My mother, full of timely wisdom, used to say by way of comfort during difficult trials growing up that I should count my blessings, because things could be much worse. Although this generally did not elicit a great degree of thankfulness on my part, I have come to take comfort in this philosophy.
Take my co-worker, for example.
There is evidently some sort of technology warp around her home, such that no two pieces of technology ever work at the same time, and sometimes none of them works. If cable is humming along as it should, the phone is dead. If the phone is working, the AC is not. Though normally many of these components function quite independently, in her case some sort of interconnectedness binds them all together, and there is apparently a limit to how many can function all at the same time.
For a time her cable was out, and the poor creature had to resort to dial-up Internet. "I've gone 20 days without cable," she confided.
We suggested that "20 Days Without Cable" might be a nice title for a reality show, on which contestants vie to see who can go the longest as, gradually, piece by piece of modern technology is forceably removed from their daily lives.
Then, in the cruel reality show that is my co-worker's life, even her dial-up stopped working. Truly, I count my blessings.
She fears that some sort of curse has been placed on her, perhaps for transgressions unknown, and has been advised to make penance, preferably in several ways and in keeping with different faiths. She is quite willing to do this, if only she could be assured that such efforts would result in being able to Google again in a timely manner.
She suggests that in the meantime, anyone wishing to get in touch with her at home could resort to a caveman-style communication, wherein a friend would scrawl a large message on the side of her home, and she would reply in like manner:
Friend: HOW ARE YOU GETTING ALONG LIVING IN THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY?
Co-worker: FINE! I AM EVEN LEARNING TO BAKE BREAD IN THE TRADITION OF MY FOREMOTHERS!
She has also theorized that perhaps she was actually meant to be Amish, and that somehow her non-technological roots are dogging her in an effort to return her to the fold. In support of this theory, I pointed out that she does have a common Amish first name.
If the Amish theory is correct, somewhere her modern twin is living in an Amish community, ever under a cloud of suspicion for displaying technological wisdom in a non-technological world. On market day she probably sneaks into some Internet cafe, where she makes exhaustive efforts to connect with a twin she knows is out there somewhere.
But it is unlikely they will ever meet, unless the twin can somehow make it to my co-worker's house and scrawl a message on the side.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Monday, September 28, 2009
How may I not help you?
Employees are constantly dealing with interruptions in the workplace, such as phone calls from fellow employees wanting to know where some tardy project is, e-mails from fellow employees wanting to know where some tardy project is, and bosses who feel that playing Internet paintball is not an appropriate use of worktime.
In our case we also deal with interruptions at the front door, mainly involving individuals who think they are in one place when they are someplace else entirely, and having to convince them of this fact in a timely manner so that we can get back to the important work we were doing before we were interrupted, namely Internet paintball. Since we do not have a receptionist, it is up to us common workers to answer these inquiries and, when possible, make the individuals feel very guilty for interrupting our important work and convince them to never bother us again.
For instance, people are constantly confusing our address -- 10011001010 -- with the address across the street -- 10011001011 -- and stopping to ask us where 10011001011 is, and are we sure we are not 100110010011, because they cannot find it, and where is it? They look suspiciously at us when we say no, we are not 10011001011, we are 10011001010, and they look past us into the office, as if suspecting that somewhere within its depths we are harboring 10011001011, and that we are deliberately keeping this information from them.
On top of it, the address these individuals are looking for houses administrative hearing offices, so it is likely that at least some of them are a little disgruntled at whatever conditions led to them having a hearing, and the last thing we need are lost, disgruntled individuals knocking at our door and having to tell them no, this is not the place you are looking for.
Although we sympathize with these people, our sympathy has become noticeably less sympathetic with each person who comes to the door with this dilemma. The minute we hear "Is this --" we just point across the street.
However, we still have a soft spot for certain individuals, such as sweet old people who come to the door practically in tears because they have been driving around for an hour trying to find this other address, and they don't know where it is, and all the addresses look alike, what with all those 0s and 1s, and they are late for their appointment, and it is almost lunchtime and they are hungry, and they have to take their lunchtime pills, and they have been driving around for so long that they can't remember what they are even looking for anymore, and on top of everything now they have to go to the bathroom.
In these situations all 14 of us crowd around the door, trying to cheer the discouraged party, pointing out the exact driveway where they need to be, and all but carrying them across the street and into the building.
Not everyone who comes to our building is looking for 10011001011. Some are looking for naive persons to buy their wrapping paper, or furniture, or whatever else they say they are selling at a remarkable price just for us. And so we are preparing a sign to place on the door, which we hope will limit the number of interruptions from all of these individuals, in a tactful, business-appropriate way, of course:
In our case we also deal with interruptions at the front door, mainly involving individuals who think they are in one place when they are someplace else entirely, and having to convince them of this fact in a timely manner so that we can get back to the important work we were doing before we were interrupted, namely Internet paintball. Since we do not have a receptionist, it is up to us common workers to answer these inquiries and, when possible, make the individuals feel very guilty for interrupting our important work and convince them to never bother us again.
For instance, people are constantly confusing our address -- 10011001010 -- with the address across the street -- 10011001011 -- and stopping to ask us where 10011001011 is, and are we sure we are not 100110010011, because they cannot find it, and where is it? They look suspiciously at us when we say no, we are not 10011001011, we are 10011001010, and they look past us into the office, as if suspecting that somewhere within its depths we are harboring 10011001011, and that we are deliberately keeping this information from them.
On top of it, the address these individuals are looking for houses administrative hearing offices, so it is likely that at least some of them are a little disgruntled at whatever conditions led to them having a hearing, and the last thing we need are lost, disgruntled individuals knocking at our door and having to tell them no, this is not the place you are looking for.
Although we sympathize with these people, our sympathy has become noticeably less sympathetic with each person who comes to the door with this dilemma. The minute we hear "Is this --" we just point across the street.
However, we still have a soft spot for certain individuals, such as sweet old people who come to the door practically in tears because they have been driving around for an hour trying to find this other address, and they don't know where it is, and all the addresses look alike, what with all those 0s and 1s, and they are late for their appointment, and it is almost lunchtime and they are hungry, and they have to take their lunchtime pills, and they have been driving around for so long that they can't remember what they are even looking for anymore, and on top of everything now they have to go to the bathroom.
In these situations all 14 of us crowd around the door, trying to cheer the discouraged party, pointing out the exact driveway where they need to be, and all but carrying them across the street and into the building.
Not everyone who comes to our building is looking for 10011001011. Some are looking for naive persons to buy their wrapping paper, or furniture, or whatever else they say they are selling at a remarkable price just for us. And so we are preparing a sign to place on the door, which we hope will limit the number of interruptions from all of these individuals, in a tactful, business-appropriate way, of course:
- This address is 10011001010. If you are looking for 10011001011, you are in the wrong place. Try across the street.
- We repeat: This is NOT 10011001011.
- If you are selling something, we do not want to buy it.
- If you are here to service the vending machine, we love you.
- No, we do not want to look at the furniture in the back of your truck.
- This is STILL not 10011001011.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Maryland by the numbers
According to recent U.S. Census data, our great state of Maryland -- that repository of history, seafood, and high humidity -- is the richest state in the country. Not only that, just across the river from our home, where we frequently engage in meaningful activities, is one of the richest counties in the nation. Surrounded by all this wealth, you might wonder, as we do: How come we don't have more of it?
Unfortunately, although the figures for poverty rates are not out yet, Maryland typically also has one of the highest poverty rates. This may appear somewhat contradictory, but mainly this finding is due to the fact that we like to be Number 1 in everything, even if it's negative.
But a little-known fact, which the report fails to mention, is that the people in the rich category and the people in the poverty category are actually the same people. I know this for a fact, because not too long ago we were -- though maybe not quite in the rich category -- at least doing comfortably, even planning some fun things to do to the house, when boom! the roof, toilet, attic, windows, and all other nailed-down components of our home all conspired against us and went on strike at the same time. If the census had been carried out at this point, it probably would have categorized us as Eligible for Utility Aid.
The census report contains other fascinating information. Maryland, for instance, has the second-longest average commute in the country: 31.5 minutes. If you look at the state on a map you might wonder why this is true, as some cities have zoos that are bigger than the whole state of Maryland. But the longer commute times are actually due to a state law that requires all workers to live on the opposite end of the state from where they work, and a certain percentage of them must work in another state, and those people must live at least 72 miles from the border of the state wherein they work. In fact, most commuters driving through Maryland on a daily basis do not actually live in Maryland.
Personally I would LOVE to have just a 31.5-minute commute. Most people I know around here spend far longer getting to or from work. It is not uncommon to spend 31.5 minutes just getting through one stoplight.
New Yorkers are the only ones with a longer average commute than we Marylanders, but just barely: 31.6 minutes. The report does not say, but that extra .1 minute New Yorkers spend commuting is perhaps due to their fondness for a certain friendly hand gesture while driving, or while engaging in other commute-related activities, such as finding a seat on the subway.
The report says that 36 percent of our state's residents have never been married. Unfortunately for the state's single female population, only .0001 percent of this number are male, and most of those are planning an out-of-state move very soon. I know this because a co-worker, who is single and female, has met nearly every other single person in the state and declares there are no eligible males in Maryland.
So putting all this data together, we get a good picture of the average Marylander: well-off (or poor), married (or a single female), and spends more time commuting than sleeping, although in some cases these activities are combined. Which could explain a lot.
Unfortunately, although the figures for poverty rates are not out yet, Maryland typically also has one of the highest poverty rates. This may appear somewhat contradictory, but mainly this finding is due to the fact that we like to be Number 1 in everything, even if it's negative.
But a little-known fact, which the report fails to mention, is that the people in the rich category and the people in the poverty category are actually the same people. I know this for a fact, because not too long ago we were -- though maybe not quite in the rich category -- at least doing comfortably, even planning some fun things to do to the house, when boom! the roof, toilet, attic, windows, and all other nailed-down components of our home all conspired against us and went on strike at the same time. If the census had been carried out at this point, it probably would have categorized us as Eligible for Utility Aid.
The census report contains other fascinating information. Maryland, for instance, has the second-longest average commute in the country: 31.5 minutes. If you look at the state on a map you might wonder why this is true, as some cities have zoos that are bigger than the whole state of Maryland. But the longer commute times are actually due to a state law that requires all workers to live on the opposite end of the state from where they work, and a certain percentage of them must work in another state, and those people must live at least 72 miles from the border of the state wherein they work. In fact, most commuters driving through Maryland on a daily basis do not actually live in Maryland.
Personally I would LOVE to have just a 31.5-minute commute. Most people I know around here spend far longer getting to or from work. It is not uncommon to spend 31.5 minutes just getting through one stoplight.
New Yorkers are the only ones with a longer average commute than we Marylanders, but just barely: 31.6 minutes. The report does not say, but that extra .1 minute New Yorkers spend commuting is perhaps due to their fondness for a certain friendly hand gesture while driving, or while engaging in other commute-related activities, such as finding a seat on the subway.
The report says that 36 percent of our state's residents have never been married. Unfortunately for the state's single female population, only .0001 percent of this number are male, and most of those are planning an out-of-state move very soon. I know this because a co-worker, who is single and female, has met nearly every other single person in the state and declares there are no eligible males in Maryland.
So putting all this data together, we get a good picture of the average Marylander: well-off (or poor), married (or a single female), and spends more time commuting than sleeping, although in some cases these activities are combined. Which could explain a lot.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Mr. Heimlich, at your service
In the publishing business, we must be careful when using certain words or phrases known as trademarks. When spoken aloud, these terms must be accompanied by a hand gesture wherein one hand makes a little circle and the other makes an "R" sign inside the circle. In print, well, we are advised to shun such terms altogether in favor of more generic descriptions, which often mean readers have no idea what we are talking about. To help us confuse our readers, there is a handbook put out by a trademark association that offers helpful suggestions for generic substitutions (Nestle Crunch: candy. Milk Duds: candy. Jelly Belly: candy).
In some cases there can be hefty fines -- including loss of workplace bathroom privileges -- for unauthorized use of a trademarked term. Therefore all employees, no matter their line of work, are advised to avoid using such terms when performing vital work-related tasks, for instance when discussing the vending machine offerings:
Employee 1: "So what looks good to you?"
Employee 2: "I'm kind of in the mood for some multicolored chocolate-coated candies. Or maybe a mulitlayered chocolate and caramel confection. How about you?"
Employee 1: "Oh, I'm thinking some baked snack chips. The deep-fat fried and coated onions gave me gas last time."
Employee 2: "Hey, if that happens again, I've got some medicinal preparation for intestinal dysfunction if you need it."
Employee 3: "Hmmmm...on a hot day like today I'd really like a frozen confection, but I guess I'll have to settle for some multicolored fruit-flavored candies with a hole in the middle. Or a candy sucker with a bubble gum center."
Employee 2: "Well, stay away from that fruit-flavored powder candy in straws. It's nasty."
Employee 4: "Hey, I've got this awful sore throat. Anyone have some medicated candy?"
Excited employee (temporarily forgetting about generic substitutions): "Oooo, M&Ms look good."
All other employees (looking around in frightened manner): "Shhh!"
Although many suggestions for generic descriptions in the handbook are rather straightforward (Head and Shoulders: dandruff shampoo; Hefty: plastic bags), others are less than helpful. In the H section, we see this entry:
Heimlich Maneuver: educational services
This particular generic substitution is bound to reassure someone who is in dire need of some educational services. Say you are at a restaurant, and a nearby patron begins to choke. Once you have determined that the individual is, in fact, choking on food and not at the sight of the bill, you -- because you have studied the necessary information in the trademark handbook -- can offer your assistance in his hour of need by saying something such as the following:
"Stand back, everyone! I will now perform an educational service on this poor, unfortunate victim. Fear not, I hold a doctorate in ancient cannibalistic cultures and am therefore well-qualified to render this service."
To the victim, who is now nearly purple, you might say, "You shouldn't feel a thing, although when you recover you may not remember all of your times tables, even though this is an educational service I am rendering you."
Following your successful deliverance of educational services, you may return to your meal of hot wheat breakfast food and powder used in preparation of soft drinks. And who knows? You may even earn a medal from your grateful victim and the restaurant owner: The Colorful Round Piece of Alloy awarded for Valiant Educational Services.
In some cases there can be hefty fines -- including loss of workplace bathroom privileges -- for unauthorized use of a trademarked term. Therefore all employees, no matter their line of work, are advised to avoid using such terms when performing vital work-related tasks, for instance when discussing the vending machine offerings:
Employee 1: "So what looks good to you?"
Employee 2: "I'm kind of in the mood for some multicolored chocolate-coated candies. Or maybe a mulitlayered chocolate and caramel confection. How about you?"
Employee 1: "Oh, I'm thinking some baked snack chips. The deep-fat fried and coated onions gave me gas last time."
Employee 2: "Hey, if that happens again, I've got some medicinal preparation for intestinal dysfunction if you need it."
Employee 3: "Hmmmm...on a hot day like today I'd really like a frozen confection, but I guess I'll have to settle for some multicolored fruit-flavored candies with a hole in the middle. Or a candy sucker with a bubble gum center."
Employee 2: "Well, stay away from that fruit-flavored powder candy in straws. It's nasty."
Employee 4: "Hey, I've got this awful sore throat. Anyone have some medicated candy?"
Excited employee (temporarily forgetting about generic substitutions): "Oooo, M&Ms look good."
All other employees (looking around in frightened manner): "Shhh!"
Although many suggestions for generic descriptions in the handbook are rather straightforward (Head and Shoulders: dandruff shampoo; Hefty: plastic bags), others are less than helpful. In the H section, we see this entry:
Heimlich Maneuver: educational services
This particular generic substitution is bound to reassure someone who is in dire need of some educational services. Say you are at a restaurant, and a nearby patron begins to choke. Once you have determined that the individual is, in fact, choking on food and not at the sight of the bill, you -- because you have studied the necessary information in the trademark handbook -- can offer your assistance in his hour of need by saying something such as the following:
"Stand back, everyone! I will now perform an educational service on this poor, unfortunate victim. Fear not, I hold a doctorate in ancient cannibalistic cultures and am therefore well-qualified to render this service."
To the victim, who is now nearly purple, you might say, "You shouldn't feel a thing, although when you recover you may not remember all of your times tables, even though this is an educational service I am rendering you."
Following your successful deliverance of educational services, you may return to your meal of hot wheat breakfast food and powder used in preparation of soft drinks. And who knows? You may even earn a medal from your grateful victim and the restaurant owner: The Colorful Round Piece of Alloy awarded for Valiant Educational Services.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Of jeans and aliens
At work, the powers that be took pity on their subjects a few months ago and decreed every Friday during the summer to be "jeans" day. This edict was greeted with much cheering and enthusiasm, although as the summer wound down and the last day for wearing jeans approached, our enthusiasm was much subdued. But then -- o, happy day! -- we received an e-mail saying jeans day was "such a success" over the summer that we now get to have jeans day all year on Fridays.
Although this was greeted with great rejoicing, there was also suspicion regarding the motivation behind this benevolent decree. "Ha!" the powers that be probably said amongst themselves. "Instead of giving them raises, we'll just tell them they can wear jeans every Friday!"
Well, we are happy anyway.
There was no explanation of what constituted the "success" of jeans day. Were employees happier on days they could wear jeans? More productive? Did they sing more (although this might not, depending on the particular employee, be considered successful)? Was it the only policy we have had 100% compliance on? We may never know.
Meanwhile in our building -- which we affectionately call the "North Suite" because it is too depressing to call it the "warehouse," which is what it is -- we are in a battle against large alien creatures attempting a hostile takeover. The silence that generally prevails in our workspace is periodically interrupted by thwacking sounds, indicating that an astute employee has thwarted a takeover attempt by a wasp, centipede, whatever. So far the battle remains rather low-key, but should the creatures ever attempt to make off with our coffee, THEN there will be war.
It appears that I am what is known as the "alpha contact." That is, most of the alien sightings have been made by me. But by nature I am a very generous person, so, not wishing to keep these revelations all to myself, I recently sent an e-mail to my co-workers about a particular creature spotted.
To: Editing; Graphics
Subject: Service opportunity
There is an immediate opportunity for a service-minded individual to deal with a large cricket in the ladies' bathroom. Please see Holly.
According to an e-mail from the first person who attempted to fill this service position, the cricket "disappeared into a hole in the wall." I imagine this is how conspiracy theories get started. "It disappeared into a hole in the wall; there's probably a whole city of them in there..."
Later we received an e-mail from another person who announced that she had taken care of the cricket in question, although she personally "wouldn't have called it large." She based this opinion on the crickets in her personal basement, which are reportedly so big you can hear them when they jump.
I personally wonder why this person is not the alpha contact for the aliens at work. Obviously she has much more experience with aliens than I do.
But as long as we can keep wearing our jeans on Fridays, not much else matters. Although there is the little matter of raises...
Although this was greeted with great rejoicing, there was also suspicion regarding the motivation behind this benevolent decree. "Ha!" the powers that be probably said amongst themselves. "Instead of giving them raises, we'll just tell them they can wear jeans every Friday!"
Well, we are happy anyway.
There was no explanation of what constituted the "success" of jeans day. Were employees happier on days they could wear jeans? More productive? Did they sing more (although this might not, depending on the particular employee, be considered successful)? Was it the only policy we have had 100% compliance on? We may never know.
Meanwhile in our building -- which we affectionately call the "North Suite" because it is too depressing to call it the "warehouse," which is what it is -- we are in a battle against large alien creatures attempting a hostile takeover. The silence that generally prevails in our workspace is periodically interrupted by thwacking sounds, indicating that an astute employee has thwarted a takeover attempt by a wasp, centipede, whatever. So far the battle remains rather low-key, but should the creatures ever attempt to make off with our coffee, THEN there will be war.
It appears that I am what is known as the "alpha contact." That is, most of the alien sightings have been made by me. But by nature I am a very generous person, so, not wishing to keep these revelations all to myself, I recently sent an e-mail to my co-workers about a particular creature spotted.
To: Editing; Graphics
Subject: Service opportunity
There is an immediate opportunity for a service-minded individual to deal with a large cricket in the ladies' bathroom. Please see Holly.
According to an e-mail from the first person who attempted to fill this service position, the cricket "disappeared into a hole in the wall." I imagine this is how conspiracy theories get started. "It disappeared into a hole in the wall; there's probably a whole city of them in there..."
Later we received an e-mail from another person who announced that she had taken care of the cricket in question, although she personally "wouldn't have called it large." She based this opinion on the crickets in her personal basement, which are reportedly so big you can hear them when they jump.
I personally wonder why this person is not the alpha contact for the aliens at work. Obviously she has much more experience with aliens than I do.
But as long as we can keep wearing our jeans on Fridays, not much else matters. Although there is the little matter of raises...
Thursday, September 17, 2009
A message from the Kitchen Witch
In our workplace we all share equally in public service, such as running the dishwasher, providing milk for the week, killing large scary bugs, goofing off, etc. We take our civic duties seriously.
Well, some do. Others seem to believe, despite all efforts to tell them otherwise, in the existence of the Kitchen Genie. The Kitchen Genie, they believe, cheerfully handles all of their disgustingly dirty dishes, which they deposit in the sink, and magically transforms them into sparkling clean ones, which are put away in the cupboard for their use the next day.
This week it is my turn for civic duty in the kitchen. Knowing how strongly some of my co-workers hold to their belief in the Kitchen Genie, I have made it my mission to gently, but firmly, help them come to grips with reality. I have therefore sent a series of e-mails, reproduced below, to everyone this week to remind them of the necessary part they play in keeping the kitchen tidy, and that the Kitchen Genie is, sadly, but a myth.
Day 1
Subject: Dishes
Attention, all dirty dishes!
Please make your way to the dishwasher, where the sound and water show will begin at approximately 4:28 p.m. Please note that this show takes place only in the DISHWASHER, not in the SINK, so please make arrangements for your own transportation to the dishwasher.
Day 2
Subject: Dishes, reprise
To all dirty dishes,
Thank you for last night's orderly progression to the dishwasher. Tonight's show will commence in a half hour. Please remember that you must be securely fastened inside the dishwasher before the show begins. Thank you.
Day 3
Subject: Dishes
Please be considerate and put your dishes inside the dishwasher. There is no magic kitchen genie to do this for you, only a kitchen witch to remind you to do it.
As the truth about the Kitchen Genie finally began to be revealed and accepted, gradually all the dishes in the sink disappeared, until at the end of Day 3 only a lone spoon remained. But should there be any relapses, or hard-core cases of refusal to part with belief in the Kitchen Genie, I am armed with appropriate warning messages.
Day 4
Subject: A public service announcement from the Kitchen Witch
Due to an increase in dirty dishes in the sink, we have been forced to take drastic measures. A tiny camera has been installed in the kitchen to record any offenders who are not properly placing their dishes in the dishwasher. If you are caught, you will be fined a day of heavy scrubbing in the kitchen. Be advised: Big Brother is watching (and so is the Kitchen Witch).
Day 5
Subject: You know what the subject is
Whoever disabled the kitchen camera, please be aware that you will not escape punishment, as soon as we figure out who you are. This regrettable incident has forced us to take even more drastic measures. Starting Monday, all kitchen items will be stored in the Kitchen Witch's cube. Employees who wish to use one of these items must come to this cube and check out each item. By signing, borrowers promise that they will, upon discontinuation of the borrowed item, properly deposit it in the dishwasher for cleaning.
In the event that this oath is broken, the Kitchen Witch will personally administer to the offending party the Oath of Disbelief in the Kitchen Genie, and the offending party will be forced to perform, in public, the Chant of the Dishwasher. The party will also be enrolled in a reform class called "Dirty Dishes: Do They Magically Transport Themselves to the Dishwasher?"
We trust that such measures, however, will not be necessary. Have a pleasant day, and remember: the Kitchen Witch is watching.
Well, some do. Others seem to believe, despite all efforts to tell them otherwise, in the existence of the Kitchen Genie. The Kitchen Genie, they believe, cheerfully handles all of their disgustingly dirty dishes, which they deposit in the sink, and magically transforms them into sparkling clean ones, which are put away in the cupboard for their use the next day.
This week it is my turn for civic duty in the kitchen. Knowing how strongly some of my co-workers hold to their belief in the Kitchen Genie, I have made it my mission to gently, but firmly, help them come to grips with reality. I have therefore sent a series of e-mails, reproduced below, to everyone this week to remind them of the necessary part they play in keeping the kitchen tidy, and that the Kitchen Genie is, sadly, but a myth.
Day 1
Subject: Dishes
Attention, all dirty dishes!
Please make your way to the dishwasher, where the sound and water show will begin at approximately 4:28 p.m. Please note that this show takes place only in the DISHWASHER, not in the SINK, so please make arrangements for your own transportation to the dishwasher.
Day 2
Subject: Dishes, reprise
To all dirty dishes,
Thank you for last night's orderly progression to the dishwasher. Tonight's show will commence in a half hour. Please remember that you must be securely fastened inside the dishwasher before the show begins. Thank you.
Day 3
Subject: Dishes
Please be considerate and put your dishes inside the dishwasher. There is no magic kitchen genie to do this for you, only a kitchen witch to remind you to do it.
As the truth about the Kitchen Genie finally began to be revealed and accepted, gradually all the dishes in the sink disappeared, until at the end of Day 3 only a lone spoon remained. But should there be any relapses, or hard-core cases of refusal to part with belief in the Kitchen Genie, I am armed with appropriate warning messages.
Day 4
Subject: A public service announcement from the Kitchen Witch
Due to an increase in dirty dishes in the sink, we have been forced to take drastic measures. A tiny camera has been installed in the kitchen to record any offenders who are not properly placing their dishes in the dishwasher. If you are caught, you will be fined a day of heavy scrubbing in the kitchen. Be advised: Big Brother is watching (and so is the Kitchen Witch).
Day 5
Subject: You know what the subject is
Whoever disabled the kitchen camera, please be aware that you will not escape punishment, as soon as we figure out who you are. This regrettable incident has forced us to take even more drastic measures. Starting Monday, all kitchen items will be stored in the Kitchen Witch's cube. Employees who wish to use one of these items must come to this cube and check out each item. By signing, borrowers promise that they will, upon discontinuation of the borrowed item, properly deposit it in the dishwasher for cleaning.
In the event that this oath is broken, the Kitchen Witch will personally administer to the offending party the Oath of Disbelief in the Kitchen Genie, and the offending party will be forced to perform, in public, the Chant of the Dishwasher. The party will also be enrolled in a reform class called "Dirty Dishes: Do They Magically Transport Themselves to the Dishwasher?"
We trust that such measures, however, will not be necessary. Have a pleasant day, and remember: the Kitchen Witch is watching.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Random car noises
Joe and I are no strangers to random noise-making behavior exhibited by cars. Joe's car, for instance, vigorously protests being left out in the rain by emitting loud, insistent honks during downpours, usually at a convenient time such as 2 a.m. But even this experience did not prepare us for the noises that accompanied our recent brief driving episode in a luxury car.
As noted in the previous blog post, the driver's door on my brother and sister-in-law's car does not lock -- or if it does, we certainly never figured out how. There is, however, an alarm on the car, which we discovered by accident when we were trying to coax the door to lock. Suddenly we were announcing to an entire parking lot of people that a) we had no idea how to work this car and b) we may have been breaking into it.
In desperation I pushed the lock button on the remote, and the alarm instantly stopped. I opened the car door again to see if it was locked, the alarm went off, and I pushed the lock button again. The alarm stopped. This instantaneous result gave me such a heady feeling of power -- I have watched numerous strangers in parking lots frantically trying to convince their cars to stop beeping and honking, to no avail -- that I kept deliberately setting off the alarm just so I could experience this heady feeling of power over and over again.
Eventually we stopped playing with the alarm and drove off. Halfway to our destination, we were startled by yet another loud noise: the radar detector. My brother's usual response to this intrusion is to push something to make the loud, insistent beeps stop. But without him I dared not touch anything, lest it not work when next he or my sister-in-law drove the car. So we drove on, ignoring the fact that we could not hear each other talk, the radar detector frantically beeping whenever we approached a suspicious vehicle, like a garbage truck.
We were of the opinion that what would be much more helpful than a radar detector would be to have a Starbucks detector. As we were unfamiliar with the location of Starbucks in the area where we were driving, this would have been very useful. Such a device would automatically detect any Starbucks within 50 miles and change the car's course to get to the nearest one. When the car approached a Starbucks it would emit something like "Whoo-EEE! Whoo-EEE! Approaching a Starbucks institution on the left, 50 yards." The alarm would get louder and more insistent the closer you got, and when the car came to the driveway of Starbucks, it would, independent of the driver, make a sharp turn into the parking lot, and neatly deposit all passengers right in front of the door.
Of course certain details would have to be worked out before such a device could be implemented. Like which sound would take precedence when the car alarm, radar detector, and Starbucks detector are all going off at the same time. I know which one has my vote.
As noted in the previous blog post, the driver's door on my brother and sister-in-law's car does not lock -- or if it does, we certainly never figured out how. There is, however, an alarm on the car, which we discovered by accident when we were trying to coax the door to lock. Suddenly we were announcing to an entire parking lot of people that a) we had no idea how to work this car and b) we may have been breaking into it.
In desperation I pushed the lock button on the remote, and the alarm instantly stopped. I opened the car door again to see if it was locked, the alarm went off, and I pushed the lock button again. The alarm stopped. This instantaneous result gave me such a heady feeling of power -- I have watched numerous strangers in parking lots frantically trying to convince their cars to stop beeping and honking, to no avail -- that I kept deliberately setting off the alarm just so I could experience this heady feeling of power over and over again.
Eventually we stopped playing with the alarm and drove off. Halfway to our destination, we were startled by yet another loud noise: the radar detector. My brother's usual response to this intrusion is to push something to make the loud, insistent beeps stop. But without him I dared not touch anything, lest it not work when next he or my sister-in-law drove the car. So we drove on, ignoring the fact that we could not hear each other talk, the radar detector frantically beeping whenever we approached a suspicious vehicle, like a garbage truck.
We were of the opinion that what would be much more helpful than a radar detector would be to have a Starbucks detector. As we were unfamiliar with the location of Starbucks in the area where we were driving, this would have been very useful. Such a device would automatically detect any Starbucks within 50 miles and change the car's course to get to the nearest one. When the car approached a Starbucks it would emit something like "Whoo-EEE! Whoo-EEE! Approaching a Starbucks institution on the left, 50 yards." The alarm would get louder and more insistent the closer you got, and when the car came to the driveway of Starbucks, it would, independent of the driver, make a sharp turn into the parking lot, and neatly deposit all passengers right in front of the door.
Of course certain details would have to be worked out before such a device could be implemented. Like which sound would take precedence when the car alarm, radar detector, and Starbucks detector are all going off at the same time. I know which one has my vote.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Why we don't drive expensive cars
My brother and his wife were kind enough to loan us the use of their luxury car during our visit this weekend, not even mentioning that they probably took out extra insurance on it. Being the designated driver, I tried to convince myself that it was like any other car I had ever driven, just a couple hundred grand more.
But it is not like any other car. First off, the ignition is on the left side of the steering wheel. Either some left-handed engineer, tired of having to fight his way through a right-handed world, wreaked his revenge on the rest us, or the car was originally intended for the British market and everything was placed on the right side of the car, but at the last minute everything was changed back to the left side of the car, and someone forgot to move the ignition to the right side of the steering wheel.
This car was also designed for multiple body parts to work together. To get the car to start you must, at the moment you are turning the key, also press the brake. Fortunately the brake is where one would expect the brake to be, and not somewhere else, such as in the glove compartment.
Your next hurdle comes upon disembarking from the car. You must lock the car so that it stays locked until such time as you are ready to unlock it. This is not an easy task with this car. When you press the lock on the remote -- which, incidentally, is the same button as the unlock -- the car, with unfailing politeness, senses that you are still near the car and will immediately unlock itself, in case you decide you want to enter again. And so you become engaged in a battle of lock-unlock-lock-unlock, as you vie to see which of you can be the fastest to lock or unlock the door.
The car always wins.
You may try an assortment of solutions for this, which we did, including moving away from the car in six-inch increments to see if distance has any effect on the doors remaining locked. You could try manually locking the doors, IF you can find a button to manually lock them. We could not, although we did not look in the glove compartment.
But all you are really doing when you try these solutions is sending out an advertisement to would-be thieves who might happen to be observing your efforts: DRIVER HAS NO IDEA HOW TO LOCK THE CAR. HELP YOURSELF TO ANYTHING INSIDE AFTER SHE LEAVES.
The best way to get the car to stay locked, evidently, is to lock the car with the remote and immediately hurl the remote as far away as possible, preferably to a trusted passenger standing several miles away. In the event that you are alone, an open field will do for the toss, unless an untrustworthy personage is lurking there.
This is obviously WAY superior to the way the rest of us lock our car, which is: We lock the car.
We never did get the driver's side to stay locked, and we finally settled for setting the alarm, so that if any unauthorized person DID happen to open the door an alarm would immediately sound. With any luck, the car would also immediately lock itself again, hopefully with the unauthorized person inside.
But it is not like any other car. First off, the ignition is on the left side of the steering wheel. Either some left-handed engineer, tired of having to fight his way through a right-handed world, wreaked his revenge on the rest us, or the car was originally intended for the British market and everything was placed on the right side of the car, but at the last minute everything was changed back to the left side of the car, and someone forgot to move the ignition to the right side of the steering wheel.
This car was also designed for multiple body parts to work together. To get the car to start you must, at the moment you are turning the key, also press the brake. Fortunately the brake is where one would expect the brake to be, and not somewhere else, such as in the glove compartment.
Your next hurdle comes upon disembarking from the car. You must lock the car so that it stays locked until such time as you are ready to unlock it. This is not an easy task with this car. When you press the lock on the remote -- which, incidentally, is the same button as the unlock -- the car, with unfailing politeness, senses that you are still near the car and will immediately unlock itself, in case you decide you want to enter again. And so you become engaged in a battle of lock-unlock-lock-unlock, as you vie to see which of you can be the fastest to lock or unlock the door.
The car always wins.
You may try an assortment of solutions for this, which we did, including moving away from the car in six-inch increments to see if distance has any effect on the doors remaining locked. You could try manually locking the doors, IF you can find a button to manually lock them. We could not, although we did not look in the glove compartment.
But all you are really doing when you try these solutions is sending out an advertisement to would-be thieves who might happen to be observing your efforts: DRIVER HAS NO IDEA HOW TO LOCK THE CAR. HELP YOURSELF TO ANYTHING INSIDE AFTER SHE LEAVES.
The best way to get the car to stay locked, evidently, is to lock the car with the remote and immediately hurl the remote as far away as possible, preferably to a trusted passenger standing several miles away. In the event that you are alone, an open field will do for the toss, unless an untrustworthy personage is lurking there.
This is obviously WAY superior to the way the rest of us lock our car, which is: We lock the car.
We never did get the driver's side to stay locked, and we finally settled for setting the alarm, so that if any unauthorized person DID happen to open the door an alarm would immediately sound. With any luck, the car would also immediately lock itself again, hopefully with the unauthorized person inside.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
All hail the changing of the pizza
On our trip to Washington DC with family members we visited Arlington National Cemetery, which is the hallowed resting place of thousands of servicemen and women, but which, tragically, has no eating facilities. We do not suggest that you attempt to create your own eating facilities on the grounds, as there is a pretty stiff fine for this sort of thing, consisting of your being pressed into service as a gift shop volunteer in the visitor's center.
While visiting the cemetery you can see the Tomb of the Unknowns, as it is officially called, and observe the changing of the guard, which consists of three soldiers strutting up and down in front of the tombs. This is a very moving ceremony that invariably impresses visitors, particularly the way the guards move their legs, which appear to be made completely of rubber. The main guard also does a lot of barking, by which he is able to disguise the fact that he is actually yelling to some other, hidden guard, "Hey, we're starving here! Get us an extra-large meat lover's pizza, pronto!"
The main guard also performs a white-glove inspection of the relief soldier's gun, a ritual reminiscent of the days when mother-in-laws would terrorize their daughter-in-laws by conducting a similar inspection of their fireplace mantles. No one really knows the reason for the soldiers doing this, because a dust-free fireplace mantle is WAY more important than a dust-free gun, but it is likely that at some point it was decided that tourists needed something more exciting to watch than the guards walking up and down on their rubbery legs.
If the relief guard's gun passes inspection -- and chances are that it will, although by military law 3.5% of all inspections MUST uncover some infraction, for which the offending soldier is banished to the gift shop in the visitor's center as a volunteer -- he replaces the first guard and commences walking up and down in front of the tombs. He maintains this ritual until he is relieved by another guard, or until his pizza arrives, whichever comes first.
Meanwhile, the soldier who has gone off duty assumes the important responsibility of guarding the restrooms, which, to many Americans, are only a slightly less sacred site than the Tomb of the Unknowns. This guard stands ready to protect and defend our constitutional right to free, ample toilet paper (a right not afforded in all countries) and to prevent stampedes among schoolchildren who did not heed their teacher's instruction to go at the last stop.
Of course there are many other sights to see at Arlington, which I am sure you will enjoy if you visit. And there is always the gift shop.
While visiting the cemetery you can see the Tomb of the Unknowns, as it is officially called, and observe the changing of the guard, which consists of three soldiers strutting up and down in front of the tombs. This is a very moving ceremony that invariably impresses visitors, particularly the way the guards move their legs, which appear to be made completely of rubber. The main guard also does a lot of barking, by which he is able to disguise the fact that he is actually yelling to some other, hidden guard, "Hey, we're starving here! Get us an extra-large meat lover's pizza, pronto!"
The main guard also performs a white-glove inspection of the relief soldier's gun, a ritual reminiscent of the days when mother-in-laws would terrorize their daughter-in-laws by conducting a similar inspection of their fireplace mantles. No one really knows the reason for the soldiers doing this, because a dust-free fireplace mantle is WAY more important than a dust-free gun, but it is likely that at some point it was decided that tourists needed something more exciting to watch than the guards walking up and down on their rubbery legs.
If the relief guard's gun passes inspection -- and chances are that it will, although by military law 3.5% of all inspections MUST uncover some infraction, for which the offending soldier is banished to the gift shop in the visitor's center as a volunteer -- he replaces the first guard and commences walking up and down in front of the tombs. He maintains this ritual until he is relieved by another guard, or until his pizza arrives, whichever comes first.
Meanwhile, the soldier who has gone off duty assumes the important responsibility of guarding the restrooms, which, to many Americans, are only a slightly less sacred site than the Tomb of the Unknowns. This guard stands ready to protect and defend our constitutional right to free, ample toilet paper (a right not afforded in all countries) and to prevent stampedes among schoolchildren who did not heed their teacher's instruction to go at the last stop.
Of course there are many other sights to see at Arlington, which I am sure you will enjoy if you visit. And there is always the gift shop.
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Taking DC by storm (or bus)
This week we have ventured into Washington DC with visiting family members in tow, who are eager to see our nation's capital, the area where we live, our favorite grocery store, all 5,782 local Starbucks, etc. As is generally true whenever Joe and I travel by car -- surrounded by maps and printouts of Google directions -- we have seen many areas we had never seen before, and had not intended to see. This is why we so far have resisted the urge to get a GPS, knowing that it would deliver us directly to our destination, and we would miss the wonderful opportunity of seeing new vistas, mostly consisting of numerous buildings with shot-out windows. Our passengers have been truly amazed at our ability to sniff out areas that could, potentially, end up in the news on any given evening ("Confused tourists, terrified at finding themselves in the midst of gunfire, are soon relieved to find out that they have wandered onto the set of gritty new movie and are hired as extras. 'We were just trying to find the Washington Monument,' says one").
But of course we are not crazy enough to actually drive around in DC for very long, preferring to leave that task to the professionals, who ARE crazy enough to do it, for an exorbitant fee. The particular bus line we chose for our tour has a unique system for ensuring the safety of its passengers while still allowing them full viewing access to all the sights. After you get on, they pull these bars down over the side of the bus, so that you are pretty much in a cage. This has the effect of making you feel as if you are in some sort of moving playpen, and it is very difficult to comply with all the signs admonishing you to "at no time put any part of your person outside the cage."
The narrators on these buses are very helpful. They wait until you get ON the bus -- which in our case took several minutes while we folded, hoisted, and stowed a rented wheelchair -- and are comfortably settled to tell you that the bus is not going where you want to go, and then they wait until you get OFF -- unfolding, unhoisting, and unstowing the wheelchair -- to tell you that, although it is still true that the bus is not going where you want to go, the bus CAN take you to where another bus can take you where you want to go. By the time you and your guests -- and the wheelchair -- have boarded for the second time, the other passengers are desperately wishing they had taken a different bus, or even visited a different city that day, such as Honolulu.
We later learned that our narrator had violated the Code of Narration Ethics, which states that tour narrators may not reveal to tourists that there is another bus coming, because should the tourists happen to miss that bus, and should it happen to be the very LAST bus for the day, everyone would be in very big trouble. So although the last bus runs at approximately 5:30, narrators are instructed to tell their riders that service ends at 1:00, thereby prompting a panicked rush for a bus at that time.
As it happened we did NOT miss the very last bus, which is lucky, because we would still be wandering about in DC looking for our car, and you would not be reading this right now. We did, however, wander about once we were IN our car, preferring to take what my father has always called the scenic route, which fortunately for us did not involve any areas that ended up on the evening news.
But there is always tomorrow.
But of course we are not crazy enough to actually drive around in DC for very long, preferring to leave that task to the professionals, who ARE crazy enough to do it, for an exorbitant fee. The particular bus line we chose for our tour has a unique system for ensuring the safety of its passengers while still allowing them full viewing access to all the sights. After you get on, they pull these bars down over the side of the bus, so that you are pretty much in a cage. This has the effect of making you feel as if you are in some sort of moving playpen, and it is very difficult to comply with all the signs admonishing you to "at no time put any part of your person outside the cage."
The narrators on these buses are very helpful. They wait until you get ON the bus -- which in our case took several minutes while we folded, hoisted, and stowed a rented wheelchair -- and are comfortably settled to tell you that the bus is not going where you want to go, and then they wait until you get OFF -- unfolding, unhoisting, and unstowing the wheelchair -- to tell you that, although it is still true that the bus is not going where you want to go, the bus CAN take you to where another bus can take you where you want to go. By the time you and your guests -- and the wheelchair -- have boarded for the second time, the other passengers are desperately wishing they had taken a different bus, or even visited a different city that day, such as Honolulu.
We later learned that our narrator had violated the Code of Narration Ethics, which states that tour narrators may not reveal to tourists that there is another bus coming, because should the tourists happen to miss that bus, and should it happen to be the very LAST bus for the day, everyone would be in very big trouble. So although the last bus runs at approximately 5:30, narrators are instructed to tell their riders that service ends at 1:00, thereby prompting a panicked rush for a bus at that time.
As it happened we did NOT miss the very last bus, which is lucky, because we would still be wandering about in DC looking for our car, and you would not be reading this right now. We did, however, wander about once we were IN our car, preferring to take what my father has always called the scenic route, which fortunately for us did not involve any areas that ended up on the evening news.
But there is always tomorrow.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Birthdays 'R Us
As you know, we are very busy at work. After much analysis of projects, goals, objectives, etc., it has been found that one thing that seems to take up an INORDINATE amount of our time is dealing with those pesky little issues like, well, pretty much anything work-related.
This leaves us with very little time for more important things, like celebrating staff birthdays. We have a strong Birthday Radar at work, and no one's special day escapes notice, although sometimes the radar malfunctions and does not go off until the last possible minute. This sets off a flurry of e-mails and trips to the store for cards, cake, ice cream, party hats, party whistles, etc., all conducted in the utmost secrecy, while the birthday person affects an air of inattention and pretends not to remember that he or she is having a birthday. We have so many birthday celebrations that I suspect we celebrate some people's twice a year instead of once, but this is not a big concern to us, so long as we get cake.
To expedite things, I propose that we standardize the birthday proceedings in some manner, perhaps by giving the honoree a survey on which to make his or her birthday preferences known. A sample of such a survey follows.
Birthday Preferences Survey
(If you believe that you have received this survey in error, please pass it to the next available staff person who is not in denial about having another birthday.)
1. I do/do not wish to have a public work celebration of my birthday. (Please circle one. If "do not wish" is circled, be aware that the staff may vote to have cake anyway, with or without you.)
2. For my birthday I would like to:
a) be treated to lunch
b) have cake with 3 inches of frosting
c) receive an all-expenses paid trip to Bora-Bora
3. For lunch I would like to go to:
a) Chili's
b) McDonald's inside Wal-Mart (preferably during a sale)
c) Cold Stone Creamery (Please note that this option does NOT exclude having a cake later in the day.)
4. I would like to invite the following people to my birthday lunch:
a) the editors
b) the editors and people who work with the editors
c) Brad Pitt
5. I wish/do not wish to have cake and have people sing to me and generally be the center of attention. (Please circle one. If "do not wish" is circled, please skip the next question.)
6. I wish to be the center of attention for the following length of time:
a) however long it takes to sing "Happy Birthday"
b) just long enough to get my piece of cake
c) the duration of my natural life
7. I would like my cake to have:
a) buttercream frosting
b) lots of buttercream frosting
c) skip the cake, just give me the buttercream frosting
8. I do/do not wish (please circle one) to have it spread throughout the entire office community that I am turning 30/40/50/87 (do NOT circle one) (unless you want us to tell everyone how old you are).
9. I would like to receive the following type of birthday card:
a) a nice sappy one that tells me how much I am appreciated
b) one with money in it
c) one that depicts me in a wheelchair, with none of my teeth left, and producing certain bodily noises
Such an instrument would no doubt help expedite the planning process, although of course this may leave us with extra time, which our bosses would probably expect us to fill in with work. We may have to start celebrating everyone's birthday three times a year.
This leaves us with very little time for more important things, like celebrating staff birthdays. We have a strong Birthday Radar at work, and no one's special day escapes notice, although sometimes the radar malfunctions and does not go off until the last possible minute. This sets off a flurry of e-mails and trips to the store for cards, cake, ice cream, party hats, party whistles, etc., all conducted in the utmost secrecy, while the birthday person affects an air of inattention and pretends not to remember that he or she is having a birthday. We have so many birthday celebrations that I suspect we celebrate some people's twice a year instead of once, but this is not a big concern to us, so long as we get cake.
To expedite things, I propose that we standardize the birthday proceedings in some manner, perhaps by giving the honoree a survey on which to make his or her birthday preferences known. A sample of such a survey follows.
Birthday Preferences Survey
(If you believe that you have received this survey in error, please pass it to the next available staff person who is not in denial about having another birthday.)
1. I do/do not wish to have a public work celebration of my birthday. (Please circle one. If "do not wish" is circled, be aware that the staff may vote to have cake anyway, with or without you.)
2. For my birthday I would like to:
a) be treated to lunch
b) have cake with 3 inches of frosting
c) receive an all-expenses paid trip to Bora-Bora
3. For lunch I would like to go to:
a) Chili's
b) McDonald's inside Wal-Mart (preferably during a sale)
c) Cold Stone Creamery (Please note that this option does NOT exclude having a cake later in the day.)
4. I would like to invite the following people to my birthday lunch:
a) the editors
b) the editors and people who work with the editors
c) Brad Pitt
5. I wish/do not wish to have cake and have people sing to me and generally be the center of attention. (Please circle one. If "do not wish" is circled, please skip the next question.)
6. I wish to be the center of attention for the following length of time:
a) however long it takes to sing "Happy Birthday"
b) just long enough to get my piece of cake
c) the duration of my natural life
7. I would like my cake to have:
a) buttercream frosting
b) lots of buttercream frosting
c) skip the cake, just give me the buttercream frosting
8. I do/do not wish (please circle one) to have it spread throughout the entire office community that I am turning 30/40/50/87 (do NOT circle one) (unless you want us to tell everyone how old you are).
9. I would like to receive the following type of birthday card:
a) a nice sappy one that tells me how much I am appreciated
b) one with money in it
c) one that depicts me in a wheelchair, with none of my teeth left, and producing certain bodily noises
Such an instrument would no doubt help expedite the planning process, although of course this may leave us with extra time, which our bosses would probably expect us to fill in with work. We may have to start celebrating everyone's birthday three times a year.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Coming to America
I have come across a Web site offering invaluable cultural advice to those from another country who are coming to the U.S. for the first time. Amazingly, this advice does NOT include "Don't go! Americans are crazy! Run for your life!" Presumably the writers are resigned that, in many cases, coming to America is a necessary evil, and the best they can do for their fellow countrymen is to ease the trauma a little by offering cultural insights and no-nos. The advice given also offers some amusement for American readers, particularly American readers who are perusing the Internet instead of doing their work, which pretty much describes my own situation when I came across this site. Below are a few excerpts of the advice offered to newcomers.
Driving
Newcomers are advised to avoid honking the car horn "unless required." Or unless (this part was omitted from the site; possibly it is unknown to the writers) you are American, in which case NOT using the horn while driving is considered unconstitutional.
Drivers are reminded that, if nature calls while they are on the road, they are expected to get off the road, via the nearest exit, and proceed to the nearest public restroom (keeping in mind that this may be at a McDonald's or similar establishment). They should NOT merely walk down the highway in search of a suitable nature-y place to do nature's business.
There is a sobering admonishment to remain in one's car should one be pulled over by a police officer, and to never step out of the car. The officer may consider this an offense, and may respond by "shooting the driver for self-defense." This piece of advice is signed by a particular individual, as if the individual has had some experience with this offense.
There should be no throwing of paper or other objects out of one's window while driving, or one "may be fined heavily." Unless one is my mother, who many years ago allowed my beloved security blanket to fly out the window on a family car trip and told my father to keep driving, as I was too old to have a blanket anymore anyway. Fortunately an alert police officer, no doubt on litter patrol, spotted a large flowing object escaping from our car and retrieved it for us. When he stopped our car I expected at least that my mother would be taken to jail, not so much for littering as for causing immense Emotional Trauma to Offspring, but the officer did NOTHING. But throw a little piece of paper out your car window, and whoo! The SWAT team may be called in.
I harbor no bitterness over this incident, as you can see.
Dining
Vegetarians are encouraged that most eating establishments are able to accommodate their needs, once these needs are known. But one must be careful to order a meal using the phrase "no meat," and ONLY that phrase, as servers do not understand "meatless" or "without meat" or "Were any animals harmed in the making of this meal??" Likewise, if one wishes no ice in one's drink, one should say "no ice" rather than "without ice." One wonders what kind of server does not understand these phrases.
Diners are warned that in American restaurants they will not receive a "finger bowl" and that a paper napkin should be used. Although it is not stated, there is a definite suggestion that this is proof that Americans are unclean.
Communication
Those who are talking "at work or elsewhere" are advised that if "you want to say yes, just say yes. Moving the head side to side in such a situation is seen as confusing, and generally taken to mean no." Ah, how confusing Americans can be!
Miscellaneous
There are numerous rules for avoiding misunderstanding, including:
In America, a "fag" does NOT refer to smoking as it does in Britain.
"There is no Eve Teasing in the U.S. It is called 'sexual harassment."
And finally, never, ever ask for a "rubber" when one wishes for an eraser.
Driving
Newcomers are advised to avoid honking the car horn "unless required." Or unless (this part was omitted from the site; possibly it is unknown to the writers) you are American, in which case NOT using the horn while driving is considered unconstitutional.
Drivers are reminded that, if nature calls while they are on the road, they are expected to get off the road, via the nearest exit, and proceed to the nearest public restroom (keeping in mind that this may be at a McDonald's or similar establishment). They should NOT merely walk down the highway in search of a suitable nature-y place to do nature's business.
There is a sobering admonishment to remain in one's car should one be pulled over by a police officer, and to never step out of the car. The officer may consider this an offense, and may respond by "shooting the driver for self-defense." This piece of advice is signed by a particular individual, as if the individual has had some experience with this offense.
There should be no throwing of paper or other objects out of one's window while driving, or one "may be fined heavily." Unless one is my mother, who many years ago allowed my beloved security blanket to fly out the window on a family car trip and told my father to keep driving, as I was too old to have a blanket anymore anyway. Fortunately an alert police officer, no doubt on litter patrol, spotted a large flowing object escaping from our car and retrieved it for us. When he stopped our car I expected at least that my mother would be taken to jail, not so much for littering as for causing immense Emotional Trauma to Offspring, but the officer did NOTHING. But throw a little piece of paper out your car window, and whoo! The SWAT team may be called in.
I harbor no bitterness over this incident, as you can see.
Dining
Vegetarians are encouraged that most eating establishments are able to accommodate their needs, once these needs are known. But one must be careful to order a meal using the phrase "no meat," and ONLY that phrase, as servers do not understand "meatless" or "without meat" or "Were any animals harmed in the making of this meal??" Likewise, if one wishes no ice in one's drink, one should say "no ice" rather than "without ice." One wonders what kind of server does not understand these phrases.
Diners are warned that in American restaurants they will not receive a "finger bowl" and that a paper napkin should be used. Although it is not stated, there is a definite suggestion that this is proof that Americans are unclean.
Communication
Those who are talking "at work or elsewhere" are advised that if "you want to say yes, just say yes. Moving the head side to side in such a situation is seen as confusing, and generally taken to mean no." Ah, how confusing Americans can be!
Miscellaneous
There are numerous rules for avoiding misunderstanding, including:
In America, a "fag" does NOT refer to smoking as it does in Britain.
"There is no Eve Teasing in the U.S. It is called 'sexual harassment."
And finally, never, ever ask for a "rubber" when one wishes for an eraser.
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