Lucky Bucky

 

I have a new roommate. This time it's a white guy with three legs. Actually, sort of off white, and adorable. His name is Bucky, and he's a dog. So cute and Scout seems to really like him too. She went sniffing around his nether regions the other night, so she's interested. However, Bucky didn't go for it and there was a short confrontation. After I settled them both down, Scout kind of pouted. I think she was surprised that Bucky wouldn't let her do a complete examination. Anyway, they're getting along very well now. They walk together, and they both visited the hair salon together. Not to get their hair done. It's the place on the corner that Scout stops in every day at the end of her walk. Latta, the owner, gives Scout a cookie and the ladies all go gaga over her. Yesterday they got to go gaga over the two of them.

Bucky isn't my dog. I'm only his foster father while he goes through chemo and treatment for cancer. That's why he only has three legs. Lost the right front one to cancer and as of now the doctors aren't sure they got it all. So he needs more medical care. Which is what my job will be, taking him to the doctor and making sure all his needs are taken care of. So far the little guy is a dream roommate. Other than the fact that Scout has taught him to bark at everything they see out the front windows, he's been a sweetheart. My only problem is that one day I might have to give him up to a new forever home. However, I will be lobbying for permanent custody if that comes up.

Bread and Circuses

 

When I was fifteen years old I got my first real job that didn't involve delivering newspapers. It was working for a neighbor in his pizza joint as the sandwich and chicken guy. I made the sandwiches and chicken dinners. Somebody else made the pizzas. The first thing, very first thing Ray the owner showed me, was how to cut the Vienna Bread for the sandwiches.

"Cut the bread as long as your wiener."

He did not use the word 'wiener'. I only used that here because family reads this sometimes. Anyway, I was not shocked. I was not offended. I didn't storm off in a huff and whine about inappropriate behavior. I cut the bread and made Italian beef and sausage sandwiches.

A couple of weeks ago I ordered two long sleeve tee shirts from my favorite place. Eddie Bauer. They looked great as do all of Eddie Bauer clothes. Unfortunately, after I washed them, they shrunk. I had three inches from the end of the sleeve to my wrist. So I went on line to return them. Noticing in the fine print that they do not accept clothes after they've been washed, I clicked on the 'chat' icon. A very nice person chatted with me about my predicament and agreed that the shirts were damaged goods and gave me authority to return them. I could either send them back in the mail or return them to a store. I chose the store because I wanted to buy some more great Eddie Bauer clothes. Yesterday morning I drove on out to Old Orchard mall and walked into the Eddie Bauer Store.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I need to return these shirts. Either for exchange or credit."

The elderly clerk (Probably ten years younger than me) started typing away on the computer screen. When a quizzical look came over him, I showed him the return authorization on my phone.

"But you washed them. I can't let you return those shirts. You washed them."

I explained that I had already discussed that with the online chat person and they okayed it.

"Oh, I don't know. I'll have to go get my manager."

I responded, "Well then, go get his ass over here." Sure, I know. Sounds kind of rough, but I live in Chicago and that's how people talk. The guy gave me a look and told me, "We do not allow cursing in the store."

"Oh for krissakes, like you've never heard that before."

It seems that I was in a bad mood after driving all the way to Skokie only to be denied my return. May I also point out that I was wearing Eddie Bauer jeans, an Eddie Bauer tee shirt, and an Eddie Bauer jacket and sweatshirt.

Okay, this is already a short story too long. I'll get to the point. I was denied the return by the manager, Gavin, because I had washed the shirts. I also think the elderly clerk had whined to him about me using the word 'ass' and there was no way he was going to give in to me. Seriously, it wasn't a mean thing when I said to get his ass over here. It's just how some people talk sometimes. Like me. What a bunch of fragile people we have in our world these days. After leaving the store, I called Eddie Bauer customer support and will now mail my tee shirts back for a full refund and I got a ten dollar credit for my next purchase. The nice customer support lady in India also told me that she cannot get Gavin fired. 

One more thing. After making a few sandwiches at Ray's pizza place, Ray told me that I was making the sandwiches too big.

Meetings

 

I hate meetings. I know, they're important. They need to happen, but I hate them. It goes all the way back to Boy Scouts. Every Friday I had to show up to the Saint George School basement for boring scout meetings. The only good thing about the scout meetings were the other boys. I didn't realize it at the time, but that was when I had the first inkling I was gay. Fast forward to the 1980's and corporate life. Again, meetings. Stupid, boring meetings that probably needed to happen, but I couldn't stand them. There would always be that one person who took a deep dive into minutia. Things that nobody else cared about would be dug up, and we would have to discuss what font should be used for memos or some other useless crap. I spent twenty five years going to corporate meetings. Nothing good ever came from those meetings. They were almost always called to either take something away from us, or give us more work to do.

Every second Tuesday of the month the Model A Club has their meeting. I love my 1929 Ford Model A. I like my fellow Model A enthusiasts, mostly because they also have an old Ford Model A. Also, the club is a good source of information and knowhow. But the meetings, oy vey they are boring. Ninety five percent of the club members are older than me and probably heterosexual. Not that it should mean anything, but I now know how Mark must have felt when we went to Cracker Barrel for lunch. Most of the members have been members for decades and they all know each other. If the Model A Club served drinks and turned the lights down a little, I'm sure I could deal with it better, but I don't. So I sit there while the meeting drones on and the minutes of the last meeting are read. Melba toast is less dry than sitting through the minutes of the last meeting. Anyway, going to these meetings have only made me miss Mark more.  A meeting is always better when you have somebody with you. Somebody who will appreciate it when you roll your eyes. The only problem with taking Mark to one of my Model A meetings is that he would have never gone again. In fact, he may have died just to get out of going the first time.

Toilet Paper Review

 

Years ago I was into the ecology thing. I was living with my hippie friends out in Iowa, in a hundred year old farm house. We were eating whole wheat pancakes, flushing the toilet once a day. We drank goats milk, and smoked a lot of pot. There was an organic vegetable garden just outside the kitchen door, and we didn't eat meat. We were conserving the planet. We wore recycled clothing, I had a gas sipping Volkswagen van, and we paid for it all with a cool blues/hippie/rock band. Sure the band used electricity for the instruments, but it was music. You have to make some compromises. After a year of living 'off the land' (Which we weren't actually doing) I moved back to Chicago where I continued, off and on, as a vegetarian, ecology loving human. My problem is that I really liked automobiles. Also, meat, cigarettes, vodka, beer, and electricity. I liked heat in the winter. It became apparent to me after a few years that with the human population growing at an exponential rate, we didn't have a chance of saving the environment. At least not for human existence. I gave up worrying about things I couldn't control, like climate change. Still, over the years I have kind of shifted back and forth between complete disregard for environmental concerns, and half hearted participation in saving the planet. So that was where my mind was a few weeks ago while shopping at the Jewel supermarket. I was in the paper aisle. Toilet, towels, tissue paper, that kind of stuff. That's when I realized they were all out of my brand of toilet paper. There was another brand there on the shelf and it was on sale. It was an eco-friendly toilet paper made out of recycled paper. What the hell, I thought, I'll give it a try. I'll do my part helping the Earth and my fellow humans. I finally tried it out this week. I used my last roll of the brand I usually use, and mounted a roll of the 'green' toilet paper. Here is my review of that paper as told to me by my butt. Do not buy toilet paper made from recycled paper. Do not wipe your ass with it. Do not use it for anything other than stationary, or maybe for fine furniture sanding.