Mom's trip to Walmart

I was talking to mom earlier this week on the phone and she told me about a recent trip to Walmart.  My mom loves going to the local Fern Creek Walmart.  She buys quality items at an affordable price and she gets entertainment for free.

She was on her way to my aunt's house and needed three items.  As she went to the express checkout, there was a very large, smelly biker asshole (SBA) with a cart full of things going through the express lane.  If we do a comparison of the tape, my mom is five foot two inches and weighs whatever a thin grandma that size weighs.

This pissed her off to no end.  (As I told this story to my coworkers in IT, they all drew a connection and realized where I got "it" from.  What "it" is must be my sense of fairness in this world.)

My mom glanced up at the sign and down at the guy.  He didn't notice this, so she stepped back, looked up, stepped forward and looked down again.

He still did not notice.

On the third attempt, the SBA did notice.

"Do you have a problem?" he asked her.

The cashier, who already seem scared of the guy stopped for a moment and likely held her breath waiting to see what would happen.  Apparently he was a very scary looking guy.

The sixty-five year old grandmother, in a calm soothing voice, holding back her righteous anger at the SBA responded.

"I don't have a problem, but I think you do.  In addition to not being able to read, you can't count."  

When my mom began to retell this story at my aunt's 30 minutes later, they had minor heart attacks.

"I'm not holding up anyone." he responded.

"You are holding me up," she answered, "I have three items and am stuck behind you.  There's a reason it is called an express lane."

Two of the aunts asked her if she was afraid he would be waiting for her outside.  Mom wasn't worried because there are cameras everywhere and it was daylight.  Still, I think she needs to consider whether to comment or not in the future.  Luckily, in this case, the SBA probably decided that shiving a 65 year-old grandmother would not build his reputation, finished up and left.

My mom then complained to the girl.  Her defense was that it is only a suggestion that the person have fifteen items or less.  They also are not allowed to turn people away.  I hold Walmart management responsible for not enforcing these rules.  

I have equally been frustrated by this over the years.  People who go through those lines with too many items are simply self-absorbed assholes, but what can we do?  

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.

My Mother, The Felon

It had been an uneventful week.  I spent a lame night in Mason, Ohio, for New Year's Eve and lost two hours of my life watching "Nacho Libre."

Seriously.  How bad is a movie when this is the funniest line?





So my weekend arrives and I ran over to my mom's house after going into work to wrap a couple items up on Saturday morning.

Within two minutes, she walks out with five Christmas presents.  I forgot that I had seen her during the holiday multiple times, but none of those were at the house where I would have my presents.

I shook the first box and guessed a shirt.

As I opened it, I saw it was a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Mom?  What are you doing?  You can't use these for gifts.  That's illegal."

"But they were the perfect size for wrapping gifts."

"Mom.  It's a felony or something."

"What?  Are you gonna turn me in?"

"Oh my God."  It was ridiculous to argue.  The damage was done.

I opened the box and I got socks.  

I open the second box and it is also a USPS Two Day Priority shipping box.

"Seriously?" I ask.  "This is a crime or something."

"They don't know I have them."  

Of course my typing this story up makes it visible for them, I guess.

"They will have your face on the wall up there if they catch you."

"They should've taken my photo while I was there because I am not going back."  She was getting defiant.  I see where my niece Avery gets it from.

The gift was a flannel shirt.

"You have to make a promise though," she said.  "For you to have this shirt, you have to throw out one of you old ones."

"No.  I just wear the old ones around the apartment."

"They're gross and ratty," she insisted.  

"I only have one left."

"It has to go."

She thought I still had one in a photo I have on Facebook when my now 16 year old nephew was born.  I got rid of it a year or so ago.

Bryon and Calvin, 11/21/96

That was one of my favorite shirts for years.  I did not so much as throw it out as it seems to have disintegrated.  I think it was officially gone after I vacuumed up the flannel molecules and changed my furnace filter.

I opened up the third gift and once again was another USPS box with another flannel shirt in it.

She slid the fourth box over and told me it was from dad.  It had different dimensions that the other three boxes.

I open it and it's ANOTHER USPS box.

"I knew I should've stopped you with those ramekins.  It was a gateway crime."

I open it up and it was a black sweatshirt and sweatpants.  

"Oh," she said.

"What?"

"That's not what I was expecting.  Your dad asked me, 'Do you think Bryon would wear a white sweat suit?'  I told him, 'No, he take it back because he will say it makes him look like a fucking snowman.'"

The fifth gift came in it's own box, so no crimes were committed in wrapping it.

I did check and according to the USPS website:

The terms of Agreement for the use of United States Postal Service shipping supplies is as follows: I understand that Express Mail service, Priority Mail service, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International packaging is the property of the United States Postal Service and is provided solely for sending Express Mail, Priority Mail, Global Express Guaranteed, Express Mail International and Priority Mail International. Misuse may be a violation of federal law.

I guess there is some wiggle room on "may be a violation?"  

May be it's not?

The Bryon Apocalypse

Today marks the end of the Mayan calendar and hopefully it marks an end to all the stupid Mayan Apocalypse jokes.  I am sure it is the end of the world for some people.  One website calculated 250,000 – 300,000 die every day.  Hopefully I am not going to be one of them nor is anyone I know.

It is interesting though, wondering how they determined the Mayan’s selected this date.

Perhaps it was some kid’s homework assignment?

Teacher : “I want you to carve a three wall essay that takes the calendar into the future as far as you can.”

As most kids are apt to do, this student did the minimum.

Or what if it was some stoner who halfway through his IT project decided to go smoke a bowl and he strolled down to the Siete/Once (7/11) to get some cheesy poofs only to get run over by a reckless Mayan god trying to put her make up on in the rear view mirror? 

They had cars, right?  I keep reading they were advanced.

It got me thinking of my legacy.  In IT development, the average system life span once in production is maybe three or four years.  Just yesterday I was setting up a table for pay periods and I mulled over how far into the future to take even if the chances of the system being around five years from now is very, very slim.

Who’s to say in the distance future, when archeologists come across my virtual server that holds my SQL database, and they see that my pay period table ends on October 7^th, 2031, that the world doesn't go apeshit over my calendar ending because I thought 500 seemed like a nice round number to represent the number of pay periods to generate in the system, retroactive to August? 

Will it be considered a prophecy?

Honestly, it was arbitrarily chosen and yet, I wonder, will this be known in the future as "The Bryon Apocalypse?" 

It could make me immortal, like a Mayan god, provided that I am wrong. 

***

In retrospect, I think I should add 12 records more so it is 512 records which is a binary number and computers are all about ones and zeroes.  YMMV.

Driving a Stolen Car in Minnesota

I spent last weekend end catching two Springsteen shows in Minnesota.  It is REALLY cold in Minnesota. It's so cold that polar bears won't live here. I know this because I did not see one.

My trip began with my trip to Matt's for a Jucy Lucy as soon as I left the airport.

I was also invited to write the review for the first night for Springsteen's website and thanks to great editing, it came out quite readable.

I even got to meet Joseph again.  I first met him on the Tom Joad tour back in 1996 and had not seen him for 16 years.

The second night of the show was quite amazing.  It started with meeting up with Joseph and hanging out with him for a couple hours while we waited for the wristbands to be given out.  The first wristband entered us in a drawing for the pit.  If we were successful in winning the lottery, we would receive a second wristband and enjoy the show within 70 feet of the stage.

While waiting in line, he had pulled out two songs names on cardboard signs he had been chasing for a long time; "Streets of Fire" and "From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come.)"  As someone else once said, Springsteen fans look at set lists of shows they don't attend and it's similar to being a baseball card collector.  We say "Got it, got it, got it, NEED IT!" as they go down the list.  "Streets of Fire" is the last song off "Darkness on the Edge of Town" that Joseph needs to complete the album.

We were off to the side having secured our pit entrance and he was trying to decide what song to put on the back of the two signs.  I asked him if he had Sharpie's on him to create the sign and he pulled a seven pack out of his pocket.  Springsteen fans are prepared for many roadside emergencies.

"You know what was on the setlist last night that he didn't play?" I asked.

"What?"

"Stolen Car."

Joseph was on his knees already when I shared this and he fell forward with his hands on the floor, head on the floor, fully devastated he did not get to see that song.  Bruce, for some reason, decided he did not want to play it last night and audibled something else.  The devastation was clear.  I felt bad for revealing that to him.

Then it struck me.

"Put 'Stolen Car' on the sign," I suggested.  "It was on there last night.  He might decided to play it as they soundchecked it."

He was slow and deliberate making the sign, even including a car as a graphic in the bottom left corner.  Of the three songs, I thought this would have the best chance being played.

Then I had an even grander idea.  

I would take one sign and be at the back of the pit, Joseph would be at the front of the pit.  During the night, Bruce would come out to the middle stage at the back of the pit four times and hopefully see the sign.  Having the signs separated seemed like it would increase the chances rather than two people next to each other.

I had the sign with "From Small Things" and "Stolen Car" written on either side and got on the wall against the middle stage upon entering the pit.  There were two ladies were to my right and as luck would have it, one of them was from Columbus.  We struck up a conversation as I was wearing my Ohio State sweatshirt and had seventeen years of living there to share stories about the area.

Her friend was quite attractive and it struck me that if I notice her friend, Bruce Springsteen is also much more likely to notice her than he is to notice me.  I needed to get her to hold the sign up for me.  I was trying to figure someway to arrange this without sounding creepy and then the opportunity presented itself.  They asked me if I could help hold their spot while they went to get a drink; they even offered to by me a drink if I held their spot.  I said I would, but rather than a drink, when Bruce is at the middle stage, could you hold the sign up for me?

She agreed.

Mission accomplished, I went and sat in some seats because I had a long night of standing ahead of me.  A little later I met a couple from Minneapolis who sat down in their actual seats next to me.  They had not been to a concert in years, but they were there to see Bruce.  The husband had a great story about them actually sitting next to Bruce a couple years ago at orientation at Boston College.  The wife laughed about how hard it was to "be cool" and not embarrass themselves or Bruce and Patti.

When the lights went down, Bruce came out with a surprise opener of  "I'm a Rocker," and then launched into "Hungry Heart."  As expected, during "Hungry Heart," he was out at the middle stage and I think he saw the sign, because once he got back to the stage, he ran through several audibles including what I believe is only the second live performance of this song with the E Street Band since 1985.

It was magnificent.




Joseph missed out again on "Streets of Fire," getting "Something in the Night" from the same album instead, but I really think "Stolen Car" made up for it.

It turned out Bruce had tossed out most of the opening songs on the original set list and five of the first seven songs were audibles.  I love that randomness and looseness they can have.

I don't know if this is considered a proper sign request that was played or not amongst those in my group, but I am counting it as the plan worked even if he did not pull the sign up.  The end result was the same.  :)

Swinging Cactus

A couple Fridays back, my coworker Melissa and I had gone to lunch at Texas Roadhouse. 

For some reason, during the week, the only day they are open for lunch is Friday, so it is always quite crowded.  As a result, the service tends to be slower.  It did give me time to look around the decor from my seat during occasional lulls in the conversation.

On the ledge was a series of small cacti scattered around to the walkway.

"Do you think those are real cacti?" I asked Melissa.

"They look real."

I studied the one closest to me; it was about 6 feet away.

"I don't know," she replied.

I looked at the needles on the stump and they seemed to be curved downward, as if gravity had taken it's toll on it.  What I recall of a cactus is the needles are straight.  The needles also looked colored, but I am color blind and they were quite small.  I also thought that was risky to have real cacti out where a child could touch it or an elderly person could fall into it.  Or even worse, someone could knock it over the ledge onto someone below.

"I think it's fake."  I determined that the risk for an injury to the general public was too high for it to be real.

"Why not touch it?" she dared me.

Maybe I'll just pick it up and smack the waitress in the side of the face with it."  Our waitress was actually quite pretty.  She was blonde and probably about 27 years old. 

Melissa sat next to me for about 16 months and knew my sense of humor well.  I also knew hers well and it did not surprise me she burst out laughing at the thought.

I also decided I would throw Melissa under the bus just for fun.

The pretty waitress came back to our table.

"I was wondering, are those cacti real?"

"No, they're fake," she answered cheerfully. 

"I was going to say, that would be dangerous."

She took a couple steps over and patted the rubber tips on the plant to show they were not real needles.

"That's a relief."  I pointed to Melissa and said, "She wanted to hit you in the side of the face to see if it was real!"

Melissa  screamed, "What!" while simultaneously laughing.  The waitress burst out laughting as well.

"I never said that," insisted Melissa.  How did she not see me doing this from a mile away?  She sat next to me all those months after all and knows my sense of humor.

The waitress through the laughter assured her, "I, somehow, don't think you were the one that said that."

I sat there afterwards, during the meal, and wondered what would actually enrage someone so much as to pick up a cactus and smack someone with it.