Conversations with Mom

I have recently been contemplating going back to school.  I graduated with my MBA in 2009 and that should be enough, but what I found was that I really enjoyed being back in the academic environment.  My undergrad years were not quite so enjoyable, but grad school was different.  I was older, more mature, and not as much into partying as I was back then.

One of the things I had always considered was being a lawyer.  For example, I hate getting screwed over by insurance companies.  

A couple weeks back I was at my mom's talking about it and my options of law school when I was at her house one Saturday morning.  I was excited with the opportunity although the opportunity may not materialize.

"How fun would that be, me in court?" I asked her.

"I don't know," she said.

"Can't you just hear me now?  'Your honor, permission to treat this jackass as a hostile witness?'"

"I don't think that would be a good idea.  He can fine you or put you in jail."

I had a recent accident where the guy pulled out in front of me.  I had even created my line of questioning before they decided they could not beat my evidence.  

I demonstrated how I would ask my questions for her.

"Are you an idiot?" I would ask the defendant.

After the objection, I would point out that he couldn't be smart for running a two way stop where cross traffic does not stop and in this scenario, I was "cross traffic."

After that objection, I would say, so "You're right, I'm mistaken.  He's a genius."

My mom looked at me, with some concern in her eye.  "You're worrying me," she said.  "I think that might get you sent to jail for contempt.  The judge would not put up with you mocking a court of law."

"I'm not mocking the court, I'm mocking the idiot defendant.  There is a big difference there."  

"Bryon, I don't think you can afford to be a lawyer.  Every appearance will cost you $3000 in fines."

***

Today I stopped off at my mom's and while sitting there, she could not get her phone to work.  I told her to take the battery out when it suddenly rang.

She looked at me and said, "Stop calling me.  Why are you calling me?  I am trying to fix my phone!!!"

I was perplexed as I looked up from the iPad and over at my phone sitting on the table.

"I'm not calling you.  My phone's right there."

The phone kept ringing and she turned so I could see it.  "See?  You're calling me!!"  

The screen said Brandon Jordan.  That's my brother.

"Mom, that's not me.  It says 'Brandon.'  I'm "Bryon.'"

"Oh."

She answered the call, laughing, unable to catch her breath.  

***

My brother, dad and nephew Cole came over for a bit and then left. 

I went to the medicine cabinet to get some ibuprofen.

I initially picked up naproxen and then she walked over and picked up the acetaminophen.  I took two and noticed they were blue.

"Why are these blue?"  I threw them in my mouth and swallowed them without water which made her gag.

Then I read the label and realized what she gave me.  These are "PM."

"Let me see that."  She glances at the label.   "They help you sleep. At least they're not extra strength."

Eight seconds later she reads the front of the bottle.  "Oh, these are extra strength.  You better start driving home before you get tired and need a nap."

"Oh my God.  You drugged me!"

I made it home in 25 minutes and was napping 15 minutes later.  Glad I only took two of them.

It's a Buckeye Thing

I was on the way home, having stopped at my watering hole in J-town, when I decided to stop and harrass the local Little Caesar's Pizza. Going on 3 years now, they have advertised their pizza is "Hot and Ready."

Guess what? They are full of shit. 

Eleven times out of twelve, not that I keep a spreadsheet, I have stopped and asked them if they understand the definition of what "Hot and Ready" means when I walk in and ask for one of these mythical pizzas. I even use air quotes as I ask and then stand there waiting for a response. 

I think I have a better chance of being struck by lightning than actually getting a pizza that is "Hot and Ready" from these brazen liars. 

So I walk back to my car empty handed and head to the next exit and decided to stop at Wendy's. 

I have a terrible history with Wendy's as well. They do not know how to take an order. I ask for a hamburger without mayonnaise and lettuce and inevitably, I get lettuce and/or mayonnaise. It's like they are pushing a lettuce and mayonnaise agenda.   I went nine times in a row during 2012 and they messed it up seven times, not that I keep a spreadsheet. 

I walked around to my table and I notice at another table by the door is a table of three large sized African-American men. I am guessing they are my age. One of them has a sweet, black leather coat with Ohio State across the back.  

It's not uncommon to come across a Buckeye fan down here, but this was a worn jacket and it was clear he had been a long time fan.  I am wearing my scarlet Ohio State jacket as well, but his back is towards me, so there's no plan initially of shouting "O-H" and waiting for an "I-O" response. 

I sat quietly, eating my meal.

The shift manager walked out as I was finishing up. He walked over to clean tables and asked the three men if everything was OK. They responded it was great. 

He walked over to me and saw I also wore my Buckeyes proudly. 

"Hey," he said, "You're both Buckeye fans!" 

Without hesitation, as the three of them then glanced over to me, I said, "What are you saying? That all Buckeye fans know each other?" 

I never heard three people laugh so hard in my life. 

The Wendy's manager seemed uncomfortable. 

I finished my meal and went to the garbage can and threw the trash away. 

"Go Bucks," I said smiling to my friend I never met. 

He looked up smiling and said, "O-H!" 

I responded, "I-O!" and left into the night. 

It's a Buckeye thing.