Through The Weeds.

My work experience lies in healthcare and automotive; I have only seen the effects of "out in the weeds" as a customer.

I know everybody needs a little kindness, there's enough meanness going on -- that's why I'm quiet about it. It could mean I'm too scared to speak out and tell somebody they screwed up; it could mean I don't do well with "confrontation," it could mean that I've let the theories of retail friendliness get too deeply ingrained in my habits; but I'm choosing to believe the theory that Anne and I talked about the other night -- I'm a reasonable adult, therefore I'm not mean to people, no matter how much I can't stand 'em. Not directly, anyway.

Have I mentioned how completely awesome it is to be back in touch with Anne? She found me on F@ceBook and getting that e-mail made me get all jumpy and giggly!

Now, just like we talked about, I'm not gonna be mean to a waiter or waitress, 'cause it's just not right. The tip will shrink if the drinks don't stay full or an empty chip basket gets ignored, but I've watched way too many people pitch little fits and I just don't want to be remembered as that person who acted all nasty. I guess it's a case of "don't be that guy."

We tend to keep going back to the places we like -- somewhere between the kindness and the tips, we're remembered as being friendly, and we're usually fairly well taken care of. I don't want to be that person that people see comin' and think "Ugh, not again..."

Things seem to go easier if you can just be friendly...

Everybody was workin' hard to be friendly, but it might not have really been workin' today at lunch.

Fast food is completely different though...

I still try my best for quiet kindness though, 'cause seriously, if they were our best and brightest, they wouldn't be workin' in fast food, now would they?

I have no idea how anybody could get so "Out In The Weeds" when there are five people working and only two customers waiting for food, but the folks at the chicken joint were out in the weeds today.

It could be due to the guy who couldn't make up his mind what to spend his dollar bill and handful of coins for taking way too long to decide between chicken, potatoes, beans or a drink, dumping the entire contents of his pockets on the floor along with change and a big handful of only-God-knows what kind of pills -- finally settling on one piece of chicken all by itself; who knows...

The place started fillin' up, and since I wasn't all that interested in closeness with strangers or watching a gangsta mug the guy with the pills, all I could think about was getting my seven dinners and getting outta there.

Seven of us at work today, seven dinners, five with steak fingers, two with chicken strips. Five plus two is seven.

I had to wait a while, but I was glad to make it outta there without hearing anybody try to scam a free drink for havin' to wait -- oh, and in case you ever wondered, at this particular chicken joint, the most popular variety of that scam would be a "Schtrawwwbereh Drank."

The lady workin' the front counter, the one who was oh-so-patient with Mr. One-Piece with coins, she just made my day when she finally said my order was ready. I was sooo glad to get outta there, I just grabbed the bag and made a break for the car.

I was stopped at the second stoplight when I realized there were only six dinners in the bag.

There was no way I was goin' back in there with a confusing receipt and a complaint about bein' short a box.

If they were the best and brightest, they'd be able to count to seven and they wouldn't be workin' in fast food...

I really enjoyed that peanut butter sandwich.

More later... _\,,/

Here's To You, Dr. Frederic Baur!

Wipe those salty hands on your jeans and hold your can high for Dr. Frederic Baur, the inventor of "Pringles."

Dr. Baur apparently died a while back -- sorry I'm late with this, but there was a fascinating piece on NPR this morning which reported that Dr. Baur had requested that his cremated remains be buried in a Pringles Can.

Is it sick that I wonder what flavor the can was from? Was it a brand-new can from the factory so as to avoid crumbs of flavory residue, or did the family get to pass around a fun snack in order to empty out the container for the occasion?

I'm guessing he may have chosen an original red can, but I could be wrong... I sure like the green ones, the Ranch and the Sour Cream & Onion. Honestly, I rarely buy 'em 'cause I know I'll almost never manage to put the lid back on. Much like the big bag of Cheetos, if I start in on 'em, my inner fat kid is probably gonna finish 'em off.

God bless ya, Dr. Frederic Baur, and today at lunch, I'll toast your memory with a can of Loaded Baked Potato Pringles!

John Denver Meets Homer Simpson.

Way back in the Cold Weather, when I had Jury Duty, I picked up a copy of Stephen King's "Cell" in the waiting room. I was a few pages in, just getting interested when my name was called. I made a note of what page I was on and what was happening in the story and the told myself I was going to buy a copy of the book so I could read further.

I ended up putting it off for quite a while. The entire Jury Duty Experience had me tangled up in anxiety the weekend before, and once it was over, I was so glad to be outta there, I didn't really think too much more about any of it, not even the book I'd developed and interest in -- until I discovered that the audiobook download was cheaper than a paperback copy.

I'm not sure how long I let the two huge files sit on my hard drive before I got around to listening. I'd planned on starting the book when I started home from Springfield, but after a goofed-up iPod sync, I'd neglected to drag 'em back after the Mac had accidentally removed them. I started listening to "Part One" shortly after we were back from MO.

Last night, while Clay was watching SNL (and snoring a bit), I put the earbuds in to "read" for a little while. The thought had crossed my mind, as someone who's experienced the anxiety problem before, that maybe a horror novel wasn't the best idea right before bed even as an audiobook, but I was itchin' to know what happened next, so I hit "play."

As SNL was finishing up, I looked at the screen on the iPod and I had a little less than twenty minutes 'til the end of "Part One." It seemed like a reasonable stopping place, so I decided to listen 'til the end of the file before turning out the lights to go to bed.

"Part One" finished off with a very vivid description of someone who'd ended his own life by jabbing his own eye out with a fountain pen. Did I mention it was a very, very vivid description? I wondered about just rollin' over and tryin' to go to sleep after that, but...

Remember hearin' John Denver say "Thank God I'm a country boy?" Well, I, my friends, am unashamed to say "Thank God I'm a fat kid."

Last night, I had vivid dreams, but not of gory-scary fountain pen carnage. I dreamed of Donuts, lovely, sugary, fluffy, glazed donuts, shared around a warm cozy table surrounded by friendly people.

"Mmmmmm, Donuts..."

Three Years...

(Alternate Title: Maybe I Should've Taken A Picture.)

This Windstar that I've been drivin' these last few weeks sat in the tall grass beside Dad's house for about three years best I can guess. I've been trying to remember exactly when I last parked it there, but I keep gettin' confused. I do have a clue of real proof because there was a page out of the newspaper in the driver's door pocket that's from sometime in November of 2004. It kinda makes sense, 'cause I'm pretty sure that was the 2004 awards banquet when Bigfoot got mad and left at three-something in the morning; I remember walkin' all the way through the hotel in my PJ's to go move it closer to my room 'cause I wasn't sure if he'd locked the doors or not...

I'm still not entirely sure, but I think it came sometime after the silver VW and/or the big brown Chevy van, 'cause I remember lettin' The Mail Man drive both of those while we were near-dating, but I think he was outta-the-picture by the time this one turned up. I guess being "Car-Sentimental" makes me put history into categories by what I was drivin' at the time -- I know I had the VW duing racing season, 'cause I remember drivin' it to Booster Club Meetings; but I had the big van for that last banquet that was downtown; drove it for Christmas and most of the winter into the summertime, and then I got the Windstar sometime before the next banquet out on South Yale... Shit, which summer was that? It was freakin' hot outside and... Oh yeah, we took that VW to that stupid "rally" at the football field, so I know for sure that this Windstar came after that...

Gawd, that "rally" sucked. I love My Country, but I can't help but think there must be a better way to show it than to go sing the National Anthem, say the Pledge of Allegiance, and then sit in the hundred-and-some-degree sun on metal bleachers while some asshole from the uber-conservative AM radio station blathers on and on. Couldn't we show our patriotism by doing something besides just getting sunburned?

Something besides getting sunburned -- that's where I was going with all that. In the ashtray of this Windstar that's been parked for a little over three years, I found that tube/stick of sunscreen that I bought before that damn "rally." I remember it vividly because I was hoping to find "good" sunscreen that wasn't insanely expensive and came in a container small enough I could toss it in my purse. It was perfect; probably about an inch in diameter and a little less than three inches tall, it was setup like a really fat lipstick or really small deodorant stick -- it had a little twisty-thing at the bottom and a nice tight lid at the top. I (or we, oh dear) used it for the "rally" and then I tossed it in my purse just as planned.

Somewhere along the way, most likely in the blistering Oklahoma heat, I discovered that the lid wasn't completely keeping the "stick" contained quite like I thought it should. In an effort to keep greazy-sticky sunscreen goo out of the inside of my purse (I think it was the black Coach bag around that time), I must've tossed it into the ashtray of the Windstar instead of tossing it into the purse. I also remember when we thought the transmission was for-sure goin' South and I decided to get the SHO back out -- I had a hard time shuffling my usual accumulation of stuff from the van into my car, and I probably wasn't thinkin' about needin' sunscreen and wasn't thinkin' that there might've been anything inside that ashtray, so I just left it there when I moved everything else.

Closed, black ashtray, inside a closed, dark green van, parked outdoors through a little over three years of Oklahoma freeze-thaw-bake-freeze-again cycles. I'll let your imagination run with that one... Yeah, I'll bet your imagination really wants to wash those hands now, doesn't it?

When I started driving it again a few weeks ago, the first time I pulled that ashtray/cupholder thing out, I was almost surprised to see it; as in "heyyyy, so that's where I left that..." Even though I knew it was my tube of sunscreen and I had left it there and nobody else had been in the van or used the ashtray or the sunscreen, I was not about to touch it. All that heat and all that melting? Ewwww. Sunday when Clay and I were at Sonic, he tossed one of those stripedy peppermints in there and all I could think of was "Ewwww! Not There! Ewwww!!" and I was certainly not about to touch that peppermint either. I like those swirly peppermints, but I wouldn't fish one out of a mud puddle or a purse from a thrift store -- and I definitely was not about to eat one out of a puddle of three-year-old melted sunscreen stick.

So, today, I figured that since I'm going to claim "The Velvetteen Rabbit Theory"* and drive the Windstar to Springfield this weekend, today was as good a time as any to see if that ashtray came out without having to un-bolt the whole cupholder or tear the dash up or turn the van upside-down so I could see about gettin' that mess outta there. Sure enough, it does come out real easy; so I used the two-finger damn-sure-don't-wanna-touch-this-thing method to carry the ashtray to the bathroom where I could dump the near-empty tube out of the melty puddle and into the trash can. I had to beat the ashtray on the side of the trashcan to get the tube to come out, and just as I was about to toss the ashtray into the sink full of burning-hot-soapy water, I saw it.

Lodged floating in the gooey puddle of melted-out sunscreen, there it was...

Not too long ago, Robin mentioned "the fries that never rot." Now, I, as a fat kid, used to be a big fan of Mc D's. The most important words in that sentence are used to be. I didn't see that film "Supersize Me," I only heard about it second-hand through my buddy Pete and through NPR; but what I heard was enough to knock the Mc D's cravings right outta me. Here lately, even since we got one right here close to us in Skiatook, I still don't go there more than once every few months; and usually only if the HoMeSkOoLeRz are here and buggin' us for it. The handy thing about Skiatook Mc D's is that it's very close to a major grocery store, where I can grab a frozen dinner and microwave it.

Robin's mention of "the fries that never rot" made me grin, but I didn't really put much thought into it one way or another until today. Floating in the melted sunscreen nastiness, there it was. Easily recognized, none the worse for wear, was a single, two-inch, Mc D's french fry. I know without a doubt that it had been there a long, long time because I have not eaten anything from Mc D's in these last few weeks that I've been back in this van. I'm not kidding, it looked just like they look when you pull one out of the red box with the yellow and white stripes on the inside and there was absolutely no indication that it had been through three years of Oklahoma weather in a closed car; and if three years of Oklahoma weather won't rot ya, nothin' will. Robin was totally right, McFries never rot.

What about those Sonic Tots that I'm so crazy about? Should I stash one under the seat and see how long it stays?

I wish I'd thought to take a picture of the fry stuck in the sunscreen in the ashtray; or at least take a picture of the fry floating in the toilet after I banged the ashtray on the lid 'til it came un-stuck from the sunscreen and fell out into the water; but I didn't.

I've seen actual proof they never rot -- that page of the newspaper had turned yellow and got crumbly, the Renuzit air freshener that was in the back cupholder had dried and shrunk and dried and shrunk until there was nothing left but the plastic cover. Everything rots, except McFries.

The sunscreen itself is pretty relentless too; that ashtray has been soakin' in that hot water for quite a while and it's not turnin' loose as easy as most ordinary car-crud usually does. I'd think about tossin' it in the dishwasher, but we eat our food off of those dishes...

I'm really not itchin' to put my hands into that water and try to scrub that stuff out. Since I don't smoke, maybe I don't really need to put the ashtray back into the van.

More later. _\,,/

*: I'll write about "The Velvetteen Rabbit Theory" and how it relates to Vehicular Reliability when I get back from Springfield -- as in after I see if the Windstar makes it to Springfield and back without me having to rent a U-Haul and a Tow Dolly to get it home. I'm sure it'll be fine. I'm sure it'll be fine -- that's the main point of TVRT. Heh.