Skip to content
August 12, 2017 / themrtinney

Saturday musing… or …Where’s the damn spoon, Carl?

Just some random thoughts that swirl about in the area where my brain is supposed to be.  Such as:

  1.    Where do all the damn small spoons go?  Try this test yourself… reach into your silverware drawer, pull a spoon out of the spot where the spoons are segregated, and it will be a spoon the size of Rhode Island.  At some point in my life I had small spoons that would actually fit in your mouth, or a small pudding cup, or the kitchen.  Now I go to get a spoon to stir coffee or eat a small cup of pudding and it takes two hands to get it out.  I could scoop up a human heart with these things.  It makes me wonder – are the small spoons hiding out someplace with all those missing socks from the laundry?  Is there a spoon/sock coupe about to unfold?  Am I losing my mind?  Is Micheal Keaton not really the best batman??
  2.   I think I should write an apology letter to my liver.  If not for the prolonged sustained exposure to a variety of, mind you very quality, alcohols.. then at least for the party season of 1986 which also would put my stomach, cardiovascular system, and generally whole me up for an apology tour of sorts.  I’ll have to get that written stat.  The only question is do I address it Dear Sir?  Does your liver have its own gender identity?
  3.   I don’t mind this whole ‘working’ thing except for the part where I have to show up.  Let’s face it, if I could just get the direct deposit without the showing up part, my attitude would be vastly improved.  It’s all about priorities folks.  Working in a customer service industry as a verified misanthrope comes with some drawbacks.  Here is a brief list:
    1. Talking on the phone to people
    2. Talking in person to people
    3. Talking to people
    4. People
  4.   So body shaming is a big thing on the internet.  I’m not sure I understand exactly what it is.  I think it’s a version of bullying where people who consider themselves to be pretty, or thin, or particularly good at wearing stripes say nasty things about people like me who look like somebody violently stuffed a bear-skin rug with a frumpy 70-year-old.  I get it, but I guess I just have thicker skin than the average, out of shape American.  Or maybe it’s the bear-skin rug.
  5.  Final thought… If you could do anything you wanted today -anything at all- what would you choose?  I know, we are both thinking the same thing.  Let’s say it out loud at the same exact time: Drink!

    I’m left with the feeling somebody in the crowd said something like “go to France” or “save whale babies from global warming monkeys” and ruined that special moment.  Either way – have a great Saturday people.  I’ll handle the drinks for those of you heading off to France.

 

 

August 6, 2017 / themrtinney

Oh, I see… or …Go Crocs!

I’m going out to get glasses today.  This is a major defeat for me and my weak-ass brain.

I am supposed to wear glasses -bifocals actually- but when my last pair were damaged in bizarre accident involving my ass and the car seat, I stopped.  I tried going back to an older pair, but they were ‘old’ like people walking by me on the street immediately thought a time machine had whisked them back to the era of bell-bottoms, psychedelic drugs and Elvis side-burns (thankya… thankya very much).

So I embarked instead on a different journey.  I decided that my prescription was slight enough, both far and near, that I would just not get glasses again.  Mind over matter so to speak.  I went to my eye doctor and asked him if I had to wear glasses.  I mean, really?  He was very helpful and clearly stated it was up to me if I wanted to see or not and billed me fifty bucks.  I thanked him and walked into the edge of the doorway on my way out of his office.  This was a sign of things to come, but I couldn’t see it.

That was about a year or more ago.  Vonnie has found this ever so entertaining.  She’s always encouraging me and my journey to be free of eyewear through sheer willpower.  Helpful comments include:

  • That’s just stupid.
  • Oh my God, you are so cheap.
  • That’s what you get. *walked into something.  again*
  • The TV is 48 inches and you are three feet away from it for God’s sake!

My not choosing to replace my glasses comes up in conversations often for reasons I don’t quite follow.  Conversations that always end in “for the love of sanity, why don’t you just get glasses?” have included:

Me: *takes exit off highway*

Von:  “Why are you taking this exit?”

Me: “Duh, if I don’t get off at the exit we need, we’ll just drive forever and end up in Florida.  You don’t want to go to Florida do you?  Heat, crocodiles…”

Von:  “Alligators.  It’s alligators.  No – I don’t want to go to Florida, but you just took the wrong exit.  Again.”

Me;  “Did I?  I’m pretty sure alligators have the teeth outside like a reptile kind of boar and crocs have them inside.  Florida is crocs.”

Von:  “Oh, you mean like that college football team the “Florida Crocs?”  The only Crocs you find in Florida are those ugly foot Crocs.  Find a place to turn around, you’ve already gone 10 miles in the exact wrong direction and you are daft to boot.”

Me:  “I’ll turn around, but I’m not conceding on the crocodile thing.”

Or this one:

Me:  *squinting hard*  “Isn’t that Jane over there by that drink machine?”

Von:  *giving me the look* “That’s a cardboard sign for Subway subs.”

Me:  “Are you sure? Oh well – let’s go get a Coke.”

Von:  “That’s not a drink machine.  It’s a Redbox.’

Me:  “Red, Blue whatever.  I’m good with Coke or Pepsi.”

So after thousands of wrong exits, hundreds of miss-sightings (like the Black Bear in our yard that turned out to be a wood pile or the parking lot pavement that turned out to be a huge curb and a $265.00 tire) I’m surrendering.  I’ll have to admit, it will be nice to see things better again but I just hate spending the money on something I’ll probably sit-on in the near future.  I think the first thing I’m going to do with my new glasses is look up Crocodiles vs Alligators.

 

 

August 4, 2017 / themrtinney

What the Fall?… or … Is that a water bottle, or are you just glad to see me?

There are 2.5 million “Fall” leaves on my front lawn but it isn’t Fall yet, so I’m thoroughly confused.  Or maybe I’m bewildered.  The difference between those two have always confused me.  I think.

It’s kind of like that time I found a squirrel sitting on the hood of my car just staring at me like he belonged there and I was interrupting him chewing on the plastic water bottle he was clutching.  This was disconcerting in several ways, the first being there was a squirrel sitting on the hood of my car who had a severe attitude, one lazy eye and a look on his little squirrel face like “what you gonna’ do about it, bitch?!”

Second, he was eating a plastic bottle, which is really bad for anybody to eat, but I’m pretty sure this squirrel had eaten his share of plastic because he didn’t even pause while staring me down, which left me wondering if he crapped 3D art or something – I mean how would that come out exactly?

Third, it was disconcerting because no matter how close I got to the car, since I needed to get in the car to go to work, he didn’t move, so I was left with this vision of me driving down Jeff Davis highway with an angry, lazy-eyed squirrel chewing on a water bottle as a hood ornament.  Then again – that might fit in on the commute I have.

I’ve gotten distracted again, however, because we were talking about Fall leaves covering my yard without the common decency to realize its Summer and there are, literally, no Summer leaves or it wouldn’t be labeled “Fall” like it is.  I mean, come on, it isn’t like Summer goes around blasting 100 degree heat in early October with some attitude like “it’s not my season but, screw you, Fall, I can hang out in October.”

That would be tragic, because then Winter would probably be all jealous and send some snow in, let’s say, July.  Of course, that might screw with the squirrels and I can just see myself yelling “vengeance is mine!” as they all suddenly fall prey to the unexpected cold weather, unable to hold their water bottles and look snarky at people.  Which brings me back to the question of how a squirrel gets a lazy eye.  I mean, did he get poked with a water bottle in a gang related turf fight?

So the leaf thing is pretty much like the god of trees came down from tree god heaven and shook one of the trees in my front yard until it crapped the equivalent of two dump trucks of leaves (just a guesstimate) and I don’t know why.  I may never know why, I suppose, but I have seen some suspicious looking squirrels roaming the area and it just makes me wonder:  how hard can a squirrel shake a branch while holding a water bottle?

July 28, 2017 / themrtinney

Beaver Tails… or… Working Saturday Sucks!

My dog crapped on the deck and I have to work Saturday so I’m pretty much having the worst life that anyone has ever had.  I’m sure there are some other tough situations out there, but they are not mine, so that qualifies mine as worst.  This is my logic – you can disagree if you enjoy being wrong.

I left work today with the knowledge that it was Fake Friday.  I have three ‘real’ Fridays, where Saturday morning comes and the hangover I have is about 212% less prominent because I slept until 10am.  Then there is Fake Friday, where I wake up at 6am because I have to work that Saturday and I feel like my head is being bludgeoned by two giant badger tails keeping rhythm to a dubstep tune that only they can hear.  I don’t mind badgers… but lord do I hate dubstep.

So you would probably recommend that on Fake Friday, I don’t stay up until 3am drinking Crown Royal shots and chugging beer bottles like I’m trying to break a world record.  There you are being wrong again.  You see, our four fathers (yes, mainly four – like Washington, Lincoln, Nixon and maybe Justin Bieber) created America to be just the kind of place where you can stay up all night on Friday and not be punished by work the next morning.

That’s what working Saturday really is: punishment.  It’s like water-boarding, only mostly more dry.  It’s like being grounded to your room as an adult only your room has a work desk, computer and some guy named Adam who wants his oil changed.  Well no, Adam, I don’t want to help you change your oil on Saturday.  I’d rather be asleep while those beavers get exhausted trying to pound my brain to mush because I don’t wake up until they are finished, Adam.

If I were to write an open letter to Adam about having to come to work on a Saturday just so he can get an oil change it would look something like this:

Dear Adam:  Nope.

I don’t want to get up at 6am.  My alarm should be set for “beaver-tails have vacated the area:30” or not even set at all.   So trying to be wrong (again) you might say, “hey, Mr. Tinney – you signed up for these work hours when you took the job!  Why complain now, pal?!”  My response is three-fold – although it’s not really folded unless you print this page and fold it:

  1.  I am not your pal (depending on who you are.  If your name is Adam and you enjoy rollerblading, long walks on the beach and oil changes on Saturday I am definitely not.)
  2. Regret is a constitutionally protected right.  One of the Amendments says something about tyranny and not working on Saturdays.  If it doesn’t, it was supposed to; and
  3. Shut up.

So anyway… I have to go.  It’s Fake Friday and those beavers aren’t going to show-up if I don’t water my liver, Adam.

July 24, 2017 / themrtinney

Which wire is which… or… I can technician too!

So… it’s not everyday that I get to enjoy a good laugh at work.  Crying, moaning and bitching are on the regular – laughing not so much.   I work in an automotive repair shop as a Service Advisor, which is basically a customer service job that resembles being water-boarded while trying to operate a PC with your hands tied to your ankles while people yell obscenities at you… but more on that later.

I was talking to a technician today who was doing a wiring repair.  Having never been an actual mechanic, I had absolutely 0.000% clue what he was doing.  For all I know he might have been just standing there with some wires so that he looked like he was mechanicing something (that’s a real word, shut up).

I asked what he was doing.  His response:  ‘What I was told to do.”  So – I threw out the idea that he was fixing something and determined he was just fucking around with some wires because he was told to play with some wires.   There were three wires:  Red, Blue and Shit Brown.  I quickly determined that the red wire meant bad things – like ‘cut the red wire MacGyver!’ and should be left alone.  The Shit Brown one was, well, shit brown and should be hidden immediately out of sight.  The Blue wire made me think of happy thoughts, so that must be the good wire that makes the stuff in the car go.  I shared this with the technician.  We had a good laugh.  I’m sure he called me an idiot after I walked away and I don’t blame him.. but he resembles an actual Viking, so there’s that (shout out to Sven!)

Anyway… Service Advisor sounds like a very fancy position.  Like some translator of all things mechanical, I basically get paid to tell people what the technician says is wrong with their vehicle so it is more understandable.  Some people call this ‘layman’s terms’ but I call it ‘your shit is broke terms’ because I don’t know this Layman guy.  For example, a technician might say something like:

“Well, the farbulator demistified the contributor and overbobulated the whosit.”

Which I will tranlate to the customer as:

“Sir, your car is broke – that will be $1,500.00.”

One of my other roles, which makes me think of rolls and makes me super hungry, is to perform something called an ‘up-sale.’  People in retail will know this procedure, which is basically taking a customer who came in for, lets say, an oil and lube, and convincing them to replace their entire engine instead.

That may seem a bit exaggerated, but you get the idea.  My goal is to sell additional maintenance that the customer will benefit from and produce more income for the dealership as a result.  This is not a bad thing, although the world has painted it with an ugly brush.  A normal up-sale might be:

“Mr. Goshmebosh, your oil change is going fine, but your power steering fluid looks like dried up goats blood – we should do a fluid exchange to keep your power steering system from defecting to Canada.  That’ll be $129.00 if you authorize it.”

The world has demonized this process to some degree and might see it as:

“Mr. Goshmebosh, I am Satan himself come to steal your money and sleep with your spouse.  You need to flush your power steering fluid or you and your entire family are going to die in a very fiery crash – complete with helicopter news coverage – due to an inability to steer your car.  If you love your children, you must do this.  That’ll be $999.00 plus $9.99 re-occurring fees.”

The disparity between the reality of my job and the perception of my job is discouraging, to put it mildly.  If I have one more person shout “diagnostic fee!” with the same indignation they would shout, oh, “genocide!” I may lose my ever-loving mind – which is an interesting term because I’m unsure if I am loving “ever” or “mind” when I use it.

There is a book to be written about my daily life in the auto industry, but that is not for this blog.  However, a great title might be “Why I’m An Alcoholic:  Truth Bitches.”

 

 

July 19, 2017 / themrtinney

Diet logging… or… Rumsoakedchocolatecaketacobellburger

Diet Log – Day 1

Did pretty good today if you don’t count the Swiss Cake Rolls and the McDonalds run.  Could have been worse – I probably shouldn’t try to quit drinking alcohol Starbucks and fattening foods at the same time.  Even though I cheated, I did feel a little edgy… like when I told that customer “oh yeah!? well people in hell want ice water!”  It was a little strong in response to asking where the bathroom was.  Hopefully Day 2 will be better.

Diet Log – Day 2

A customer asked me to throw away their empty Starbuck’s mocha cup.  It’s in my drawer labeled “in case of emergency.”  I might have to smell it once in a while to help with the Starbuck’s withdrawal symptoms, which include headaches, a slightly bad mood and the desire to kill anyone I speak to.

Diet Log – Day 3

I thought by now I’d be use to the dieting thing, but instead I found myself licking the Starbuck’s cup in my drawer and hissing at a co-worker who suggested it was not a good idea.  I’m having daydreams of chocolate cake eagles flying me off into a buttery sunset with clouds made of Twinkie filling.  They keep dropping me because I’m eating their legs.  It’s ok though, because I fall into a small pond filled entirely with taco meat and safely eat my way out.

Diet Log – Day 4

I stole a co-workers Big Mac.  And fries.  And milk-shake.  While brandishing an envelope opener.  I have been banned from the break-room and ordered to stop dieting.  They just want me to be fat, so I have a secret plan not to fall into their trap.

Diet Log – Day 5

My secret plan failed.  My scheme was to buy swiss cake rolls, tacos and tater tots and keep them at my desk to provide the illusion I was off my diet to fool my captors… I mean co-workers.  Everything went perfectly up until the point at which I ended up in the bathroom vomiting one dozen tacos, three pounds of tater tots and nine swiss cake rolls. Note to self:  swiss cake rolls taste great in either direction!

Diet Log – Day 6

Noon log:  I’m back on track with my diet.  Today I’ve only had bottled water and a protein shake.  Feeling great!

PM log:  Just finished an entire Turkey and twelve beers.

Diet Log – Day 7

I quit!  Brought a dozen donuts in from Dunkin Donuts as a peace-offering to the staff.  One made it all the way to work… I split it with the guy I nearly shanked for the Big Mac.

July 18, 2017 / themrtinney

Nice to see you… or… Nobody ‘nose’

Did you know that your eyes constantly see your nose and your brain just decides not to tell you?  Well, that’s the way it usually works, but today, I became aware of my nose.  It’s absolutely paralyzing.

It’s like you suddenly have somebody angrily pointing their fleshy fingertip right in-between your eyes just barely visible, but undoubtedly there.  Also, I’m not sure why the somebody is ‘angrily’ pointing, but trust me, there’s some anger involved here.

So I decided to do what I generally do when I have any strange illness, malady or unexplainable paranormal event – like that time I was convinced my Basset Hound was channeling the dead because her eyes looked way too human and she had a sudden liking for vegetables (Basset Hounds hate vegetables).  I googled it.  By the way, you can perform an exorcism on a Basset Hound even if they are not Catholic.

IMG_1167

Google suggested searches – Exhibit A

As you can clearly see from Exhibit A – if you begin to search for “i can see my own” then “nose” comes up fourth.  First of all, this is devastating.  My brain decided to curse me with a known, debilitating issue and can’t do any better than fourth?!  Second, I want to re-emphasize that you can exorcise the dead from a Basset Hound but encourage you to go easy on the holy water because they mostly just drink it and then slobber on your cross.

Where was I?  Oh yeah – we were talking about me seeing my nose.  I got so distracted with the Basset Hound flash-back I forgot about it and don’t see it anymore… but my dog sure is looking at me funny right now.  Gotta’ go get my cloak…