Server

In my early stages toward becoming a non-professional, I have worked food service, yet I have never actually been a server. I worked behind counters at an ice cream shop and a pizza shop. I didn't have to be nice, because I didn't rely on tips. I didn't have to be accurate, because I couldn't have cared less if my manager had to refund a customer's money. "There's like, a ton of hot fudge back here," I thought, "I'll just make them another sundae...and one for myself while I'm at it." I'm sure some special orders irked me, but I tried to accommodate them. Since I usually made the food myself or worked with a small crew, communication wasn't too difficult. I don't think it compares to being a food server in a busy chain restaurant. Therefore, with the integrity of this blog's name intact, I'll relate a recent dining experience.
It was simple enough: a double date including a movie, then dinner after. We chose a restaurant in the same parking lot as the theater, which had opened fairly recently. We had been to other restaurants in this franchise so expected nothing unusual. Our server, Smiley, was very friendly and seemed very attentive when taking our orders. Beetle's girlfriend Christina Hendricks ordered a steak "between medium-well and well. Done, but not burned." I ordered a deliciously described salad. The menu showed that this particular salad did not come with chicken on it; chicken cost extra. Smiley asked if I wanted chicken, and I emphatically stated (I think all 3 of my table mates may have also chimed in here) "NO. Chicken."
When Smiley came around a few minutes later, I ordered a drink. Smiley said, "Sure! And your chicken salad will be out shortly as well." "NO! No. Chicken." I reminded him, though my memory is hazy as to whether or not my teeth were clenched at the time. "Right! No chicken. Got it." And off he ran, leaving the omen looming over me and my honey-buttered croissants.Yet the salad arrived with no chicken in sight. No chicken in sight. After three bites, I found a chunk of dead animal. I sighed and set down my fork. "They put the chicken on and then picked it off," I told Husband. Smiley was actually quite attentive, and when he checked on us again a few minutes later, Husband sent back the salad, explaining to him the chicken debacle. As Smiley brought back my chicken-free salad, Christina made known her dissatisfaction with her steak, which was decidedly, bent-her-knife-trying-to-cut-into-it burnt. Unlike salad, steak has to be cooked, so - although Smiley offered - she did not get a replacement.
Hearing of Table 7's impending negative Yelp review, Manager comes to ask what he can do to set things right. He offers two things: to take the steak off the bill, and a free dessert. While us girls decided against the dessert, Beetle's will was shattered by the prospect of a free giant cookie topped with free ice cream for free. The bill arrived, and, like the meals themselves, had to be sent back, because they had charged us for the steak.
The experience had its frustrations, but ultimately, we all kind of laughed in wonder at how this has never happened to us before now. I have to give props to Smiley, who kept cool in spite of all these missteps. Because the service was good and he and Manager did make things right overall, no one suggested never dining there again. And we tipped him, of course, because we knew that most of the trouble wasn't his fault. I know that if I worked for tips, I'd probably have to learn to survive on ramen noodles.

Confidence Builder

I had a proud mom moment. One of those moments where you realize you did something right despite having taken so many naps while you parked the kids in front of the TV. One of those moments that make you smile smugly but then instantly try to hide that smugness. One of those proud mom moments.
I was at the park with my kids and a friend. Daughter, the fashionista, was wearing a hot pink top with glitter, bright blue shorts, and knee socks. My friend thought Daughter had gotten those sartorial ideas from somewhere, and asked, "Who are you trying to look like?"
And Daughter said, "Myself."
<Insert beaming ear-to-ear grin here>
I have had other proud mom moments, of course, but this one came from my thirteen-year-old. Does anyone remember being 13? Do you remember the peer pressure? How everyone looked alike and if you didn't look a certain way you were labeled and probably snickered at? My daughter most certainly notices this, and gives not a fuck.
Which makes me THE GREATEST PARENT EVER WHO EVER LIVED EVER (suck it, every other parent worldwide including my husband!), and I will laugh maniacally all the way home.
In all seriousness, I have to confess that I don't know where I fall into the nature-vs.-nurture argument here - and that, in fact, her attitude may have nothing to do with my genes nor my guidance. I am still staunchly proud of the young lady I'm helping prepare for the world. Or perhaps, the young lady I'm helping prepare the world for.

Firefighter

I live in Colorado Springs. A fire erupted just west of here Saturday, June 23rd. On Tuesday, June 26th, it blazed through a canyon into some of the city's west side neighborhoods, prompting mass evacuations and presenting a very real danger to our city. Our hearts raced as we watched the fire come down the mountain, knowing there would be lives forever changed, if not altogether claimed. In the following days, as things calmed some, we learned that 347 homes were destroyed, yet there were only two confirmed deaths. This is entirely due to the diligence and sheer bravery of the approximately 1,000 firefighters who stood there keeping us safe. Thank you cannot be said enough.

Public Restroom Engineer

Murphy's Law of Public Restrooms

General Public:
If carrying a purse or wearing a coat, the hook on the back of the stall door will be missing.
If there is a door to the restroom, there will be a hand dryer, resulting in no paper towels with which to pull open the door.
If there is no door, there will be plenty of paper towels but the trash can will be overflowing.
The touchless paper towel dispenser will be broken, requiring one to touch the machine.
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which only flushes during those precious seconds between placing the seat protector on and sitting oneself down. It otherwise does not work.
Once a month, women will not fail to locate the one public restroom with no trash can inside the stall.
Soap only exists in bathrooms with push-button faucets that spit out water for 5 seconds at a time.
There will be ample toilet paper only on those oblong rolls that dispense one square at a time.


When Accompanied by Kids:
If a changing pad is forgotten, there will be no diaper changing station.
Diaper changing stations exist in men's rooms only when the father is not with the baby.
Even in the most kid-friendly of places - establishments in which they have placed a second, lower handle to the restroom door and shortened the height of the toilets themselves - the sinks, soap dispensers, and paper towels will be out of reach of anyone not yet in middle school.
When children need to wash their hands, the only faucets available will be those whose temperature cannot be adjusted and that temperature is set to "Skin Graft Now Required."
The automatic flush is a precisely tuned machine which senses young children's fear and flushes only when in the presence of a child in whom it can cause a panicked meltdown. It otherwise does not work.
Public restrooms have a restraining order on children requiring their usage, and must maintain a distance of no less than 100 yards at those times.

Water Extractor

I became a homeowner again in April. I knew it would have its risks; its perils, but I did not know it would happen so soon. We bought a house with a recently finished basement, where the fabulous master bedroom is. Of course we had it inspected before we actually purchased it, and there was no evidence of any basement leaks, and why would anyone willingly install carpet in an area where there could potentially be more water leaks? My mind was at rest about it. So the day the huge hail storm hit, I thought nothing of it. Until I sat on my bed for a bit. When I got up, my hip was soaking wet and I had no idea what it was from. I looked around to find that the window well above my bed had standing water, which was leaking into my room and directly onto my bed. I grabbed some towels, sopped up what I could, and asked Husband for the ShopVac. He proceeded to vacuum out the window well, while I sat helpless, having already put towels down. Once he was done, he came in to help me with the bed and carpet. Upon actually beginning to extract the water, we realized just how bad it had gotten: the carpet was soaked much farther from the window than I originally thought, and as we pulled the mattress off of the foundation, saw that the water had gotten halfway across the bed. My mattress is memory foam; it had absorbed that water like a sponge. The water on my hip hadn't been just incidental transfer - my weight on the mattress had squeezed the water up from underneath it. The water from outside. The water that had been filtered through the dirt on the ground. Eeeeewwww.
Neither of us having hands large enough to wring it out, we threw away the mattress and bought a new one (a horror story for another time). We pulled up the carpet and had fans blowing on it for 4 days, but still had to throw out half the carpet pad too, because the kind we have is spill resistant, and the fans couldn't penetrate it to dry it out. Husband drilled holes in the wall to help air it out. He pulled up the windowsill and vacuumed that as well. After all this, when pulling out more drywall, we found some mold. We can't be positive that it came from this particular leak or something unrelated, but the costs seem to just keep racking up. Insurance? You ask. Not covered. Of course. Sigh. We'll keep working at it, hoping for the best and having credit cards at the ready in case of the worst. Eventually, when all the water is gone, we'll have a bedroom again.

Murphy's Law Abiding Citizen

I was an early cell phone adopter. My first phone was talk only - no text, no internet, 75 minutes of airtime a month. I have had several phones since then. Not one of them has ever broken. My husband lost one several years ago, so I unselfishly gave him mine and bought a much cheaper, much less smart one. After that, he found his, naturally. So in December when I "bought" my free-with-contract latest-Android-OS smartphone, I didn't bother to get any sort of handset insurance on it. If you've ever seen any movie or read any book ever, you can see where this is going. This story isn't as much about the phone breaking, though, as the aftermath.
Our story begins on the morning of I Don't Know, Some Weekday. My alarm was ringing, and I wasn't ready to try to get to work on time yet so I hit snooze. As I dragged my sleepy hand back under the deliciously warm covers, I was unconsciously dragging my phone with it. My hand made it back; the phone did not. It fell between my nightstand and my bed, landing on the power strip there. I have dropped this phone before, on concrete even, and it was fine. Magically, this phone had managed to land on the edge of the power button for the power strip, cracking the screen, and rendering the phone completely useless. At first, the screen was just a jumble of jagged colors from the spiderweb crack. Then, it went entirely dark and never recovered.
We are advised to not speak ill of the dead, but there were days when I hated that phone. The battery could be fully charged when I woke up and without me even using it be dead by the time I left work. It was big and clunky too, but it was free and it did work, and a working phone is better than no phone at all. But there I was, with no phone at all. Luckily, I had the sense to wait until we got our first land line phone in 10 years to break my cell phone. Also luckily, a friend was willing to loan me a talk-and-text-only cell phone until I got a new one. Unluckily, I had no way of checking Facebook while waiting to pick up my daughter from school. Imagine! I went to the cell phone store and pled with them to allow me to renew my contract and buy a new phone for the lower price, but they would not budge. I threatened to cancel my contract and go elsewhere, they would not budge. The salesman suggested a cell phone repair store, a thought that had not occurred to me. So I went there optimistically, only to be told within 5 seconds of showing them the phone that the replacement part is $300 (excluding labor costs) and they don't even have it in stock. I could get a new phone on eBay for that price.
I did find a phone I wanted on eBay. I had decided that since the broken phone had been free, it wouldn't kill me to spend lots of money and just get the phone I want and won't mind still having for a couple of years until my contract is finally up and they're offering me free phones and hand jobs and unicorns to keep my business. eBay had the phone I wanted for a couple hundred dollars less than full retail. I was willing to pay the Buy It Now price just to get my hands on a shiny new phone. eBay then proceeded to flip me off with both hands as it denied not one, not two, but three credit cards I offered it. I got some error about the cards not being valid for payment. I think eBay just doesn't like money, because THREE separate credit cards?! On top of it, my husband tried to use his Bill Me Later account, and that refused to work either. Not that I did much business on eBay, but I guess I won't bother ever trying to again.
At that point, it had been a week since my phone broke. After cussing at eBay, I decided the easiest thing to do was to go back to the cell phone store and pay full retail for the phone. It was easy, after the half hour wait for a salesperson to become free to help me. Now, I have a shiny new smart phone that is not as clunky and doesn't need to be charged every 5 minutes. And handset insurance.

Aide and Abettor

My son likes board games; so much so that he often plays with them alone. Mostly he just plays with the game pieces like they're action figures, not caring to play the game as directed. Sometimes he asks me to play, and today, I ended up teaching him how to play Guess Who. He caught on quickly, winning his very first game. I had just a couple of characters left that could've been his. I'd asked earlier if his person was a girl, and he'd said yes. So I asked him if he was either Girl 1 or Girl 2, and he showed me that he'd actually drawn a male character. He giggled wildly and said, "I tricked you!"
I explained that answering dishonestly in this game is cheating. Honestly, though, I didn't know whether I should be disappointed that he cheated, or proud that he learned the rules quickly enough to know how to cheat on his first game. It was actually funny, because he's five and it was just a board game. When we played the second time, he didn't cheat; I won that round. He'd learned his lesson. Later, when he wanted some Count Chocula (known in our house as a "dessert cereal"), he came to me, wrapped his little arms around me, put his head on my shoulder, gave me the sweetest puppy dog eyes, longest pleeeeeeeeaaaaase, and a kiss on my cheek. My sweet little boy, cheating and bribing all in one day. They grow so fast.