If you are under the age of 35, you might have a clue about what I'm gonna talk about. Now understand, I don't mean this as a slam, but you young 'uns ain't got an inkling about this topic unless you were very lucky or raised on a farm. My older brother has three boys, and I imagine they have cut grass, but not like this...
The way you made money as a young guy before your first "real" job, was cutting grass. Not your daddy's grass - you did that because you lived under his roof and he told you to. I'm talking about taking your push mower and a gas can and going door to door begging for work. A 12 year old boy was a landscaping business. There were no Dodge Rams pulling a 14' trailer loaded with ZTR tractors, weed eaters, and blowers. It was a kid who wanted to make $5 per yard, $8 if you were really lucky. In our neighborhoods, there were hills and, in those days, the yards were big. Pulling that mower and carrying that 2 or 3 gallon can of gas up hills and down and then cutting a half- or 3/4 acre yard was hot, hard work. Don't expect to get a bottle of water; there was no such thing. If you were polite, the lady of the house might bring out a glass of ice water. Usually, you just drank out of the hose.
Some of the "higher class" guys had a mower with a side bagger. They would get the jobs you couldn't get without a bagger. The difference was they had to pile the clippings by the street neatly. The advent of plastic trash bags changed that. It took longer to do a yard, but that was the yard you could get $10 for. Those guys sure were lucky.
It wasn't until I was 47 years old before I had a riding mower... 'scuze me... a "lawn tractor." Man! What had I been missing!!? I always enjoyed a push mower as an adult. Exercise is truly a good thing. 'Course mostly because I lived on level lots.
All my years of cutting grass, we lived in a house that was on a hill. The front yard was sweeping all the way around three sides of the house. A pretty good hill, too. The best way (ONLY way) to cut it was to go back and forth, not up and down (if you're a guy you understand). To avoid ruining the mower by having oil run down through the carburetor, you had to keep the oil side of the mower on the low side of the hill. I remember vividly my father yelling at us boys from the porch, "Keep that muffler on the high side!" I think of that to this day when I cut grass. But...... I digress!
I married into my first lawn tractor, and I was in Heaven! It had a cup holder! How about that?! A cup holder! It was a double-bagger. [I will leave the college-girl-I-dated joke alone.] It is fabulous. My wife and I "fight" over who gets to cut the grass. The only real part of it that's work is emptying the bag. Cool!
Now comes the stupid part, and what prompted this blog. Our neighbor, Tom-with-the -Better-Homes-and-Gardens yard was (where else?) in his yard the other day. He was talking with his next door neighbor, that-woman-with-several-college-kids. One of said kids was cutting the grass. Tom asked mom about the chugging and sputtering their mower was doing. She said, "I don't know. It's been doing that for a good while." Knowing everything, Tom said he'd look at it. He goes next door, starts looking it over, and notices the double bags on the mower are full. I mean really full. Here it comes:
Tom: This grass is hard and rotted. When did you last empty these bags?
College kid: What?? Are you supposed to empty them??
I was totally floored. How could ANY guy not know that??!! OMG! SMH! WTF!
BUT THAT'S NOT ALL!!! Then Tom gets a call from another guy, asking for help. He goes over, and this GROWN ADULT MAN has the same exact issue! Never, ever has emptied the grass bags!
I'm not necessarily the smartest guy in the Northern Hemisphere, but even I would have to ask where that grass went and "why are these bags on here?".
I will never understand stupid people.
.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
Sunday, August 18, 2013
...About the Number of Legs - Part II
Not long ago, I wrote Part I of this topic. It became a discussion of things I detest with less than two legs. Today, as promised, I write the portion that admits my screaming fear of things with more than two legs.
Now I am fully aware that things with more than two legs will include little furry things like puppies and kitties, and horses and cows and such, but I will leave the understanding to you to realize that I really mean things with more than four legs. More than two legs is simpler to say and easier for you to get my meaning. But...... I digress!
For some reason, I have an image burned intro my childhood memory. It would have been before I was 10 yrs old, because it took place at the house we lived in until I was nine. It may have been real; it may have been a dream. If it was a dream, it doesn't matter because it was SO real, it gives me the shudders even today.
We were playing in the yard, and I felt an itch on my upper right thigh. I pulled up the leg of my shorts to scratch it and there was a spider large enough that it covered most of the top of my thigh - easily as big as my hand. I screamed like a less-than-10-yr-old-girl and knocked it off. The vivid picture I have of it is that it was a big grey wolf spider, but it might just as well have been an octopus. *insert large shudder here*
My childhood memories do NOT include bugs. I don't mean mosquitos or gnats or flies. I mean roaches - big black or brown creepy crawlies that wait to crawl across your table and across your plate or your fork or your toothbrush or whatever. *shudder* My mother kept an immaculately clean home. At least clean enough we never had bugs. No spiders, either. I don't remember ever having to deal with roaches until going to "the pool."
For several years, around my early teens, we were members of a neighborhood pool named "Community Swim Club." It was members only to help pay for the upkeep. A nice large pool with quite a large number of families as members. I became best friends with a guy I met there named Butch Stewart. We were "best buds" and hung out for the entire summers for several years. Butch was a VERY slow-talking good ol' boy whose favorite saying was, "Shoot-yessiree-bobtail!" Say it aloud slowly with a Southern drawl. That was Butch. Another favorite thing of Butch's was to go into the boys locker room and select the largest, blackest roach he could find with which to chase the girls. And they were aplenty! Roaches, mostly - girls, too. Butch would find the roach of choice, pick it up, hold it up to show me its wriggling legs and antennae, and giggle with the anticipation of what havoc it was about to bring to the entire female population at the pool.
I was terrified! It took every fiber of my being not to let him see what he was doing to me with that thing!
The best thing about Butch was his sister, Susan. She was our same age, about 14, and was the things little boys' dreams were made of. That is, she would have been if little boys knew what dreams they should have been having then. She was on the swim team and, as one would imagine, looked like a swimming star! But.... I digress! (Twice in the same posting - a record!)
Over the years, among other places like the patio, etc, I've had a roach crawl across my foot in bed, crawl across my hair in bed, and crawl across the pillow in bed. See a pattern here? I HATE things that crawl around the bed. *another shudder*
About two days after writing "less than two legs," I awoke about 2:10 in the morning. For some reason, I thought I heard a noise. I decided to investigate and moved from room to room finding, of course, nothing. Since I was next to the bathroom, I decided to avoid getting up later by taking care of things then. Generally, there is no reason to turn on the light in your home, but I did. It was a damn good thing I did! Right before taking a seat, I noticed the tell-tale wave of some 4' antennae - ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!! He was as big as a reindeer and looking to scare the be-jeebers out of some guy who happened into his fiefdom. A fast wave of the seat and he was swimming. I gave him a moment to flounder about, triumphantly yelled, "Oh HELL no!", and then flushed him like the piece of crap he was!! *BIG heebie-jeebies*
My wife is my hero. She can handle them better than I. I admit it. I will take care of them when I see them, but I sure don't like it.
Being a closet girly-man, and not found out, is a full-time job. Just don't tell anyone.
.
Now I am fully aware that things with more than two legs will include little furry things like puppies and kitties, and horses and cows and such, but I will leave the understanding to you to realize that I really mean things with more than four legs. More than two legs is simpler to say and easier for you to get my meaning. But...... I digress!
For some reason, I have an image burned intro my childhood memory. It would have been before I was 10 yrs old, because it took place at the house we lived in until I was nine. It may have been real; it may have been a dream. If it was a dream, it doesn't matter because it was SO real, it gives me the shudders even today.
We were playing in the yard, and I felt an itch on my upper right thigh. I pulled up the leg of my shorts to scratch it and there was a spider large enough that it covered most of the top of my thigh - easily as big as my hand. I screamed like a less-than-10-yr-old-girl and knocked it off. The vivid picture I have of it is that it was a big grey wolf spider, but it might just as well have been an octopus. *insert large shudder here*
My childhood memories do NOT include bugs. I don't mean mosquitos or gnats or flies. I mean roaches - big black or brown creepy crawlies that wait to crawl across your table and across your plate or your fork or your toothbrush or whatever. *shudder* My mother kept an immaculately clean home. At least clean enough we never had bugs. No spiders, either. I don't remember ever having to deal with roaches until going to "the pool."
For several years, around my early teens, we were members of a neighborhood pool named "Community Swim Club." It was members only to help pay for the upkeep. A nice large pool with quite a large number of families as members. I became best friends with a guy I met there named Butch Stewart. We were "best buds" and hung out for the entire summers for several years. Butch was a VERY slow-talking good ol' boy whose favorite saying was, "Shoot-yessiree-bobtail!" Say it aloud slowly with a Southern drawl. That was Butch. Another favorite thing of Butch's was to go into the boys locker room and select the largest, blackest roach he could find with which to chase the girls. And they were aplenty! Roaches, mostly - girls, too. Butch would find the roach of choice, pick it up, hold it up to show me its wriggling legs and antennae, and giggle with the anticipation of what havoc it was about to bring to the entire female population at the pool.
I was terrified! It took every fiber of my being not to let him see what he was doing to me with that thing!
The best thing about Butch was his sister, Susan. She was our same age, about 14, and was the things little boys' dreams were made of. That is, she would have been if little boys knew what dreams they should have been having then. She was on the swim team and, as one would imagine, looked like a swimming star! But.... I digress! (Twice in the same posting - a record!)
Over the years, among other places like the patio, etc, I've had a roach crawl across my foot in bed, crawl across my hair in bed, and crawl across the pillow in bed. See a pattern here? I HATE things that crawl around the bed. *another shudder*
About two days after writing "less than two legs," I awoke about 2:10 in the morning. For some reason, I thought I heard a noise. I decided to investigate and moved from room to room finding, of course, nothing. Since I was next to the bathroom, I decided to avoid getting up later by taking care of things then. Generally, there is no reason to turn on the light in your home, but I did. It was a damn good thing I did! Right before taking a seat, I noticed the tell-tale wave of some 4' antennae - ON THE TOILET SEAT!!!! He was as big as a reindeer and looking to scare the be-jeebers out of some guy who happened into his fiefdom. A fast wave of the seat and he was swimming. I gave him a moment to flounder about, triumphantly yelled, "Oh HELL no!", and then flushed him like the piece of crap he was!! *BIG heebie-jeebies*
My wife is my hero. She can handle them better than I. I admit it. I will take care of them when I see them, but I sure don't like it.
Being a closet girly-man, and not found out, is a full-time job. Just don't tell anyone.
.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
...About the Number of Legs
Generally, I consider myself to be a pretty manly kinda guy. I'm not walking around most days looking for someone to push around or kick sand on, but I feel pretty capable of handling most any circumstance with which I'm faced. I suppose it has served me well to be 6'4" and more over 200 lbs than I'd like. It also works well to have a big ol' booming voice.
But I will admit that my big ol' booming voice sounds a bit like the shriek of a 12 yr old little girl when I am confronted with something 862 times smaller than I. It depends on the number of legs. I will drop my manly demeanor and admit that I do NOT like anything with more than 2 legs, and nothing with less than 2 legs. Every ounce of my 6'4" 250 lbs being shrivels when I confront something of that description. Today, we'll discuss less than 2 legs.
Last summer, I became the Snake Killer of the Universe. On 4 occasions there was a slithering monster wandering around the yard like it had not a care in the world. On each occasion, having been summoned by Linda, from next door, or Cheley, I was put face-to-serpent with the long, shiny, slithering, menacing objects of my disdain.
The first was actually on the patio. At about 12" long, it died by the blade of the shovel.
The second was near the house, very close to the front door. He managed to get into the bushes. I'm so sorry, but that close to the front door of the house means there has to be a search. He is NOT going to show up swimming around in my toilet in the middle of the night. Cheley and I were trying to look around the bottom of the bushes when...there he is! He has climbed up into the bush and is laying across the tops of the branches looking right at us. Having no real choice at that moment, I sprayed wasp spray down the throat of that jerk while he was laughing at my laundry basket-size eyes. Take that, Snarky!
Number three met his demise by way of the weed eater while trying to knock down the tall weeds. I was doing the weed-whacking, not him. What was an accidental hit at first, became a "here it comes!" attack in the next moment.
The last was the biggest and the meanest. At about 3'+, he was sliding along the back yard like he was surveying his kingdom. He had to die. Armed again with the shovel - sharp point tip, wide spade, long handle - I started toward him. He rounded the back of the pine tree and stopped to look at me. I was probably about 8' away from him, and I froze. I froze like Michelangelo's David. To be quite honest, with him looking at me while flicking that serpent tongue, I felt about as clothed as David, too.
Now somewhere in all my many years, I seem to remember having the knowledge that snakes are color blind; or at least to the point that their sight is "movement-mandated." I don't know for sure, and at that moment it didn't matter. I froze. He stopped, looking right at me and flicking that forked tongue over and over and over. I didn't even let the hair on my arms blow in the breeze. After 8 days, or maybe a couple of minutes, he finally decided there was nothing there and began to move toward the bushes and toward where Cheley was standing with her camera and a zoom lens.
A C-130 from Pensacola NAS came right over the top of our house at about 500' above the ground. The vibration and noise gave me the chance to take a long step and a turn that put me standing over the snake from behind - and he didn't notice. With a quick sweep, I brought the shovel down right behind his head. He flailed around to no avail. His head was still connected by a thin skin and he was pinned to the ground by the shovel tip buried in the ground. He was not happy. He was damn mad. And then he was dead. (Thank you, God!)
My heart was racing somewhere around 440, and I was finally breathing again.
I took him over to the bushes and threw him in with strict instructions to tell all his friends - "Stay the hell away! Snake Killer is King!"
I only hope the warning works. I don't know how many more of these victories I have left in me. I've already had to use one this year.
I hate things with less than 2 legs.
.
But I will admit that my big ol' booming voice sounds a bit like the shriek of a 12 yr old little girl when I am confronted with something 862 times smaller than I. It depends on the number of legs. I will drop my manly demeanor and admit that I do NOT like anything with more than 2 legs, and nothing with less than 2 legs. Every ounce of my 6'4" 250 lbs being shrivels when I confront something of that description. Today, we'll discuss less than 2 legs.
Last summer, I became the Snake Killer of the Universe. On 4 occasions there was a slithering monster wandering around the yard like it had not a care in the world. On each occasion, having been summoned by Linda, from next door, or Cheley, I was put face-to-serpent with the long, shiny, slithering, menacing objects of my disdain.
The first was actually on the patio. At about 12" long, it died by the blade of the shovel.
The second was near the house, very close to the front door. He managed to get into the bushes. I'm so sorry, but that close to the front door of the house means there has to be a search. He is NOT going to show up swimming around in my toilet in the middle of the night. Cheley and I were trying to look around the bottom of the bushes when...there he is! He has climbed up into the bush and is laying across the tops of the branches looking right at us. Having no real choice at that moment, I sprayed wasp spray down the throat of that jerk while he was laughing at my laundry basket-size eyes. Take that, Snarky!
Number three met his demise by way of the weed eater while trying to knock down the tall weeds. I was doing the weed-whacking, not him. What was an accidental hit at first, became a "here it comes!" attack in the next moment.
The last was the biggest and the meanest. At about 3'+, he was sliding along the back yard like he was surveying his kingdom. He had to die. Armed again with the shovel - sharp point tip, wide spade, long handle - I started toward him. He rounded the back of the pine tree and stopped to look at me. I was probably about 8' away from him, and I froze. I froze like Michelangelo's David. To be quite honest, with him looking at me while flicking that serpent tongue, I felt about as clothed as David, too.
Now somewhere in all my many years, I seem to remember having the knowledge that snakes are color blind; or at least to the point that their sight is "movement-mandated." I don't know for sure, and at that moment it didn't matter. I froze. He stopped, looking right at me and flicking that forked tongue over and over and over. I didn't even let the hair on my arms blow in the breeze. After 8 days, or maybe a couple of minutes, he finally decided there was nothing there and began to move toward the bushes and toward where Cheley was standing with her camera and a zoom lens.
A C-130 from Pensacola NAS came right over the top of our house at about 500' above the ground. The vibration and noise gave me the chance to take a long step and a turn that put me standing over the snake from behind - and he didn't notice. With a quick sweep, I brought the shovel down right behind his head. He flailed around to no avail. His head was still connected by a thin skin and he was pinned to the ground by the shovel tip buried in the ground. He was not happy. He was damn mad. And then he was dead. (Thank you, God!)
My heart was racing somewhere around 440, and I was finally breathing again.
I took him over to the bushes and threw him in with strict instructions to tell all his friends - "Stay the hell away! Snake Killer is King!"
I hate things with less than 2 legs.
.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
...About Being Macho
I suppose it's something the largest majority of males are born with. It might be something in the food we are raised on, but I expect it's more a natural-born item. It is the need to be seen as, and to feel Macho.
The dictionary says: macho | ˈmäCHō | adjective | showing aggressive pride in one's masculinity
That definition contains a key, very important word in understanding males: aggressive. aggressive | əˈgresiv | adjective | ready or likely to attack or confront; characterized by or resulting from aggression
Here is my disclaimer:
Before I go any further, let me clarify a couple o' points. I didn't watch the George Zimmerman trial. I didn't hang on every report that came out. I haven't watched any of the pontificating by the media. I tried to keep up with the facts and progress of the case through the headlines only. As a result, I have opinions based less on what I feel is biased reporting, and more on the facts I believe I gleaned from "less-in-depth" reporting. So - If I mis-state something about the facts, forgive me and chalk it up to my own misinformation.
I believe that this trait we carry, this need to be macho, may well be the single largest factor in the recent Zimmerman / Martin tragedy. I do think of it as a tragedy. But I do NOT feel it caused by racism, or profiling, or a full moon, or a bite from a rabid moth.
I believe the final outcome of that night was the inevitable result of two people who became overwhelmed by the need to be feel, and be seen as macho. Yes, there were some ridiculously stereotypical pieces to the puzzle, but I feel them to be very small in the overall picture. Apparently George referred to Trayvon as a "punk." Apparently Trayvon called George a "cracker." Posturing in the macho style. George was on the phone with the Police. Trayvon was on the phone with his friend. Posturing for their respective audiences.
Many, many years ago, when I was in elementary school, we were at recess. I can't remember now what began it, but I became entangled with one of the school bullies - I'll call him Russell Latta, because that was his name. Russell and I began to argue and that evolved into posturing because our friends were watching. At a point, there was nothing left but the fight. It lasted exactly two punches: I landed a non-effective blow to his chest; he landed a straight-on plant to my nose that caused a gusher. It was over. I went to the restroom and cleaned my bloody face, and he was the winner. Two little boys caught up in the moment of needing to feel, and be seen as macho.
Needless to say, I was the lesser macho of the moment, but he did get suspended for a day. But... I digress!
I truly believe that, as sad and tragic as it is, the horrible outcome of that night was caused by the refusal by either person to succumb to a feeling of reduction in his macho.
It's sad. It's a tragic and unnecessary loss of life. But, and this will get me some criticism, I think it was about the only likely outcome. And that is sad.
What is even more sad is how many across the country latch on to the opportunity to make something more out of this than it is. Sure - neither of the two (if you're honest it IS both of them) was without fault. Neither was an innocent little angel moving through this life. But the people across this country who are using the circumstances to create tension, cause unrest and CRIME, and even justify their own racism and stereotyping are the ones killing our country. It takes no macho to be a leech. It takes no macho to lead a riotous crowd who will cover your criminal activity. It takes no macho to stand in front of blind mobs and preach unrest and hatred. It takes no macho to use a high-ranking office to impose your biased, opinionated, discriminatory feelings on the country. (There, I said it!)
I hope and pray the people of this great country we call "America" will realize that we must fix our country and return to civility, or we will most certainly lose our country to the same type of blind hatred suffered by too many other countries. If we give in to that blind hatred, we may find ourselves fighting in OUR country in the same manner we are fighting in those countries now.
I would like to hope intelligence will prevail before I die.
Sadly, I become a bit less optimistic every day.
.
The dictionary says: macho | ˈmäCHō | adjective | showing aggressive pride in one's masculinity
That definition contains a key, very important word in understanding males: aggressive. aggressive | əˈgresiv | adjective | ready or likely to attack or confront; characterized by or resulting from aggression
Here is my disclaimer:
Before I go any further, let me clarify a couple o' points. I didn't watch the George Zimmerman trial. I didn't hang on every report that came out. I haven't watched any of the pontificating by the media. I tried to keep up with the facts and progress of the case through the headlines only. As a result, I have opinions based less on what I feel is biased reporting, and more on the facts I believe I gleaned from "less-in-depth" reporting. So - If I mis-state something about the facts, forgive me and chalk it up to my own misinformation.
I believe that this trait we carry, this need to be macho, may well be the single largest factor in the recent Zimmerman / Martin tragedy. I do think of it as a tragedy. But I do NOT feel it caused by racism, or profiling, or a full moon, or a bite from a rabid moth.
Many, many years ago, when I was in elementary school, we were at recess. I can't remember now what began it, but I became entangled with one of the school bullies - I'll call him Russell Latta, because that was his name. Russell and I began to argue and that evolved into posturing because our friends were watching. At a point, there was nothing left but the fight. It lasted exactly two punches: I landed a non-effective blow to his chest; he landed a straight-on plant to my nose that caused a gusher. It was over. I went to the restroom and cleaned my bloody face, and he was the winner. Two little boys caught up in the moment of needing to feel, and be seen as macho.
Needless to say, I was the lesser macho of the moment, but he did get suspended for a day. But... I digress!
I truly believe that, as sad and tragic as it is, the horrible outcome of that night was caused by the refusal by either person to succumb to a feeling of reduction in his macho.
It's sad. It's a tragic and unnecessary loss of life. But, and this will get me some criticism, I think it was about the only likely outcome. And that is sad.
What is even more sad is how many across the country latch on to the opportunity to make something more out of this than it is. Sure - neither of the two (if you're honest it IS both of them) was without fault. Neither was an innocent little angel moving through this life. But the people across this country who are using the circumstances to create tension, cause unrest and CRIME, and even justify their own racism and stereotyping are the ones killing our country. It takes no macho to be a leech. It takes no macho to lead a riotous crowd who will cover your criminal activity. It takes no macho to stand in front of blind mobs and preach unrest and hatred. It takes no macho to use a high-ranking office to impose your biased, opinionated, discriminatory feelings on the country. (There, I said it!)
I hope and pray the people of this great country we call "America" will realize that we must fix our country and return to civility, or we will most certainly lose our country to the same type of blind hatred suffered by too many other countries. If we give in to that blind hatred, we may find ourselves fighting in OUR country in the same manner we are fighting in those countries now.
I would like to hope intelligence will prevail before I die.
Sadly, I become a bit less optimistic every day.
.
Sunday, June 16, 2013
...About My Armpits - part II
Some may remember that I wrote a blog a while back titled ...About My Armpits. I'll save you the trouble of figuring it out -- "Opinions are like armpits; everybody has a couple and they all stink."
I have no problem expressing my opinion about things. This venue gives me the chance to say them out loud and release the great weight from my shoulders. I must say, it gets very tiring carrying these pieces of wisdom for all of you. But - I do what I must to be a beacon of great knowledge to....... aw, shut the hell up. But..... I digress!
I write my opinions here, but I am becoming concerned that soon, you will not have the ability to see them because of one of the very things I want to rail about. My fear is that I will complain about this overwhelming amount of spying from our own government, but it will be captured and deleted before you even see it! I get the whole need for capturing those who want to commit horrible acts upon our people. I understand that this high-tech world becomes harder and harder to police and protect everyday. BUT - I'm just not sure how much of this complete and total invasion of privacy I can stomach.
My father always said, "If you haven't done anything wrong, you shouldn't be worried." I agree with that; I have always maintained that same opinion. However, these days, in this time in which we live, it is becoming harder and harder to support that feeling. To learn that phone calls, emails, Google searches, Facebook posts, text messages, etc. etc. etc. are all being monitored - and have been for a LONG time - is not only scary, it is downright enraging. If the government wants to listen to me tell Mark some dirty joke on the phone; if the government wants to read some mundane email conversation I'm having with Randy; if the government wants to read my flirty/dirty text messages with my wife; they are going to find that a MASSIVE waste of time and taxpayer money.
Yeah, I hear the government saying, "We don't really listen to everything - computers listen for key words. We don't really read all of your Facebook posts - computers look for key words." But it sure seems strange to me, for example, that certain Facebook posts seem to get deleted. I have a friend who posts hard-hitting political criticism pretty regularly. Recently, he said he posted some big critical statement. Deleted. Reposted it. Deleted. Reposted a 3rd time. Deleted. He says it happened in just a short time period. Now, I have no proof - but I've known him all my life and I don't know him to be a liar.
All of this is to say that I feel there needs to be something done. Maybe the government needs to openly say, "We are monitoring your call, emails, searches, etc. Know it, accept it, get over it, or move." Maybe that truly is too much. I don't know. As I say, for the most part I don't care what they see/hear from me. All I know is this: What is going on scares the hell outta me, and I don't know yet what I truly feel. If you're reading this, Big Brother, don't take any action yet - I ain't done nothing wrong. And, oh by the way, you suck! Hahahaha! I said it!
Moving on.............
In the continuing saga of this world is going down the intelligence-toilet, I pass along the following:
I pass road construction in about 4 different places on my commute to work everyday. Here's a quote from a sign I look at everyday:
It has been that way for 4 months now! Obviously, there is NO ONE working on that project who has the wherewithal to see that sign. AAARRRGGHHH!!!!
OK, One more:
I see this everywhere now.
I find it either very thoughtful that someone is concerned for the well-being of those unfortunate Permits who suffer from some disability, or, once again, people do not pay any attention to what it is that they are actually saying.
Maybe just one more:
Robert and I were on the way back from Virginia. I think it was in Virginia that the state highway signs state:
We screamed with laughter at the thought of having to ride on the hood, holding on in the pouring rain, trying to keep matches or a torch lit, while holding it to the headlight!
Pay attention people! You are making yourselves look stupid by your lack of attention to detail!
More soon. You know it won't take long!
.
I have no problem expressing my opinion about things. This venue gives me the chance to say them out loud and release the great weight from my shoulders. I must say, it gets very tiring carrying these pieces of wisdom for all of you. But - I do what I must to be a beacon of great knowledge to....... aw, shut the hell up. But..... I digress!
I write my opinions here, but I am becoming concerned that soon, you will not have the ability to see them because of one of the very things I want to rail about. My fear is that I will complain about this overwhelming amount of spying from our own government, but it will be captured and deleted before you even see it! I get the whole need for capturing those who want to commit horrible acts upon our people. I understand that this high-tech world becomes harder and harder to police and protect everyday. BUT - I'm just not sure how much of this complete and total invasion of privacy I can stomach.
My father always said, "If you haven't done anything wrong, you shouldn't be worried." I agree with that; I have always maintained that same opinion. However, these days, in this time in which we live, it is becoming harder and harder to support that feeling. To learn that phone calls, emails, Google searches, Facebook posts, text messages, etc. etc. etc. are all being monitored - and have been for a LONG time - is not only scary, it is downright enraging. If the government wants to listen to me tell Mark some dirty joke on the phone; if the government wants to read some mundane email conversation I'm having with Randy; if the government wants to read my flirty/dirty text messages with my wife; they are going to find that a MASSIVE waste of time and taxpayer money.
Yeah, I hear the government saying, "We don't really listen to everything - computers listen for key words. We don't really read all of your Facebook posts - computers look for key words." But it sure seems strange to me, for example, that certain Facebook posts seem to get deleted. I have a friend who posts hard-hitting political criticism pretty regularly. Recently, he said he posted some big critical statement. Deleted. Reposted it. Deleted. Reposted a 3rd time. Deleted. He says it happened in just a short time period. Now, I have no proof - but I've known him all my life and I don't know him to be a liar.
All of this is to say that I feel there needs to be something done. Maybe the government needs to openly say, "We are monitoring your call, emails, searches, etc. Know it, accept it, get over it, or move." Maybe that truly is too much. I don't know. As I say, for the most part I don't care what they see/hear from me. All I know is this: What is going on scares the hell outta me, and I don't know yet what I truly feel. If you're reading this, Big Brother, don't take any action yet - I ain't done nothing wrong. And, oh by the way, you suck! Hahahaha! I said it!
Moving on.............
In the continuing saga of this world is going down the intelligence-toilet, I pass along the following:
How long did it take you to see it? Can you believe that, in a setting as MASSIVE as this; as world-watched as this, that this would happen???? From print layout designer, to the printer, back through the client who proofed the product, to the installer, to the stadium officials, to the NCAA, DID NO ONE SEE THIS ASININE DISPLAY OF STUPIDITY??!! What the hell?!
I pass road construction in about 4 different places on my commute to work everyday. Here's a quote from a sign I look at everyday:
CAUTION
ROAD
WORK
NIGHTLY
LANE
CLOUSERS
It has been that way for 4 months now! Obviously, there is NO ONE working on that project who has the wherewithal to see that sign. AAARRRGGHHH!!!!
OK, One more:
I see this everywhere now.
PARKING BY
DISABLED
PERMIT
ONLY
I find it either very thoughtful that someone is concerned for the well-being of those unfortunate Permits who suffer from some disability, or, once again, people do not pay any attention to what it is that they are actually saying.
Maybe just one more:
Robert and I were on the way back from Virginia. I think it was in Virginia that the state highway signs state:
BURN
LIGHTS
WHILE
DRIVING
IN RAIN
We screamed with laughter at the thought of having to ride on the hood, holding on in the pouring rain, trying to keep matches or a torch lit, while holding it to the headlight!
Pay attention people! You are making yourselves look stupid by your lack of attention to detail!
More soon. You know it won't take long!
.
Saturday, May 18, 2013
...About Perspective
We, as humans, seem to lose sight of perspective sometimes. Actually, most of the time. We have a natural tendency to make things much more important than they should be.
The (2nd) definition of perspective is: • true understanding of the relative importance of things; a sense of proportion.
We've all heard, and likely been accused of "blowing things out of proportion." This would be losing perspective. That's not really what I'm addressing here. I'm looking more at the things we place great importance upon, which, truth be told, are probably not a big deal in the grand scheme of things.
As usual, I can best relate my meaning with a story.
My friend Mark is the Director of Bands at Troy University. The Sound of the South is a very widely recognized college band, so Mark has occasion to be in the company of others high in the field of marching bands. At some gathering of "those people," he was in a group that was huffawing and snootily pontificating about the glorious "Marching Arts." Conversation about how "...we in the marching arts should one thing or another..." and "...those not engaged in the marching arts are so often this or that..." Mark listened for a minute, with his head cocked to one side like a dog hearing a high-pitched whistle, and finally asked, "What are y'all talking about? What are the marching arts?"
One of the assembled poo-poos began an answer of, "why, the beautiful artistic creation involving musicians on an open plane creating a myriad of entertainment, enhanced by silk flags and creative dance."
Mark, being Mark, said, "Man, I don't know where you're from, but in Alabama we call that 'marching band'. And it's not that big a thing. It's just entertainment for people at a football game. It's not that big a deal -- it's just marching band. Now when we go out and do a show, and it cures some disease, then it will be important. Until then, it's just marching band!"
THAT is keeping things in perspective! Of course Mark wants the band to do well. Of course there is aggravation when it doesn't go as well as it should. But you know what? It's just marching band.
For many years I was one of those really uptight kinda people. I lived on the precipice of stressed out! Years ago it was acceptable to smoke in a private office. I was living in Memphis at the time and working a very high stress job. One day, I was talking on the phone in my office. The conversation was not a pleasant one. After I reached over and hung up the phone, the buttons on my sport coat caught the side of the pen on my desk and it fell on the floor by my foot. I grabbed the 9"x9" ashtray on my desk and slammed it down onto the desk, breaking it in to 10,000 small pieces all over the office. How'd that feel, Paul? Better? No. In the end, I still had to bend over and pick up the pen, and I now had to clean up 10,000 pieces of broken ashtray, and sweep the floor! I had allowed the stress to promote whatever small issue it was WAY out of perspective.
My assistant came running in like I had fired a gun, looked at how mad I was, and softly closed the door without a word! But... I digress.
I think that we all probably have a story like that. If we are honest, we will admit that we let too many things become bigger than they should be. Yes - things have to be right and orderly and proper, but I think we all might do well to take a deep breath and really look at what perspective we assign to things in our lives. Our jobs are very important. But do we have the right perspective of them? Are we making things more important than our spouses, or our children, or our families, or our faith, or our close friendships? I think Maybe.
I am beginning to look a bit more carefully at things. I try to remember to tell my family and friends that I love them. I find myself more relaxed. I am proud to say that very few things now have control over me because of misplaced perspective.
Maybe we could all relax just a little bit if we all put things into a better perspective. Don't sweat the little things. There are PLENTY of major things we have to truly fret over. Let the little things be little things. My wife always says, "Don't waste brain cells over something you can do nothing about." She's a pretty smart ol' broad! Maybe we can all look a little closer at what's really worth getting worked up over. Maybe, just maybe, we can all relax a little more.
I mean, really, it's just marching band.
.
Saturday, April 20, 2013
...About Stupid Talking Heads
Now that the hype is over after the killing of one and the capture of the other Boston Marathon bombers, the news channels can get back to their regularly scheduled snooze programs. I was one of the quazillion people following the coverage. I would hang with it for about a 1/2 hour at a time. But it didn't take very long for me to get mad... not just miffed; yell-at-the-TV angry. Why? Because I get so tired of the stupid, hoity-toity, know-it-all, hot-air-bag talking heads who ramble incessantly about the same drooling drivel for HOURS!
In one of my recent blogs - Wait! Just the other day! - we talked about how the media sensationalizes the news events. Now we are discussing how ridiculous they appear when they talk out of their bums about things they know little to nothing about.
What has happened to TV anymore? Programs are not what they promote themselves to be. Headline News - the 24 hour news source - has about 15 minutes of news, then repeats it over and over. Don't think so? Watch a morning newscast. [It will have to be morning, because after about 11:00, it's all "other" programming - not headlines!] Robin will stumble on a word and make comment about it. The next time that story runs, same stumble, same comment. I used to live on Discovery; not anymore. There is no "discovery" to it anymore. Shows like "How It's Made" don't live there anymore. Now it's "Duck Dynasty" and "Swamp Dumbasses" and "Deadliest Catch" over and over and over.
TLC, The LEARNING Channel, NOT! It's "Say Yes to the Dress" and "Little People Big World" and "Bridezilla."
CMT is NOT Country MUSIC Television anymore; it's everything BUT. All of the channels have sold out in a panic, scratching for more viewers. MTV... NOT. History... NOT! For example, as I write this, Headline News - the source for news headlines 24 hours a day - is running many, many hours of "Mystery Detectives" one after another. REALLY???? But... I digress!
Because they are fighting for face-time, the well-known authorities on news say some of the stupidest things. These are some of the actual statements I heard during the broadcasts:
"We know that he must have had a gun because he did get into a gunfight with authorities."
"The suspect is alive, which will be important as they try to get information from him."
[Impacting music and deep voice-over] "This a FoxNews ALERT!"
[Reporter] "We are still waiting for some information from officials regarding the house to house search being conducted. We've been told nothing for the last few hours."
[Reporter 1] "We just heard what sounded like 8 or 9 gunshots. (Reporter 2) what did you hear?"
[Reporter 2] "We just heard what sounded like 8 or 9 gunshots."
"He exchanged gunfire with them, so he was indeed armed."
[Reporter] "We're going to talk now with (name), who witnessed the murder of the MIT Policeman. Name, tell us what you saw."
[Name] "I wasn't there when it happened, I got there about 10 minutes after it happened, and nothing was going on. So I followed some policemen over to (somewhere else)."
[Police Official] "The homeowner noticed blood on his boat cover, he walked over and looked under the tarp and saw the bloody suspect in the boat."
[Reporter - seconds later] "It seems that a neighbor or passerby saw blood on the tarp over the boat..."
You can see how ridiculous this all is. The talking head remarks are equalled, if not surpassed by the foolish speculation about background training, indoctrination, blah, blah, blah.
The early reports I heard after the bombing said that the 3rd victim's parents did NOT want her name released. "All we know is that she was a graduate student from China." Someone - apparently not interested in the parent's wishes - decided to release the name. Why? Why weren't the wishes of the parents honored? Why couldn't her friends from school honor that? I wonder how the parents feel now?
I get the whole thing about providing the news. I get the whole "ratings wars" stuff. I get the whole "Freedom of the Press" crap. What I don't get is why newsies would rather stay on the air and look stupid, rather than break into programming when there is something intelligent to say. Maybe the need for face time IS the motivator, but I have to wonder... Do these people ever go back and watch themselves? Don't they SEE how stupid they look?
For many years, when driving down a country road and passing a cemetery, my buddy Ralph has always said, "See that out there? There are a whole buncha people who thought the world couldn't live without them." I relate that to large, thick, big-city newspapers - "There's a whole lotta news nobody wants to read." And now, I relate that to these mindless talking heads - "There's a whole lotta crap nobody wants hear."
To me, it is a perfectly applicable example of the old phrase - "It is better to be silent and thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."
.
In one of my recent blogs - Wait! Just the other day! - we talked about how the media sensationalizes the news events. Now we are discussing how ridiculous they appear when they talk out of their bums about things they know little to nothing about.
What has happened to TV anymore? Programs are not what they promote themselves to be. Headline News - the 24 hour news source - has about 15 minutes of news, then repeats it over and over. Don't think so? Watch a morning newscast. [It will have to be morning, because after about 11:00, it's all "other" programming - not headlines!] Robin will stumble on a word and make comment about it. The next time that story runs, same stumble, same comment. I used to live on Discovery; not anymore. There is no "discovery" to it anymore. Shows like "How It's Made" don't live there anymore. Now it's "Duck Dynasty" and "Swamp Dumbasses" and "Deadliest Catch" over and over and over.
TLC, The LEARNING Channel, NOT! It's "Say Yes to the Dress" and "Little People Big World" and "Bridezilla."
CMT is NOT Country MUSIC Television anymore; it's everything BUT. All of the channels have sold out in a panic, scratching for more viewers. MTV... NOT. History... NOT! For example, as I write this, Headline News - the source for news headlines 24 hours a day - is running many, many hours of "Mystery Detectives" one after another. REALLY???? But... I digress!
Because they are fighting for face-time, the well-known authorities on news say some of the stupidest things. These are some of the actual statements I heard during the broadcasts:
"We know that he must have had a gun because he did get into a gunfight with authorities."
"The suspect is alive, which will be important as they try to get information from him."
[Impacting music and deep voice-over] "This a FoxNews ALERT!"
[Reporter] "We are still waiting for some information from officials regarding the house to house search being conducted. We've been told nothing for the last few hours."
[Reporter 1] "We just heard what sounded like 8 or 9 gunshots. (Reporter 2) what did you hear?"
[Reporter 2] "We just heard what sounded like 8 or 9 gunshots."
"He exchanged gunfire with them, so he was indeed armed."
[Reporter] "We're going to talk now with (name), who witnessed the murder of the MIT Policeman. Name, tell us what you saw."
[Name] "I wasn't there when it happened, I got there about 10 minutes after it happened, and nothing was going on. So I followed some policemen over to (somewhere else)."
[Police Official] "The homeowner noticed blood on his boat cover, he walked over and looked under the tarp and saw the bloody suspect in the boat."
[Reporter - seconds later] "It seems that a neighbor or passerby saw blood on the tarp over the boat..."
You can see how ridiculous this all is. The talking head remarks are equalled, if not surpassed by the foolish speculation about background training, indoctrination, blah, blah, blah.
The early reports I heard after the bombing said that the 3rd victim's parents did NOT want her name released. "All we know is that she was a graduate student from China." Someone - apparently not interested in the parent's wishes - decided to release the name. Why? Why weren't the wishes of the parents honored? Why couldn't her friends from school honor that? I wonder how the parents feel now?
I get the whole thing about providing the news. I get the whole "ratings wars" stuff. I get the whole "Freedom of the Press" crap. What I don't get is why newsies would rather stay on the air and look stupid, rather than break into programming when there is something intelligent to say. Maybe the need for face time IS the motivator, but I have to wonder... Do these people ever go back and watch themselves? Don't they SEE how stupid they look?
For many years, when driving down a country road and passing a cemetery, my buddy Ralph has always said, "See that out there? There are a whole buncha people who thought the world couldn't live without them." I relate that to large, thick, big-city newspapers - "There's a whole lotta news nobody wants to read." And now, I relate that to these mindless talking heads - "There's a whole lotta crap nobody wants hear."
To me, it is a perfectly applicable example of the old phrase - "It is better to be silent and thought a fool, than to open your mouth and remove all doubt."
.
Thursday, April 18, 2013
...About Media Sensationalism
It has always been accepted that when you tell a fish story, the one that got away was "thiiis big!!" Well, maybe not THAT big, but it was close! Also - that girl he saw at the bar was scoping him out BIG TIME! "Man, she wanted me and you could tell it!" Actually, he was standing in front of the bar TV. Yeah, but that's OK. We accept that a story is good if it's a bit outrageous.
But these days, making stories sound that overblown in the media has become almost criminal; all in the name of viewers. I don't want sensationalism from the people who are supposed to provide the facts.
The dictionary defines sensationalism as follows:
sensationalism |senˈsā sh ənlˌizəm|
But these days, making stories sound that overblown in the media has become almost criminal; all in the name of viewers. I don't want sensationalism from the people who are supposed to provide the facts.
The dictionary defines sensationalism as follows:
sensationalism |senˈsā sh ənlˌizəm|
noun
1 (esp. in journalism) the use of exciting or shocking stories or language at the expense of accuracy, in order to provoke public interest or excitement
During local coverage of the (tragic) Boston Marathon bombing, the NBC affiliate in Mobile did a story of a local who was at the Marathon cheering his wife (I think). The text at the bottom of the screen grabs your attention: "Local man just yards from the bombing." Note that they say "yards." In the interview, the man says he was "a block or so away" from where the explosion occurred. When I say to you that something is "yards away," you expect that to mean somewhere in the area of 10-12-15 feet away. When I say it is "a block or so from here," you get the hint that it's "a little piece away." BUT - the story is not near as exciting if the TV station says "Local man not far from the bombing." Nothing in that phrase makes me want to stop chewing to hear the story.
In this morning's reporting of the fertilizer plant explosion in West, TX, the reporter is interviewing a local official. He was (apparently) struck by flying debris and has several small cuts on his face and forehead. There is blood trickling down and drying on his head and face. If you or I saw this, we would say, "Here... use this towel to wipe your face and take care of yourself." Oh how foolish I am! The reporter asks one mundane question after another with no regard for the blood, because blood sells better TV! She will probably win some local 'Reporter of the Year' award for her stellar coverage of this tragic event.
Time after time after time we see this. Whether the local news, national news, the Weather Channel (that Jim Cantore sure can make one hell of a story, can't he?), or an ad for Jim Bob's Furniture Store's Going Out of Business Sale, the more we sensationalize it, the more we grab the viewer by the throat.
To me, the cause of all of this is 24 hour news &/or weather channels. In the need for ratings and viewers, these 24 hour droolers... er... news anchors will tell any story and sensationalize it to sound newsworthy. If it's not gripping, why would you watch that instead of Dick Van Dyke reruns at 2:30am?
Talk about 24 hour news drivel - a 2nd grader goes to school with an orange mohawk. The principal (whether right or wrong) says it is distracting to other kids and has the mom come get the child. Why does this make national news? Because the 24 hour newsies need SOMETHING to talk about. That's why we have so many lawsuits - because ANY worthless piece of flesh can call Headline News and get put on the air to support their cause. "We can care about whether or not it's a real news story later... right now, we need the ratings, and Robin needs some hair spray." But... I digress!
And everybody does this aggrandizing. After yesterday's vote about gun control background checks, the president acts all mad and pouty, the vice-president has his face in his hands, and they are surrounded by the Newtown families and Gabby Gifford. Sensationalism. You and I both know that the president has some staffer who is smart enough to have known what the vote was going to be, and all of the hoopla was staging to make a point with whomever will buy into it. (And by the way... Why the hell were the Newtown families flying around on Air Force One?? Who is paying for THAT partisan waste of money?? You and ME!)
Now don't take this as an attack on people who work in the media. I know a buncha folks in the media. I was a part of the media for a long time. I am simply saying that we have gotten to the point where we aren't shocked by much anymore. As a result, the news industry must make a larger effort to command our attention. I get that. I just think it's a crying shame that the method to get that attention is to make that fish bigger and bigger everytime we tell the story. Tell me the facts. If I think you tell the facts better than the other channel, I will choose to watch you.
All my life my father would stop me when I was telling some 'whopper' and say, "Why don't you just be quiet? Nobody wants to hear all that nonsense."
Now I know exactly what he meant.
.
Thursday, March 14, 2013
...About Customer Service
So I pull into Arby's to get some lunch. I like Arby's for a change from the other drive-thru offerings. I pull to the speaker, wait patiently, and then it starts: "Welcome to Arby's may I take your order?"
"Yes, I would like a number 2, com..."
"Combo or sandwich?"
"Combo - reg..."
"What size?"
I couldn't stand it. So, being the jerk I am, I said, "If you will let me, honey, I'll tell you everything."
Silence.
"I would like a number 2 combo, regular size, with Dr. Pepper to drink, and an apple turnover - and that will be all."
"Will that be all?" DEAR, LORD!! I don't think the new pope could maintain civility at this!
Many years ago, while in college, I worked at McDonald's. The best lesson I've ever learned about customer service was at that McDonald's. The owner was Bob Binford. He was a loud, large-and-in-charge guy. When I was hired, he told me (and a couple of other newbies), "The second time I get a complaint about you, you're fired. The first time I'll give you some benefit of being new, but the second time, you're fired. There are a thousand other high school and college kids who want a job. I don't have to tolerate bad customer service." And he didn't. And maybe more fast-food owners shouldn't. But.... I digress!
This was McDonald's in a college town, mind you. BUSY! I get the whole customer service thing. There is a big difference (to me) between good customer service and being obnoxious. When a customer orders, let them order through as far as they can go. When they seem finished, ask them for what they left out. Hands down, the greatest fast-food customer service ever is at Chik-Fil-A.
And before you say it, Yes, the opposite extreme is also aggravating. My friend Mark went into a convenience store to get a Diet Coke. When he got to the register, the cashier was behind the register sitting on a 5 gallon plastic bucket eating from a styrofoam "to go" box. She didn't even acknowledge him. After a couple of seconds, he very congenially said, "I hate to interrupt your dinner just to ring up a drink." She looked at him very indignantly and said, "I ain't gettin' up." A co-worker who was over there putting stock on shelves came over to wait on him. Can you believe that?? Bob Binford would have puked!
In a department-type store, I appreciate a sales person coming over and asking if I need assistance. I appreciate that they are doing their job. When I smile and say "No thanks, I'm just looking for now", I expect to be left to my own devices. I want to drop-kick the ones who continue following me through the furniture department. "Yes, sir! That's a great recliner" or "Right now we're having our Semi-Monthly Store Manager's Everythings-Gotta-Go sale on all items of furniture and all items are 25 to 86% off." I can read the signs. I want them to wander off and graze over there until I beckon, whistle, or wave.
I also get miffed with telephone customer service. I don't want to tell you my account history to simply ask if there are supposed to be 6 or 7 of those bolts in the box. One thing I do like is the "Chat with our customer service rep" on a website. Questions are quick and to the point, and I don't have to hear your nasally, heavy-accented, mumbly, talk-too-fast-to-understand voice. Quick in, quick out. See ya!
I suppose what all this is getting to is that good customer service is an art. It's not that hard to do, but you have to want to provide good customer service. I learned over all my years that people really can hear you smile on the phone, or through the speaker. Some of the greatest experiences I've ever had were with the customer service person - not the salesperson, or the manager, or whomever. When I am enjoying the customer service I'm receiving, I will tolerate a lot of things. You can tell me "No" if you handle it the right way. If you act snotty or indifferent, all I want to know is "Who's the manager and where's my gun??!!"
You want to see the GREATEST customer service in the galaxy, go to a retirement area (The Villages in Florida comes to mind). Older folks who want to get out of the house and are glad they have another day on the green side of the grass are so pleasant. So, too, are the young people who work in those types of communities. They have figured out that the old folks won't tolerate sassy, indifferent, "I ain't gettin' up" service. Old folks will talk loud and ask for the manager! And the manager is more concerned with the one who has money - not some young whippersnapper.
With my luck, the manager would be Bob Binford. Shoot me now.
.
"Yes, I would like a number 2, com..."
"Combo or sandwich?"
"Combo - reg..."
"What size?"
I couldn't stand it. So, being the jerk I am, I said, "If you will let me, honey, I'll tell you everything."
Silence.
"I would like a number 2 combo, regular size, with Dr. Pepper to drink, and an apple turnover - and that will be all."
"Will that be all?" DEAR, LORD!! I don't think the new pope could maintain civility at this!
Many years ago, while in college, I worked at McDonald's. The best lesson I've ever learned about customer service was at that McDonald's. The owner was Bob Binford. He was a loud, large-and-in-charge guy. When I was hired, he told me (and a couple of other newbies), "The second time I get a complaint about you, you're fired. The first time I'll give you some benefit of being new, but the second time, you're fired. There are a thousand other high school and college kids who want a job. I don't have to tolerate bad customer service." And he didn't. And maybe more fast-food owners shouldn't. But.... I digress!
This was McDonald's in a college town, mind you. BUSY! I get the whole customer service thing. There is a big difference (to me) between good customer service and being obnoxious. When a customer orders, let them order through as far as they can go. When they seem finished, ask them for what they left out. Hands down, the greatest fast-food customer service ever is at Chik-Fil-A.
And before you say it, Yes, the opposite extreme is also aggravating. My friend Mark went into a convenience store to get a Diet Coke. When he got to the register, the cashier was behind the register sitting on a 5 gallon plastic bucket eating from a styrofoam "to go" box. She didn't even acknowledge him. After a couple of seconds, he very congenially said, "I hate to interrupt your dinner just to ring up a drink." She looked at him very indignantly and said, "I ain't gettin' up." A co-worker who was over there putting stock on shelves came over to wait on him. Can you believe that?? Bob Binford would have puked!
In a department-type store, I appreciate a sales person coming over and asking if I need assistance. I appreciate that they are doing their job. When I smile and say "No thanks, I'm just looking for now", I expect to be left to my own devices. I want to drop-kick the ones who continue following me through the furniture department. "Yes, sir! That's a great recliner" or "Right now we're having our Semi-Monthly Store Manager's Everythings-Gotta-Go sale on all items of furniture and all items are 25 to 86% off." I can read the signs. I want them to wander off and graze over there until I beckon, whistle, or wave.
I also get miffed with telephone customer service. I don't want to tell you my account history to simply ask if there are supposed to be 6 or 7 of those bolts in the box. One thing I do like is the "Chat with our customer service rep" on a website. Questions are quick and to the point, and I don't have to hear your nasally, heavy-accented, mumbly, talk-too-fast-to-understand voice. Quick in, quick out. See ya!
I suppose what all this is getting to is that good customer service is an art. It's not that hard to do, but you have to want to provide good customer service. I learned over all my years that people really can hear you smile on the phone, or through the speaker. Some of the greatest experiences I've ever had were with the customer service person - not the salesperson, or the manager, or whomever. When I am enjoying the customer service I'm receiving, I will tolerate a lot of things. You can tell me "No" if you handle it the right way. If you act snotty or indifferent, all I want to know is "Who's the manager and where's my gun??!!"
You want to see the GREATEST customer service in the galaxy, go to a retirement area (The Villages in Florida comes to mind). Older folks who want to get out of the house and are glad they have another day on the green side of the grass are so pleasant. So, too, are the young people who work in those types of communities. They have figured out that the old folks won't tolerate sassy, indifferent, "I ain't gettin' up" service. Old folks will talk loud and ask for the manager! And the manager is more concerned with the one who has money - not some young whippersnapper.
With my luck, the manager would be Bob Binford. Shoot me now.
.
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