for you 24 hours a day 365 days a year! To learn more about your services and find answers to many questions, please visit our FAQ pages: http://help.comcast.net/
Pearl(Wed Aug 20 05:30:07 PDT 2008)>Analyst has closed chat and left the roomanalyst Pearl has left room
>>>End of Conversation.
I give up...
Wednesday, August 20, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
It's A Crisis!
Our city only has one taco truck. I know this because I've investigated it.
The good news is that this particular taco truck happens to be the best taco truck in the nation (I know this because I've eaten--and been blessed with a wide variety of digestive maladies--at many of them).
It also happens to be permanently parked (why wouldn't they just rent a restaurant?) on the extreme opposite corner of town. It sits in the parking lot of an adult bookstore, which always makes me feel a little awkward when going to get a taco. I'm never quite sure when going to grab a bite whether I should park in an inconspicuous location, or park right out in front where everyone can see me.
At any rate, I was thinking about the taco truck the other day. We were readying to go visit Shawna's family for a few days, and Shawna was complaining about having to pack all of our considerable accoutrement's into the trunk of our comfortable (but admittedly cramped when full of all of our stuff) family sedan. She was lamenting the absence of her beloved, oversized SUV (which we sold a few months ago). And I realized that there is a problem.
I can get three tacos at this taco truck of mine for a dollar. If we still owned the gas-guzzling SUV, it would cost me more in fuel to drive to the taco truck than it would cost me to eat. That's wrong. I'm not old, but I have been driving for awhile. When I got my license twelve years ago, gas hovered at around .95 cents a gallon. In twelve years, the price of gas has risen by nearly %500, a fantastic investment by any account, seeing as how, generally my investments appreciate, on average, at about -7.7 % per year.
I should have bought a bunch of gas when I got my license.
I think, though, that necessity is truly the mother of invention. If nothing else, these prices are a good thing in that they're causing entrepreneurial, inventive people to come up with brilliant ideas, alternatives to paying $5 a gallon for fuel.
And it's great for the people that make Smart Cars; Shawna told me that she heard that there's a two year wait list for purchasing the things.
But I'm talking about something bigger than just little cars.
Things like moving sidewalks (like they have at the airport); you can jump on to go grab some lunch. It's faster than walking, and costs almost nothing. Or maybe new cities can be planned with canals instead of roads (like Venice). Instead of driving to the supermarket or the taco truck, you can jump in a gondola and take a ride down the canal.
My favorite is virtual entertainment. For example, I envision Disney creating a virtual Disneyland that you can buy and load up on your Wii (assuming you have a widescreen and surround sound, and the rumble pack that goes under your couch leg), and ride "It's A Small World" right there in your living room.
What do you think? What are your ideas for mitigating the "Gas Is Atrocious!" crisis?
The good news is that this particular taco truck happens to be the best taco truck in the nation (I know this because I've eaten--and been blessed with a wide variety of digestive maladies--at many of them).
It also happens to be permanently parked (why wouldn't they just rent a restaurant?) on the extreme opposite corner of town. It sits in the parking lot of an adult bookstore, which always makes me feel a little awkward when going to get a taco. I'm never quite sure when going to grab a bite whether I should park in an inconspicuous location, or park right out in front where everyone can see me.
At any rate, I was thinking about the taco truck the other day. We were readying to go visit Shawna's family for a few days, and Shawna was complaining about having to pack all of our considerable accoutrement's into the trunk of our comfortable (but admittedly cramped when full of all of our stuff) family sedan. She was lamenting the absence of her beloved, oversized SUV (which we sold a few months ago). And I realized that there is a problem.
I can get three tacos at this taco truck of mine for a dollar. If we still owned the gas-guzzling SUV, it would cost me more in fuel to drive to the taco truck than it would cost me to eat. That's wrong. I'm not old, but I have been driving for awhile. When I got my license twelve years ago, gas hovered at around .95 cents a gallon. In twelve years, the price of gas has risen by nearly %500, a fantastic investment by any account, seeing as how, generally my investments appreciate, on average, at about -7.7 % per year.
I should have bought a bunch of gas when I got my license.
I think, though, that necessity is truly the mother of invention. If nothing else, these prices are a good thing in that they're causing entrepreneurial, inventive people to come up with brilliant ideas, alternatives to paying $5 a gallon for fuel.
And it's great for the people that make Smart Cars; Shawna told me that she heard that there's a two year wait list for purchasing the things.
But I'm talking about something bigger than just little cars.
Things like moving sidewalks (like they have at the airport); you can jump on to go grab some lunch. It's faster than walking, and costs almost nothing. Or maybe new cities can be planned with canals instead of roads (like Venice). Instead of driving to the supermarket or the taco truck, you can jump in a gondola and take a ride down the canal.
My favorite is virtual entertainment. For example, I envision Disney creating a virtual Disneyland that you can buy and load up on your Wii (assuming you have a widescreen and surround sound, and the rumble pack that goes under your couch leg), and ride "It's A Small World" right there in your living room.
What do you think? What are your ideas for mitigating the "Gas Is Atrocious!" crisis?
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Seven Amazing Years!
Alexis is 7!
It seems like just yesterday that my little girl was born, yet so long ago. The little girl who I used to warm bottles for at 2 AM, who peed through her diaper all over the church pew when I was watching her (that one got me in a little trouble), who wore those huge colored bows--that same little girl is now begging for a cell phone, reads like a champ, wants her own email address, and is up on all the latest fashions (and, of course, has to have them all).
And she has a heart of gold. Truly unconditional love, and I'm eternally grateful to have a daughter who understands and epitomizes that.
Happy Birthday Alexis! I'm so proud to be your daddy--prouder than I am of ANY other accomplishment. You and your brother are the best things that I've ever been a part of!
I love you!
It seems like just yesterday that my little girl was born, yet so long ago. The little girl who I used to warm bottles for at 2 AM, who peed through her diaper all over the church pew when I was watching her (that one got me in a little trouble), who wore those huge colored bows--that same little girl is now begging for a cell phone, reads like a champ, wants her own email address, and is up on all the latest fashions (and, of course, has to have them all).
And she has a heart of gold. Truly unconditional love, and I'm eternally grateful to have a daughter who understands and epitomizes that.
Happy Birthday Alexis! I'm so proud to be your daddy--prouder than I am of ANY other accomplishment. You and your brother are the best things that I've ever been a part of!
I love you!
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Wal-Mart: Retail Hell
Saturday afternoon we went to a birthday party for a friend of Gentry and Lex. It was at a park across town, and the kids were excited because there was going to be a bounce house and a pinata.
We got there right on time, but the party was running a little behind schedule. Our friend, the birthday boy's mother, was running around frantically trying to get things organized, and still had to run across town to pick up her husband (temporarily incapacitated due to a foot surgery), and then run back to Wal-Mart across town to pick up the birthday cake.
I, being the nice guy that I am, offered to pick up the cake. Our friend looked up at me, disbelief and hope alternating across her face. "Would you really?" she asked, incredulous.
"Sure. I'll run over and get it. Don't worry about it, OK?"
She almost cried with relief.
I hate Wal-Mart. I'd forgotten how bad I hate Wal-Mart. I'll never forget again.
To be fair, I was already in a bit of a mood by the time I arrived. Wal-Mart is at the opposite corner of town, accessible only via surface streets. Streets jam-packed full of other motorists (all, I would soon learn, ALSO going to Wal-Mart), and littered with traffic signals, all of which were programmed to turn red anytime my car was within 50 feet. It took me a good 20 minutes to make the 5 mile trip, and by the time I parked and got out of the car, I was looking for something to break up into tiny little pieces and then stomp under my feet.
I'm proud to say that I showed some restraint (actually, it was less restraint than it was fear, in that the last time I gave in to that urge, I grabbed an envelope out of the center console of the car and enthusiastically demolished it while Shawna and the kids watched curiously. When I had finally tired and stopped, Shawna asked: "Why didn't you take your paycheck out before you did that?").
I walked into the store, and stopped abruptly. I was surprised to find that, apparently, they had chosen that day to perform American Idol tryouts in our local Wal-Mart (nowhere else have I ever seen such an enormous mass of uniquely strange, and fearsomely intense, people all in one place, all generally acting like giddy fools). Oh, but if it had only been American Idol tryouts; then I would only have had to face the harsh verbal abuse of Simon Cowell. Instead I was forced to face the horrible wrath of Bertha and her Brutal Band of Bakers.
You see, I'd forgotten to grab the receipt for the birthday cake; apparently that's one of the ten commandments of cake buying: thou shalt ALWAYS bring your receipt when you come to pick up the cake.
"Um...I don't have the receipt," I told Bertha when she came out to help me. I told her the name it was under.
Her eyes grew wide, clenched fists went to her hips, and she rose to her full 7'2", glaring spitefully at me. "YOU....DON'T....HAVE....YOUR....BAKERY....SLIP?!?!?!" she bellowed.
"Uh...no ma'am, but I can tell you--"
"SILENCE!" she roared. "YOU WILL TELL ME ONLY WHAT YOU'RE ASKED TO TELL ME! Now, what is your name?"
"Well, MY name is PJ Green," I replied, "But it's not under my name."
"Well how do I know you aren't here to steal this poor kid's transformer cake?" she questioned.
"Uh, because it hasn't been paid for? And whether it's mine or not, I'm still going to have to pay for it. Besides, I know the name it's under; how probable is that if I'm just some random cake thief?"
She glared at me for a moment, then, grumbling, waddled back to the refrigerator, and disappeared into it for about five minutes. Finally (after consenting to a check of my ID, and allowing one of Bertha's minions to take a photocopy of it--in the event the true owner of the cake decided to press charges were I to steal the cake), I was on my way to the front of the store to check out.
Every single checkout stand was open. And every single one of them looked like the Wal-Mart return line on the day after Christmas. I picked the shortest line I could find--which happened to be an "Express-Less Than 20 Items" line (for what it's worth, technically it should have said "Fewer Than 20 Items", but I don't know that Mr. Walton's faithful patrons care all that much whether or not his sign designers are grammatically correct).
Twenty minutes later, the end was in sight. I was the third in line, and the lady at the register was almost finished; soon I'd be second. The guy in front of me had only one small container from the deli (his lunch, I presume), so I was already practicing the slow, calming breaths that I would need to bring myself back to a sane state of consciousness.
Just as the lady checking out was almost finished, I saw the guy in front of me (the one holding his lunch) look over his shoulder and beckon to someone behind me. Calling them up to join him at the register--presumably to add to his one item checkout collection. I was frustrated, but too tired--and much too close to the check stand--to fight it at that point. I leaned back against the candy stand, packages of Reese's Pieces and Ring-Pop's falling to the floor, closed my eyes, and just breathed, calming myself.
Then a collective groan went up all around me. My eyes popped open, I looked around, and fell to the floor in utter, hopeless defeat.
The lunch guy in front of me hadn't beckoned back to his wife, holding a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk; it wasn't to his kid, wanting to add a package of Airheads to the purchase; it wasn't some friend wanting to get back to his party with his 12-pack of Bud Lite.
It was a Wal-Mart employee; two employees as a matter of fact, each pulling a laden pallet-jack, a pallet full of Gatorade on each.
1,440 individual bottles of Gatorade, to be exact. I know. Because they counted each one. Twice.
I'll admit, I don't understand society: we're so forgiving. A man pulls up to the "20 Items or Less" express lane with 1,441 items, and we sit patiently (or impatiently, yet quietly submissive), waiting for him to finish. We don't cause an uproar; we don't toss down our respective birthday cakes and fishing poles and fresh-baked bread and jars of peanut butter, and stalk out of the store, forever decrying the mismanagement, and pledging never to return to a Wal-Mart.
No; we grumble and complain amongst ourselves (quietly, though, because we don't want the offender to hear us), and wait our turn. And, next week when we need pretzels or Diet Pepsi or Cheez Whiz, we haul ourselves back down to retail hell, and brave the insane crowds, and brazen, Express-line-rule-defying jerks. And why? Because they have "Always the low prices...Always!"
When you think about it, we're doing old Mr. Walton's grand kids a huge disservice by NOT revolting. It's the free-market folks; Wally-world, along with every other retail establishment in the nation, depends on us to send them messages regarding their performance. Decreased business tells the business decision makers that customers are dissatisfied, and change must come. But, no: we sell our souls, or principles, for a few measly cents off a dozen eggs; for a car battery that's $3 cheaper than anywhere else; for a t-shirt that's $4 cheaper than anywhere else.
You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. If only YOU people had listened to your conscience the last time you had a miserable experience at Wal-Mart, if only YOU had stopped going, maybe they would have heard us by now.
Then I wouldn't have had to deal with them.
Can somebody start a protest?
We got there right on time, but the party was running a little behind schedule. Our friend, the birthday boy's mother, was running around frantically trying to get things organized, and still had to run across town to pick up her husband (temporarily incapacitated due to a foot surgery), and then run back to Wal-Mart across town to pick up the birthday cake.
I, being the nice guy that I am, offered to pick up the cake. Our friend looked up at me, disbelief and hope alternating across her face. "Would you really?" she asked, incredulous.
"Sure. I'll run over and get it. Don't worry about it, OK?"
She almost cried with relief.
I hate Wal-Mart. I'd forgotten how bad I hate Wal-Mart. I'll never forget again.
To be fair, I was already in a bit of a mood by the time I arrived. Wal-Mart is at the opposite corner of town, accessible only via surface streets. Streets jam-packed full of other motorists (all, I would soon learn, ALSO going to Wal-Mart), and littered with traffic signals, all of which were programmed to turn red anytime my car was within 50 feet. It took me a good 20 minutes to make the 5 mile trip, and by the time I parked and got out of the car, I was looking for something to break up into tiny little pieces and then stomp under my feet.
I'm proud to say that I showed some restraint (actually, it was less restraint than it was fear, in that the last time I gave in to that urge, I grabbed an envelope out of the center console of the car and enthusiastically demolished it while Shawna and the kids watched curiously. When I had finally tired and stopped, Shawna asked: "Why didn't you take your paycheck out before you did that?").
I walked into the store, and stopped abruptly. I was surprised to find that, apparently, they had chosen that day to perform American Idol tryouts in our local Wal-Mart (nowhere else have I ever seen such an enormous mass of uniquely strange, and fearsomely intense, people all in one place, all generally acting like giddy fools). Oh, but if it had only been American Idol tryouts; then I would only have had to face the harsh verbal abuse of Simon Cowell. Instead I was forced to face the horrible wrath of Bertha and her Brutal Band of Bakers.
You see, I'd forgotten to grab the receipt for the birthday cake; apparently that's one of the ten commandments of cake buying: thou shalt ALWAYS bring your receipt when you come to pick up the cake.
"Um...I don't have the receipt," I told Bertha when she came out to help me. I told her the name it was under.
Her eyes grew wide, clenched fists went to her hips, and she rose to her full 7'2", glaring spitefully at me. "YOU....DON'T....HAVE....YOUR....BAKERY....SLIP?!?!?!" she bellowed.
"Uh...no ma'am, but I can tell you--"
"SILENCE!" she roared. "YOU WILL TELL ME ONLY WHAT YOU'RE ASKED TO TELL ME! Now, what is your name?"
"Well, MY name is PJ Green," I replied, "But it's not under my name."
"Well how do I know you aren't here to steal this poor kid's transformer cake?" she questioned.
"Uh, because it hasn't been paid for? And whether it's mine or not, I'm still going to have to pay for it. Besides, I know the name it's under; how probable is that if I'm just some random cake thief?"
She glared at me for a moment, then, grumbling, waddled back to the refrigerator, and disappeared into it for about five minutes. Finally (after consenting to a check of my ID, and allowing one of Bertha's minions to take a photocopy of it--in the event the true owner of the cake decided to press charges were I to steal the cake), I was on my way to the front of the store to check out.
Every single checkout stand was open. And every single one of them looked like the Wal-Mart return line on the day after Christmas. I picked the shortest line I could find--which happened to be an "Express-Less Than 20 Items" line (for what it's worth, technically it should have said "Fewer Than 20 Items", but I don't know that Mr. Walton's faithful patrons care all that much whether or not his sign designers are grammatically correct).
Twenty minutes later, the end was in sight. I was the third in line, and the lady at the register was almost finished; soon I'd be second. The guy in front of me had only one small container from the deli (his lunch, I presume), so I was already practicing the slow, calming breaths that I would need to bring myself back to a sane state of consciousness.
Just as the lady checking out was almost finished, I saw the guy in front of me (the one holding his lunch) look over his shoulder and beckon to someone behind me. Calling them up to join him at the register--presumably to add to his one item checkout collection. I was frustrated, but too tired--and much too close to the check stand--to fight it at that point. I leaned back against the candy stand, packages of Reese's Pieces and Ring-Pop's falling to the floor, closed my eyes, and just breathed, calming myself.
Then a collective groan went up all around me. My eyes popped open, I looked around, and fell to the floor in utter, hopeless defeat.
The lunch guy in front of me hadn't beckoned back to his wife, holding a loaf of bread and a gallon of milk; it wasn't to his kid, wanting to add a package of Airheads to the purchase; it wasn't some friend wanting to get back to his party with his 12-pack of Bud Lite.
It was a Wal-Mart employee; two employees as a matter of fact, each pulling a laden pallet-jack, a pallet full of Gatorade on each.
1,440 individual bottles of Gatorade, to be exact. I know. Because they counted each one. Twice.
I'll admit, I don't understand society: we're so forgiving. A man pulls up to the "20 Items or Less" express lane with 1,441 items, and we sit patiently (or impatiently, yet quietly submissive), waiting for him to finish. We don't cause an uproar; we don't toss down our respective birthday cakes and fishing poles and fresh-baked bread and jars of peanut butter, and stalk out of the store, forever decrying the mismanagement, and pledging never to return to a Wal-Mart.
No; we grumble and complain amongst ourselves (quietly, though, because we don't want the offender to hear us), and wait our turn. And, next week when we need pretzels or Diet Pepsi or Cheez Whiz, we haul ourselves back down to retail hell, and brave the insane crowds, and brazen, Express-line-rule-defying jerks. And why? Because they have "Always the low prices...Always!"
When you think about it, we're doing old Mr. Walton's grand kids a huge disservice by NOT revolting. It's the free-market folks; Wally-world, along with every other retail establishment in the nation, depends on us to send them messages regarding their performance. Decreased business tells the business decision makers that customers are dissatisfied, and change must come. But, no: we sell our souls, or principles, for a few measly cents off a dozen eggs; for a car battery that's $3 cheaper than anywhere else; for a t-shirt that's $4 cheaper than anywhere else.
You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. If only YOU people had listened to your conscience the last time you had a miserable experience at Wal-Mart, if only YOU had stopped going, maybe they would have heard us by now.
Then I wouldn't have had to deal with them.
Can somebody start a protest?
Saturday, July 19, 2008
My Only Hope
We were in Target tonight looking around for gifts for Lex (it's her birthday on Thursday; she's going to be seven). Gentry had his eye on a toy, and, as usual, was building his case.
"Dad," he said as we walked down an aisle, "have we been good today?"
"Well, Bubs, you did whine quite a bit today."
"OK; but," Lex chimed in, "for example: were we kind today? Did we share with others? THAT'S what he's talking about."
I chuckled. She's having a tough time learning to ride a bike. Bubs has it down pat; he's extremely coordinated and athletic, like his mother. Lex is like me. I think I was six before I learned to ride a bike; I was picked last on every sporting team in elementary school; I still can't catch.
But she's sharp. I think she might be destined to be a politician. I choose, now, not to engage her, because she's developed multiple lines of circular reasoning that even I have a hard time arguing against. So I head her off at the pass. I imagine, if I'd chosen to respond affirmatively to her "for example" tonight in Target, she would have went on to point out how, as well-behaved children, they ought to be rewarded in some small way (a candy bar, perhaps).
They amaze me in so many little ways. Gentry, for example, grabbed a greeting card off the shelf in Target tonight, hid it behind his back, and said, "Dad. Do you know what's on this cawd?"
"No. What is it Bubs?" I responded.
"You have to guess."
"Um...is it a...chicken?"
"Daaaddeeee!" he laughed, throwing his head back like he does, as if I've just said the most humorous thing he's ever heard.
He pulled the card out from behind his back.
"It's a CUCUMBOW," he said, holding out a card shaped like a pickle.
A cucumber. I can never remember whether a pickle is made from a cucumber or a zucchini. But he knows. I know it's not a huge deal, but it's those little jolts of surprise that make parenting the joy that it is.
It's the little indicators that, despite all your failings and insecurities; despite your feelings of hopeless inadequecy, they still are developing. And they're developing well.
I took most of those pictures in the slideshow at the bottom of the prior post. I sat there in that audience, and I felt that feeling, that indescribable feeling.
It's hope. It's you looking at what you've made of you, at all the dreams that haven't yet become a reality, at the poor choices you've made, at the stupid misakes you've made. And then looking up, to see Lex singing:
in the microphone, looking out, squinting at the spotlights, trying to make sure I'm watching.
Or Gentry, singing by himself in the microphone for the first time ever:
at the top of his lungs.
And realizing, as you look up and see them there, that maybe--just maybe--you might have got THIS just a little bit right because it seems to be working. And maybe it's OK that I didn't quite get it all exactly right; if I can just make sure I get THIS right, then I'll be happy. Because I can help them become everything that lies dormant inside them.
I sat there, and something inside my chest swelled up into my throat, and I couldn't breathe, and tears came to my eyes. Not because it was "so cute", although it was. But because I'm getting it; I'm teaching them right, showing them the right paths. And they're going down them.
It's one of my few consistent prayers: God, help me continue to get it right. They're my only hope.
"Dad," he said as we walked down an aisle, "have we been good today?"
"Well, Bubs, you did whine quite a bit today."
"OK; but," Lex chimed in, "for example: were we kind today? Did we share with others? THAT'S what he's talking about."
I chuckled. She's having a tough time learning to ride a bike. Bubs has it down pat; he's extremely coordinated and athletic, like his mother. Lex is like me. I think I was six before I learned to ride a bike; I was picked last on every sporting team in elementary school; I still can't catch.
But she's sharp. I think she might be destined to be a politician. I choose, now, not to engage her, because she's developed multiple lines of circular reasoning that even I have a hard time arguing against. So I head her off at the pass. I imagine, if I'd chosen to respond affirmatively to her "for example" tonight in Target, she would have went on to point out how, as well-behaved children, they ought to be rewarded in some small way (a candy bar, perhaps).
They amaze me in so many little ways. Gentry, for example, grabbed a greeting card off the shelf in Target tonight, hid it behind his back, and said, "Dad. Do you know what's on this cawd?"
"No. What is it Bubs?" I responded.
"You have to guess."
"Um...is it a...chicken?"
"Daaaddeeee!" he laughed, throwing his head back like he does, as if I've just said the most humorous thing he's ever heard.
He pulled the card out from behind his back.
"It's a CUCUMBOW," he said, holding out a card shaped like a pickle.
A cucumber. I can never remember whether a pickle is made from a cucumber or a zucchini. But he knows. I know it's not a huge deal, but it's those little jolts of surprise that make parenting the joy that it is.
It's the little indicators that, despite all your failings and insecurities; despite your feelings of hopeless inadequecy, they still are developing. And they're developing well.
I took most of those pictures in the slideshow at the bottom of the prior post. I sat there in that audience, and I felt that feeling, that indescribable feeling.
It's hope. It's you looking at what you've made of you, at all the dreams that haven't yet become a reality, at the poor choices you've made, at the stupid misakes you've made. And then looking up, to see Lex singing:
"You're my brother, you're my sister;
So take me by the hand..."
in the microphone, looking out, squinting at the spotlights, trying to make sure I'm watching.
Or Gentry, singing by himself in the microphone for the first time ever:
"When we all pull togethow, togethow, togethow;
When we all pull togethow, how happy we'll be.
Fow youw wook is my wook; and ouw wook is God's wook.
When we all pull togethow, how happy we'll be!"
at the top of his lungs.
And realizing, as you look up and see them there, that maybe--just maybe--you might have got THIS just a little bit right because it seems to be working. And maybe it's OK that I didn't quite get it all exactly right; if I can just make sure I get THIS right, then I'll be happy. Because I can help them become everything that lies dormant inside them.
I sat there, and something inside my chest swelled up into my throat, and I couldn't breathe, and tears came to my eyes. Not because it was "so cute", although it was. But because I'm getting it; I'm teaching them right, showing them the right paths. And they're going down them.
It's one of my few consistent prayers: God, help me continue to get it right. They're my only hope.
VBS
This week was Vacation Bible School here at the new church. It's a massive church, far larger than we're used to. They asked for help, and somehow I got volunteered. They told us to show up at 5:30 on Monday evening. We did. And they put me in charge of a group of 35 4th and 5th graders.
Yeah; 4th and 5th graders. Me. Thirty-five of them. I'm not really a kid guy. So when I showed up, and thy told me that was my assignment, I had to sit down and put my head between my knees.
As it turned out, I'm pretty good at corralling a gaggle of nine and ten year-olds. They can be extremely tiring, but I have to say, it's been rewarding.
Shawna had five and six year olds. The age span for the VBS was Kindergarten through sixth grade, so all together there were probably about 250-300 students. It was a daunting site, walking into the gym to such a massive crowd of children. In fact it scared me.
I've never really worked with kids before, but my expectation was that VBS was just overrated day care, and that my job would be nothing more than glorified babysitting.
It's a humbling experience to underestimate someone. And I was humbled this week. To realize that these kids have far more depth than we ascribe to them, than we give them credit for. The program was called "God's Big Backyard", and the theme for the week was "Serving". We talked about serving family and friends, about serving neighbors and the community, and about serving God BY serving others. We had prayer each night as part of our service to others. And my heart broke to hear a young boy ask for prayer for his parents who weren't doing well. And another girl asked for prayer for a friend at school who had a bad sickness. And, when we talked about the "rocky road" of life, one girl talked about her mom who was in the middle of a rocky patch because she's almost broke.
And a boy who, when the entire VBS group had their eyes closed telling God that they wanted to serve Him, walked over to his Dad and stood next to him, head down, praying with him and weeping silently.
They made food baskets for needy families. Washed the cars of elders in the church. Performed good deeds for family members. Became true servants--willing servants--and in doing so, served God.
Amazing kids.
Kids who really get it, who know what's it all about. I'm glad I had the opportunity to spend the week with a group of kids who are far deeper than you'd guess at first blush, who taught me as much about being a Christian in that week as I've learned in entire years.
Yeah; 4th and 5th graders. Me. Thirty-five of them. I'm not really a kid guy. So when I showed up, and thy told me that was my assignment, I had to sit down and put my head between my knees.
As it turned out, I'm pretty good at corralling a gaggle of nine and ten year-olds. They can be extremely tiring, but I have to say, it's been rewarding.
Shawna had five and six year olds. The age span for the VBS was Kindergarten through sixth grade, so all together there were probably about 250-300 students. It was a daunting site, walking into the gym to such a massive crowd of children. In fact it scared me.
I've never really worked with kids before, but my expectation was that VBS was just overrated day care, and that my job would be nothing more than glorified babysitting.
It's a humbling experience to underestimate someone. And I was humbled this week. To realize that these kids have far more depth than we ascribe to them, than we give them credit for. The program was called "God's Big Backyard", and the theme for the week was "Serving". We talked about serving family and friends, about serving neighbors and the community, and about serving God BY serving others. We had prayer each night as part of our service to others. And my heart broke to hear a young boy ask for prayer for his parents who weren't doing well. And another girl asked for prayer for a friend at school who had a bad sickness. And, when we talked about the "rocky road" of life, one girl talked about her mom who was in the middle of a rocky patch because she's almost broke.
And a boy who, when the entire VBS group had their eyes closed telling God that they wanted to serve Him, walked over to his Dad and stood next to him, head down, praying with him and weeping silently.
They made food baskets for needy families. Washed the cars of elders in the church. Performed good deeds for family members. Became true servants--willing servants--and in doing so, served God.
Amazing kids.
Kids who really get it, who know what's it all about. I'm glad I had the opportunity to spend the week with a group of kids who are far deeper than you'd guess at first blush, who taught me as much about being a Christian in that week as I've learned in entire years.
Wednesday, July 16, 2008
New Phone
I'm starting to get the itch. The new phone itch.
It happens to me every so often. It's typically when some new cellphone hits the news that I get the hankering for a new one.
This time all the talk about the new third generation iPhone, now starting at the new low price of $199. When the iPhone first hit the market, I was enchanted. I desperately wanted one. The idea of a touch screen and a web browser that actually pulled up real looking web pages (as opposed to those mobile web ones).
But then, the iPhone has kinda run it's course for me; the novelty has worn off, and it doesn't really grab my attention anymore.
But then I heard that RIM is releasing a new Blackberry this month (I carry a Blackberry), and I hopped over to their website, and I have to say, the phone is a cool phone. It's certainly a step up from mine. But then, it's not ENORMOUSLY different from mine; it doesn't make my heart flutter.
Oh, but THEN I just happened to run into this news story online about the HTC Touch Diamond. THAT, my friends, is a phone. How can you not fall in love with a touchscreen phone that has a VGA quality display, and is nearly an ounce lighter than the iPhone? And there has to be something wrong with you if the idea of a weather widget that actually has moving clouds and raindrops that "drip" onto the screen (as well as windshield wipers to sweep the water away).
It's just downright cool.
But I won't get any of them, at least for now. Because SheGazelle has convicted me. I don't know how she does it, but her blog, no matter HOW frugal I've been, makes me feel like a wasteful, careless spender. And I just can't bring myself to, after reading her blog, go spend $300-$500 on a new cellphone, just because it's cool.
Unless, that is, there's a coupon for it in the penny saver...
It happens to me every so often. It's typically when some new cellphone hits the news that I get the hankering for a new one.
This time all the talk about the new third generation iPhone, now starting at the new low price of $199. When the iPhone first hit the market, I was enchanted. I desperately wanted one. The idea of a touch screen and a web browser that actually pulled up real looking web pages (as opposed to those mobile web ones).
But then, the iPhone has kinda run it's course for me; the novelty has worn off, and it doesn't really grab my attention anymore.
But then I heard that RIM is releasing a new Blackberry this month (I carry a Blackberry), and I hopped over to their website, and I have to say, the phone is a cool phone. It's certainly a step up from mine. But then, it's not ENORMOUSLY different from mine; it doesn't make my heart flutter.
Oh, but THEN I just happened to run into this news story online about the HTC Touch Diamond. THAT, my friends, is a phone. How can you not fall in love with a touchscreen phone that has a VGA quality display, and is nearly an ounce lighter than the iPhone? And there has to be something wrong with you if the idea of a weather widget that actually has moving clouds and raindrops that "drip" onto the screen (as well as windshield wipers to sweep the water away).
It's just downright cool.
But I won't get any of them, at least for now. Because SheGazelle has convicted me. I don't know how she does it, but her blog, no matter HOW frugal I've been, makes me feel like a wasteful, careless spender. And I just can't bring myself to, after reading her blog, go spend $300-$500 on a new cellphone, just because it's cool.
Unless, that is, there's a coupon for it in the penny saver...
Saturday, July 12, 2008
PJ "Kitty Cat Woods" Green
- 6 1/2 holes of twilight golf: $10.00
- 13 Nike golf balls, sliced into the lake on the fifth hole: $16.99
- Callaway Big Bertha 3 wood, left wrapped around a palm tree at the edge of a lake on the fifth hole: $169.00
- The look on the course pro's face when I dove into the lake on hole five to rescue "wet" ball number 14: Priceless
I went golfing this weekend. The first time in three years.
Golf is a singularly frustrating sport--having the unique ability to both gratify the player immensely, and to cause the player to contemplate inflicting severe damage to himself, to others, or to the course in play, all within a single hole.
I got the itch a few weeks ago during all the hoopla surrounding Tiger's win of the US Open, in overtime and on a messed up knee. I do have a few macho bones in my body (despite the fact that I occasionally wax my eyebrows), and the whole Tiger story got my manly, competitive juices flowing.
So I went down to a local course, walked in, and paid for a round, and for a $16.99 box of Nike balls. The guy handed me the balls and a key to a cart. I, with as much manliness as I could muster, turned down the cart. "I'm going to walk it," I said. Real golfers, after all, walk; even just weeks after knee surgery.
I could see the admiration in his eyes. I could almost hear him thinking, "this guy is the real deal." (In hindsight, I think the look might have been more bemused than admiring, and that he might have been thinking, "I give him four holes before he's done").
The first hole is always the one that really boosts your confidence. First drive out was a beauty; I was looking around hoping that someone was around to see it. Next shot put me on the green; I couldn't believe it. I putted through, and was only one over par.
The next two holes were slightly worse, but not so bad that I couldn't hold my head up. It really started going downhill on the fourth hole (it was actually the eighth hole; I played the wrong one on accident). In two strokes I was just below the green. I figured one chip shot with the pitching wedge, and two puts in, and I'd be at one over par.
Not to be. It took me THREE chips to get on the green. and THREE puts (which put me at FOUR over par).
And then came hole five, the one with the water. My drive was in the water. So I hit another one. Which ALSO went in the water. I had a bad feeling, so I walked up to where it went in, and dropped a ball out in the middle of the fairway. I hit it. Into the water. I dropped another and hit it. Into the water. And another. Into the water. And six more after that. All into the water.
I finally hit my last ball into the water, but by this time that manly bravado had turned into white hot anger. I took the offending club, walked over to a palm tree, and slowly and methodically, wrapped the evil thing around the trunk. I then removed my Callaway XST golf shoes, and my yellow polo shirt, and waded into the water, searching for at least one of my lost golf balls.
It took me a few minutes, but I found one. I climbed out, and dropped it, determined to make the shot before I moved on. Unfortunately, I'd ruined the club I needed to hit with, so I grabbed the first club I could get my hands on, dropped the ball, and took a wild angry swing at the ball.
And hit it beautifully. Straight and true, high and long. Too long. Over the hole.
I dropped to my knees there in the middle of the fairway, and let out a long, bloodcurdling scream.
Interestingly enough, hole five is the only hole that I shot par on (I didn't count the 13 that I hit into the water; I figure the course made $16.99 off of me for those 13 balls, the least they can do is not force me to count all 13 of the shots).
I played another hole and a half, but an underwater fishing expedition combined with a score of 17 on a par 4 hole have a way of taking the wind out of your sails (that, and the fact that I mistakenly played hole 3 again, thinking it was hole 7).
I walked slowly back to the clubhouse, head down, shoulders slumped. The enthusiastic golfer, full of machismo who'd turned down the key to the cart before the round, was nowhere to be seen. In his place was a sopping wet hacker, 13 balls and one 3 wood lighter, trudging back toward the clubhouse in shame (vowing under his breath to NEVER step foot on another golf course as long as he lived. Expletives deleted).
But then I know me; I hate to be defeated by something. I'll be back. It may take me awhile to get up the nerve (and I doubt I'll have the level of stupid self-confidence next time), but I'll be back.
Someday, I hope to make it through an entire 18 holes on one box of balls.
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