Heck, I love people because you just never know what they are going to say or do. The other day I finished my morning constitutional with a visit to the local drugstore where I intended to purchase a cool and refreshing beverage. I had worked up quite a thirst and eagerly anticipated the relief that said cool and refreshing beverage would provide.
As I approached the store there was a song in my heart and a spring in my step. I just couldn't wait to get my hands on that refreshment. My reverie was suddenly interrupted by a voice from just to the side and behind me. Now mind you that if you ever encounter me you'd be well served not to approach me from just to the side and behind me as I have a skittish nature and am sometimes inclined to swing first and ask questions later.
"Sir, I need a condom. Can you please help me?"
The voice belonged to a lanky male. He was dressed in a pair of torn bluejeans and a blue sweatshirt. I'd guess that he was in his early twenties. I must have had a puzzled look on my face because he asked again for my help.
"Sir, I am kind of short on cash and my girl won't let me be with her without a condom. Can you help me?"
This was a new sort of plea. As the Salvation Army Bell Ringer can attest to I am not always the best guy to approach for money. I haven't any problem making contributions, but I have specific charities that I like to give to.
So I looked at the kid and asked him if he was serious. He vigorously shook his head and then pointed at a black Toyota Camry. "That is my girlfriend in the front seat." She smiled and waved at me.
"Doesn't she have any money to buy condoms," I asked. He shook his head and told me that he was too embarrassed to ask her. I laughed and asked him why it was easier to ask a stranger for help than to ask his girlfriend for money. He mumbled something about telling her that he was trying to get money for gas.
I told him that he was on his own and started to walk away. Before I could take two steps he started to beg and stammer something about my not remembering what it was like to be young. That really wasn't the brightest move. I am not old. I do remember exactly what it was like to be a single twenty something, but I was never that dumb nor brazen to go beg for condoms.
So I told him again that he needed to find someone else. Apparently the strain of trying to keep his pants zipped cut off the oxygen supply to his brain as he called me a "fat, old, asshole."
I turned and faced him and corrected him. I am not fat, nor old but I am an asshole...when provoked. And with that I wandered over to the Camry to go have a conversation with his partner.
The window was open and she had been watching so she wasn't all that surprised to see me. She gave me a big smile and thanked me for helping her.
"I am going to offer a different sort of help than you think. Your pal just asked me to pay for condoms. Do you really want to risk getting pregnant with the spawn of this genius?"
The genius was none too happy with my comment and continued to berate me. I turned and suggested that he should just leave it be and tried to walk away. But I had insulted his manhood and now he was determined to try and regain his honor so he stepped in front of me.
By this point in time the girlfriend had gotten out of the car and was trying to convince the genius to walk away. As he had prevented my acquisition of a cool and refreshing beverage I was somewhat cranky so I made a few comments of my own including the "why don't you do something productive with your life and go serve in Iraq."
I'd like to say that it came out as a real zinger, that it sucked the wind right out of his sails, but it didn't. Instead it sounded pretty much like the kind of comment an old middle aged guy might make. DOH!
And that is really kind of, sort of how this story ends. Not with a bang. Not very exciting at all. It just ends.
(another green post)
A Quick Review
- An Open Letter To Our Government
- The Dog Ate Their Candy
- Jack's Experience In the Ladies Room
- Where Daddy Bloggers Learn How To Be Rich
- Selling Services To Telemarketers
- Halloween 2010
- Things that Frighten Me
- Saturday Morning Music Mash
Blogging About Children- Where Do You Draw The Line
And Then There Were Three- Grandparents
An Open Letter To Our Government
I became an independent because I lost faith in the parties. When it became more important for them to point out what the other side was doing wrong it became clear to me that the system was broken.
I am tired of excuses. Tired of finger pointing. Tired of listening to rationalization of this and that.
I just want our politicians to shut up and work. Just STFU and fix the mess that was created by everyone.
The situation we find ourselves in doesn't exist solely because of one side or another. It is a mess that we all own and all share. It is a problem that won't disappear by blaming Democrats or Republicans. It won't go away by crying about the situation you inherited or by crowing about proof that policy XYZ is bad.
I am not interested in listening to you tell me what you could do or want to do. I want to hear what you are doing and I want to see actionable results. I want to see people standing shoulder to shoulder working on fixing what is broken.
Beyond that I am done. Done listening, watching and reading about why you are better than the next guy. Done listening to morons who talk about a radical in office and morons who rally for sanity. SHUT UP! It is like watching kids fight over a toy.
Suck it up, shake hands and do what you have to do to implement real solutions and not bandages.
And that my friends is my election day prayer. A hope and a dream that one day the change we talk about will be in place and that our children won't still be fighting the same battles that we fight today.
I am tired of excuses. Tired of finger pointing. Tired of listening to rationalization of this and that.
I just want our politicians to shut up and work. Just STFU and fix the mess that was created by everyone.
The situation we find ourselves in doesn't exist solely because of one side or another. It is a mess that we all own and all share. It is a problem that won't disappear by blaming Democrats or Republicans. It won't go away by crying about the situation you inherited or by crowing about proof that policy XYZ is bad.
I am not interested in listening to you tell me what you could do or want to do. I want to hear what you are doing and I want to see actionable results. I want to see people standing shoulder to shoulder working on fixing what is broken.
Beyond that I am done. Done listening, watching and reading about why you are better than the next guy. Done listening to morons who talk about a radical in office and morons who rally for sanity. SHUT UP! It is like watching kids fight over a toy.
Suck it up, shake hands and do what you have to do to implement real solutions and not bandages.
And that my friends is my election day prayer. A hope and a dream that one day the change we talk about will be in place and that our children won't still be fighting the same battles that we fight today.
The Dog Ate Their Candy
It is well past midnight and were I a smarter man I would be fast asleep in my bed. Instead I am seated at the kitchen table listening to iTunes share a collection of songs that mark my entire life. So I sit here wondering about life, people and things.
Like why is it called "fast asleep." That doesn't make sense to me. I suppose I could Google it but what fun would that be. Maybe it is supposed to reflect the time it takes to fall asleep. Certainly it is better to fall asleep quickly otherwise you might find yourself counting sheep. Or if you are like me you lie on your back and do higher math. You sit there, er lie there eyes wide open and contemplate how the universe is constructed and what your role is supposed to be.
Earlier today you sent out a Tweet about the dog eating the childrens' candy and while it was intentionally goofy the sentiment behind it was not. Because there was a moment the night before where you looked at the kids and time stood still. You saw a witch and Obi-Wan-Kenobi transform into teenagers. It happened right in front of you, with your eyes wide open.
That boy suddenly shot up until he could look you in the eye and his voice got awfully deep. His sister wasn't nearly as tall, but she was clearly a woman. Long black hair and a smile that lit up the room were joined to an exasperated, "daddy, no more pictures."
The funny thing is that normally her brother hates pictures but that night it was different. For a few moments they were happy to oblige you with smiles and poses. Some of the songs from the Saturday Morning Music Mash play in the background and I smile as the kids sing along to Imagine. It is a cliche, but it still makes me happy.
Later on we'll go to a party and walk the neighborhood with other parents and their children. The fathers and I talk about fatherly stuff but we still fulfill our role as the secret service. We walk with an ear to the ground and an eye peeled for things that can hurt, upset or scare the kids.
It won't be much longer, these moments with the children. Won't be long before they are too big to go trick or treating. Won't be long before the elementary school years disappear completely and we enter the chaos of middle school.
As the night ends I'll carry that witch into the house. For a moment I'll stand on the driveway holding her in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. I'll close my eyes and listen to her breathe and remember the baby that she used to be. Soft snores will accompany my footsteps into the house and I'll smile as the puppy runs alongside us.
Life is filled with moments that at turn into memories of the special, the sacred and the profane. I only hope to be present and aware so that I may enjoy them all.
Like why is it called "fast asleep." That doesn't make sense to me. I suppose I could Google it but what fun would that be. Maybe it is supposed to reflect the time it takes to fall asleep. Certainly it is better to fall asleep quickly otherwise you might find yourself counting sheep. Or if you are like me you lie on your back and do higher math. You sit there, er lie there eyes wide open and contemplate how the universe is constructed and what your role is supposed to be.
Earlier today you sent out a Tweet about the dog eating the childrens' candy and while it was intentionally goofy the sentiment behind it was not. Because there was a moment the night before where you looked at the kids and time stood still. You saw a witch and Obi-Wan-Kenobi transform into teenagers. It happened right in front of you, with your eyes wide open.
That boy suddenly shot up until he could look you in the eye and his voice got awfully deep. His sister wasn't nearly as tall, but she was clearly a woman. Long black hair and a smile that lit up the room were joined to an exasperated, "daddy, no more pictures."
The funny thing is that normally her brother hates pictures but that night it was different. For a few moments they were happy to oblige you with smiles and poses. Some of the songs from the Saturday Morning Music Mash play in the background and I smile as the kids sing along to Imagine. It is a cliche, but it still makes me happy.
Later on we'll go to a party and walk the neighborhood with other parents and their children. The fathers and I talk about fatherly stuff but we still fulfill our role as the secret service. We walk with an ear to the ground and an eye peeled for things that can hurt, upset or scare the kids.
It won't be much longer, these moments with the children. Won't be long before they are too big to go trick or treating. Won't be long before the elementary school years disappear completely and we enter the chaos of middle school.
As the night ends I'll carry that witch into the house. For a moment I'll stand on the driveway holding her in my arms, her head resting on my shoulder. I'll close my eyes and listen to her breathe and remember the baby that she used to be. Soft snores will accompany my footsteps into the house and I'll smile as the puppy runs alongside us.
Life is filled with moments that at turn into memories of the special, the sacred and the profane. I only hope to be present and aware so that I may enjoy them all.
Jack's Experience In the Ladies Room
I have a dysfunctional digestive system. I write about it frequently as I have done here, and here. That probably gives you more information than you wanted, but I am going to continue on and regal you with one of my many tales of the loo.
For those who are interested in my motivation in writing about such things part of this stems from my embarrassment/anger/frustration regarding this little problem. I like to make fun of it because I feel better, and yes Shmata Queen I know that one day I should get a colonoscopy. Frankly I have the exit system down so making it an entrance bothers me greatly.
This particular incident took place a number of years ago. I had been going through a spell in which my stomach had been doing quite well and had been more relaxed and adventurous in what I was willing to eat. On that fateful day I had taken on a chilidog and some coffee. Under the best circumstances it was not a great combination but for me it was even more dire.
Initially I didn't notice anything. I had eaten the food and enjoyed my meal immensely. It was a gastronomic feast that was soon to turn into a gastrointestinal nightmare. {cue horror music now.}
I was minding my own business tooling along the 405 when the attack hit. There was a tickle followed by a gurgle and a rumble. Another gurgle gave proof to the night that soon there would be a mad rush for an exit. I knew that it was going to be similar to the rush for a free sample at Costco.
I was in an unfamiliar part of town but nature smiled upon me and I exited the freeway at breakneck speed and made for the first restaurant I saw. I couldn't tell you the name, but I can tell you that the nice girl up front understood my garbled and frantic gibberish to mean "show me the bathroom now or no one will want to eat here any longer."
I followed her outstretched arm and just managed to avoid knocking over a busboy carrying a bucket of dirty dishes and a waiter armed with three plates of hotfood.
Without looking up I straightarmed the bathroom door and jumped into an empty stall. My fingers fumbled and strained to unhook my belt and pants and at last I was able to engage in the task for which I had come.
If you are easily grossed out than you should hang up your spikes now.
Aside from the almost immediate relief one of the first things I noticed was that the air had grown toxic. I was choking on my own fumes, not to mention that there was an endless supply. I was unnerved to realize that I didn't have any medication on me and had at least 20 miles to go before I would be encased within the refuge of my home.
Lost for a brief moment in thought I hadn't heard the bathroom door open. Footsteps, light footsteps that sounded like a pair of heels made their way in. I stiffened as I realized that the heels were accompanied by what was clearly a pair of feminine voices. In shock and horror I lifted my size 12 Reeboks off of the floor.
In my haste I had entered the wrong bathroom and now I was frantically trying to figure out how to exit. There were a couple of problems with that. First, the rumble and gurgle were in full effect. They and their crew of noisemakers had. not finished playing with me. There was a marching band with a full horn section. It is hard to leave when the band is still playing When the Saints Go Marching In.
It was made worse by the comments of the ladies in there who had any number of suggestions for how and what I should do, talk about catty.
So I sat there and waited for them to leave. As my legs began to go numb and my feet started to tingle I despaired of ever leaving. More women were coming into the bathroom. It felt like there was a steady stream of visitors. The more polite among them entered without being too obvious about the immediate gag reflex, but there were plenty of who coughed.
The situation was summed up well by a little girl who said "mommy, it stinks in here!"
After untold agony and frustration I made up my mind to make a run for it. So I pulled up my pants and massaged feeling back into my legs. I summoned up a ton of attitude and waltzed out the door of the stall and the bathroom to a number of shouts.
The only thing that I remember hearing was this: You didn't wash your hands.
(yes, it is another recycled post. But don't worry new material is sprinkled all over the place. Read on and enjoy.)
For those who are interested in my motivation in writing about such things part of this stems from my embarrassment/anger/frustration regarding this little problem. I like to make fun of it because I feel better, and yes Shmata Queen I know that one day I should get a colonoscopy. Frankly I have the exit system down so making it an entrance bothers me greatly.
This particular incident took place a number of years ago. I had been going through a spell in which my stomach had been doing quite well and had been more relaxed and adventurous in what I was willing to eat. On that fateful day I had taken on a chilidog and some coffee. Under the best circumstances it was not a great combination but for me it was even more dire.
Initially I didn't notice anything. I had eaten the food and enjoyed my meal immensely. It was a gastronomic feast that was soon to turn into a gastrointestinal nightmare. {cue horror music now.}
I was minding my own business tooling along the 405 when the attack hit. There was a tickle followed by a gurgle and a rumble. Another gurgle gave proof to the night that soon there would be a mad rush for an exit. I knew that it was going to be similar to the rush for a free sample at Costco.
I was in an unfamiliar part of town but nature smiled upon me and I exited the freeway at breakneck speed and made for the first restaurant I saw. I couldn't tell you the name, but I can tell you that the nice girl up front understood my garbled and frantic gibberish to mean "show me the bathroom now or no one will want to eat here any longer."
I followed her outstretched arm and just managed to avoid knocking over a busboy carrying a bucket of dirty dishes and a waiter armed with three plates of hotfood.
Without looking up I straightarmed the bathroom door and jumped into an empty stall. My fingers fumbled and strained to unhook my belt and pants and at last I was able to engage in the task for which I had come.
If you are easily grossed out than you should hang up your spikes now.
Aside from the almost immediate relief one of the first things I noticed was that the air had grown toxic. I was choking on my own fumes, not to mention that there was an endless supply. I was unnerved to realize that I didn't have any medication on me and had at least 20 miles to go before I would be encased within the refuge of my home.
Lost for a brief moment in thought I hadn't heard the bathroom door open. Footsteps, light footsteps that sounded like a pair of heels made their way in. I stiffened as I realized that the heels were accompanied by what was clearly a pair of feminine voices. In shock and horror I lifted my size 12 Reeboks off of the floor.
In my haste I had entered the wrong bathroom and now I was frantically trying to figure out how to exit. There were a couple of problems with that. First, the rumble and gurgle were in full effect. They and their crew of noisemakers had. not finished playing with me. There was a marching band with a full horn section. It is hard to leave when the band is still playing When the Saints Go Marching In.
It was made worse by the comments of the ladies in there who had any number of suggestions for how and what I should do, talk about catty.
So I sat there and waited for them to leave. As my legs began to go numb and my feet started to tingle I despaired of ever leaving. More women were coming into the bathroom. It felt like there was a steady stream of visitors. The more polite among them entered without being too obvious about the immediate gag reflex, but there were plenty of who coughed.
The situation was summed up well by a little girl who said "mommy, it stinks in here!"
After untold agony and frustration I made up my mind to make a run for it. So I pulled up my pants and massaged feeling back into my legs. I summoned up a ton of attitude and waltzed out the door of the stall and the bathroom to a number of shouts.
The only thing that I remember hearing was this: You didn't wash your hands.
(yes, it is another recycled post. But don't worry new material is sprinkled all over the place. Read on and enjoy.)
Where Daddy Bloggers Learn How To Be Rich
I'll let you in on a little secret. Shh...come closer because I don't want to yell. More importantly I am not very good at whispering, one of the challenges of having a deeper voice is that whispers are sometimes non-existent.
I am working at Odd Dad Out.
Yep, got me a gig there as one of the featured writers so now I have to work hard on being clean and respectable. Ok, that is not going to happen but I can promise that you don't want to miss out on the stuff that is going on there.
So take a moment to head on over and read my post Be a Better Blogger- Write More Frequently.
Fear not, I am not closing up shop here there is plenty more Shacky goodness to come.
I am working at Odd Dad Out.
Basically, this site is designed to make dad bloggers as rich as the moms (wink, wink). Did you know that a recent Harvard* study found that mommy bloggers are paid three times the amount of gift certificates and free samples than are their male counterparts? This indicates a disparagingly wide gap in gender blog equality, a gap that needs to be closed.
Yep, got me a gig there as one of the featured writers so now I have to work hard on being clean and respectable. Ok, that is not going to happen but I can promise that you don't want to miss out on the stuff that is going on there.
So take a moment to head on over and read my post Be a Better Blogger- Write More Frequently.
Fear not, I am not closing up shop here there is plenty more Shacky goodness to come.
Selling Services To Telemarketers
Hi kids,
As many of you know I sometimes play with telemarketers. I can't say that there is any rhyme or reason to it. It sort of depends on my mood and the approach of the telemarketer. There are some really good people out there who are just doing their job and then there are those who have all of the capabilities of an aussie bagel. No matter how hard they try they just aren't capable of getting it done.
But like I said, sometimes you find a gem and you end up with great blog fodder such as:
Sorry The Owner Is In Lebanon
More Fun with Telemarketers
Recently I decided to try a new tack with the telemarketers. I try to sell them life insurance, or some other service. Thus far it has been kind of fun. You should hear the surprise in their voice when I answer their sales pitch with one of my own.
And every now and then you find someone who has a little spunk of their own.
Telemarketer: Can I speak with Mr. Shack please?
Jack: I am not sure if he is available. Is he expecting your call?
Telemarketer: I have some very important news to give him.
Jack: That doesn't tell me anything. Do you know Mr. Shack?
Telemarketer: It is very important that I speak with him now.
Jack: It is very important that you tell me who you are.
Telemarketer: Sir, Mr. Shack is going to be quite cross if you don't connect us.
Jack: Actually he is more of a Magen David.
Telemarketer: Would you please find him for me?
Jack: He is not lost.
Telemarketer: Son. Your father is going to be quite angry if you play games with me.
Jack: What kind of games do you like to play?
Telemarketer: Please put your father on.
Jack: Hang on. Let me see if he has finished slaughtering my pet cow. Money has been awfully tight around here. We're going to miss old Bessie.
Telemarketer: Do you live on a farm?
Jack: Yes. It is a fun farm.
Telemarketer: Do you know that funny farm is a nickname for a hospital.
Jack: You'd have to be crazy to say something silly like that. Hang on, I hear my father coming in now.
I put the phone down and yell "Dad!" Then after a brief pause I pick it up and say hello.
Telemarketer: Mr. Shack I have very good news for you.
Jack: Are you with the lottery?
Telemarketer: No I am not with the lottery.
Jack: How about that Ed Mcmahon guy, you know Publisher's Clearinghouse.
Telemarketer: No. I am not with them either.
Jack: Do you carry life insurance?
Telemarketer: I do, but that is not the purpose of my call.
Jack: Hang on a second, no one wants to believe that they are going to die, but believe you me. One day you're going to be just another ground monkey. What is your family going to do then. How are they going to eat.
Telemarketer: I appreciate that but...
Jack: Appreciate isn't going to pay the bills. Tell me about yourself. How old are you? Are you married, do you have children, do you rent or own?
Telemarketer: Sir, if I can take a moment of your time...
Jack: Just relax. Everyone gets nervous. Answer the questions slowly. Perhaps it might help if you write them down. I can hold on while you get a pen and paper.
Telemarketer: I have a pen, paper and a computer.
Jack: You don't need all three. Just use whatever is easiest.
Telemarketer: I think that I am going to have to say goodbye.
Jack: You just said the magic words: "Good Buy." That is all I offer, "good buys." Why don't we discuss a plan that will provide enough cash to cover your mortgage and a couple of bucks for the wife and kids to live on.
Telemarketer: I think that you misunderstood me. I have a service that you might be interested in.
Jack: A service? You mean like customer service?
Telemarketer: Excellent customer service is something that I strive to provide.
Jack: Hey fella, if you are applying for a job I am going to need for you to send over a resume first.
Telemarketer: I already have a job.
Jack: But do you have a career. Why settle for a job when you can have more,.
Telemarketer: I am sorry. I am really going to have to hang up.
Jack: Just give me five more minutes and I am sure I can explain to you why our policies are superior to the other guys.
Click.
As many of you know I sometimes play with telemarketers. I can't say that there is any rhyme or reason to it. It sort of depends on my mood and the approach of the telemarketer. There are some really good people out there who are just doing their job and then there are those who have all of the capabilities of an aussie bagel. No matter how hard they try they just aren't capable of getting it done.
But like I said, sometimes you find a gem and you end up with great blog fodder such as:
Sorry The Owner Is In Lebanon
More Fun with Telemarketers
Recently I decided to try a new tack with the telemarketers. I try to sell them life insurance, or some other service. Thus far it has been kind of fun. You should hear the surprise in their voice when I answer their sales pitch with one of my own.
And every now and then you find someone who has a little spunk of their own.
Telemarketer: Can I speak with Mr. Shack please?
Jack: I am not sure if he is available. Is he expecting your call?
Telemarketer: I have some very important news to give him.
Jack: That doesn't tell me anything. Do you know Mr. Shack?
Telemarketer: It is very important that I speak with him now.
Jack: It is very important that you tell me who you are.
Telemarketer: Sir, Mr. Shack is going to be quite cross if you don't connect us.
Jack: Actually he is more of a Magen David.
Telemarketer: Would you please find him for me?
Jack: He is not lost.
Telemarketer: Son. Your father is going to be quite angry if you play games with me.
Jack: What kind of games do you like to play?
Telemarketer: Please put your father on.
Jack: Hang on. Let me see if he has finished slaughtering my pet cow. Money has been awfully tight around here. We're going to miss old Bessie.
Telemarketer: Do you live on a farm?
Jack: Yes. It is a fun farm.
Telemarketer: Do you know that funny farm is a nickname for a hospital.
Jack: You'd have to be crazy to say something silly like that. Hang on, I hear my father coming in now.
I put the phone down and yell "Dad!" Then after a brief pause I pick it up and say hello.
Telemarketer: Mr. Shack I have very good news for you.
Jack: Are you with the lottery?
Telemarketer: No I am not with the lottery.
Jack: How about that Ed Mcmahon guy, you know Publisher's Clearinghouse.
Telemarketer: No. I am not with them either.
Jack: Do you carry life insurance?
Telemarketer: I do, but that is not the purpose of my call.
Jack: Hang on a second, no one wants to believe that they are going to die, but believe you me. One day you're going to be just another ground monkey. What is your family going to do then. How are they going to eat.
Telemarketer: I appreciate that but...
Jack: Appreciate isn't going to pay the bills. Tell me about yourself. How old are you? Are you married, do you have children, do you rent or own?
Telemarketer: Sir, if I can take a moment of your time...
Jack: Just relax. Everyone gets nervous. Answer the questions slowly. Perhaps it might help if you write them down. I can hold on while you get a pen and paper.
Telemarketer: I have a pen, paper and a computer.
Jack: You don't need all three. Just use whatever is easiest.
Telemarketer: I think that I am going to have to say goodbye.
Jack: You just said the magic words: "Good Buy." That is all I offer, "good buys." Why don't we discuss a plan that will provide enough cash to cover your mortgage and a couple of bucks for the wife and kids to live on.
Telemarketer: I think that you misunderstood me. I have a service that you might be interested in.
Jack: A service? You mean like customer service?
Telemarketer: Excellent customer service is something that I strive to provide.
Jack: Hey fella, if you are applying for a job I am going to need for you to send over a resume first.
Telemarketer: I already have a job.
Jack: But do you have a career. Why settle for a job when you can have more,.
Telemarketer: I am sorry. I am really going to have to hang up.
Jack: Just give me five more minutes and I am sure I can explain to you why our policies are superior to the other guys.
Click.
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