Let me check the date one more time…January 28, 2005.
I know over the years some folks have thought me a bit over the top on my views on diversity. I have been told that I shouldn’t look for things and that in the case of my wife, that no one views her as minority or ‘different’.
Oddly enough I guess that information was not shared with three young males in a Ford F150. So here I was, sitting in my office trying to come up with a topic for the day (for the Whiner) when the phone ran. My wife had left earlier to walk our dogs on the ball fields near our house.
My now clearly, disturbed wife was on the phone describing to me what had just happened. She had just crossed the street, when a red F150 drove by. The truck slowed down and the passenger rolled down the window on his side to utter “Go back to China you F***ing bitch!”
There are no words for the feelings of rage I feel, and trust me when I say; I could not get to my truck fast enough.
I get people being angry with me over something I did or said. No one has ever yelled at me for being white. No one has ever told me to go back where I came from. My wife also pointed out later to the local police officer, that she was, in fact, from Mississippi, not China. A point clearly lost on these fine youths.
Ever wonder what it is like to not be able to walk your dogs in comfort…to constantly look over your shoulder to see what the next fool has to say…then to wonder to what level it could possibly go to next.?
Me neither, but my wife does. She lives with it everyday.
So pardon my sensitive nature, when it comes to the treatment of minorities. I guess I’m just a liberal who has a soft spot for people of color. I get that not everyone thinks the way these punks did, but trust me… how little comfort is that, when you are standing on a public sidewalk by an open ball field with your dogs and someone is screaming at you.
The police assured me that they would follow up and have a chat with the youths and even their parents. Well, that warms my heart and I’m sure it will make my wife feel much ‘safer’.
I can’t help but wonder if perhaps a bit of the parents may have rubbed off on their darling children.
Sorry, just no way to make this one very funny.
Friday, January 28, 2005
Thursday, January 27, 2005
Beachball part1
I was thinking a bit about my reluctant acceptance of people who have authority over me. That is not to say I always work well with bosses and such; but until the balance of power changes, I’m a very patient guy. Usually that patience is rewarded with time.
When I was 26, I went to work for a large energy company. I had, in fact, worked there off and on as a contractor, so this was not much of a change, other than being a direct employee for the client.
There are many fun stories around being a contractor, but we will save those for future ramblings.
When you first start out in the working world, you are pretty well limited to believing your boss is the center of your universe. He controls your future and your time. He represents the one person who can make life good or just plain bizarre.
My new supervisor was an icon of sorts. This assumes that there is an icon for ‘overbearing, short, fat men’ who have nothing better to do than punish people for their apparent miserable little life.
The “boss”, was a retired Marine and tended to run everything in his life in this regard. It was rumored that at his home, he would put on a white golf shirt and inspect his wife’s dusting skills. He often brought this style to the work place.
He loved to intimidate and threaten his way through the work place. His peers and workers did not think of him fondly.
One of the duties you could be assigned was the ‘manning’ of the tool trailer during plant shutdowns. The tool trailer is a converted semi trailer that was fitted with ‘binfuls’ of tools and supplies for the real workers. My boss told me that we were more like a ‘jock strap’ and were there just for support. (A sweaty thought that lingered for years.)
I had somehow gotten on the bad side of the boss and was assigned to tool trailer duty on night shift. I was also teamed with a contractor who was a retired friend of the boss. A fact I was unaware of until later, after I had made some rather off color comments about the boss.
So into work I head for my night shift and waiting for me is the boss. He tells me that he has inspected the tool trailer, and it is filthy. He is holding me solely responsible for the cleaning of said trailer and will be in early the next morning to inspect the neatness of the trailer. Visions of white gloves flash through my brain.
I’m not always sure why I do what I do. I often wonder if there is an important feature of rational thinking that simply checks outs at moments like this in my life.
After arriving at my worksite, I inspected the trailer for dirt and so on. Looked ok to me, considering it is sitting in the middle of an oil refinery and the trailer is about twenty years old.
But he said to ‘get it clean’. The term “Vicious Compliance” jumps to mind here. This would be… you do exactly what you were instructed to do in spite of the fact you know it is lunacy and will probably not reflect well on your boss in the long run.
Upon inspection of the trailer, I noted there was large vent opening on one end of the trailer. It was one that could easily be pried open to accommodate a water source for cleaning. And it would go a along way toward doing some Serious Cleaning. On the other end of the trailer were two swinging doors that also opened if need be.
I gave a broom to my co-worker, the retired buddy of the boss. I grabbed a large container of detergent we called Rid-All (actually years later I realized this was more of a ‘eat through metal and skin caustic’ than let’s say a 409 Spray) and spread it on the floor of the trailer.
I told my co-worker that I would find a source of water to help wash away some of the dirt, and he should merely sweep away to help the process. I then opened the two swinging doors to give water a place to exit the trailer.
I discovered a source of water that I could introduce through the vent on the other end of the trailer.
It should be noted here, that there are several sources of water to be had in a refinery. Most commonly used, of course, would be utility water, where the hose is roughly the size of a garden hose. It is not the most powerful of streams in regards to pressure, but would clearly have worked well for the job at hand.
I opted to use another source.
Right next to the trailer was a fire hydrant and hooked to it was a nice length of 1 ½” fire hose. I wired the nozzle to the vent and cranked open the hydrant.
Later a friend of mine told me, he was driving by said trailer, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. All he saw was a torrent of water shooting out of the end of the trailer. Wrenches and assorted parts were flying out 20 feet onto the pavement. And in the trailer he could see an “old guy” sweeping for his life, while trying to keep from being swept away himself.
Somehow my boss was not happy, but I thought the trailer, and his buddy, looked very clean.
Try to please some people….
When I was 26, I went to work for a large energy company. I had, in fact, worked there off and on as a contractor, so this was not much of a change, other than being a direct employee for the client.
There are many fun stories around being a contractor, but we will save those for future ramblings.
When you first start out in the working world, you are pretty well limited to believing your boss is the center of your universe. He controls your future and your time. He represents the one person who can make life good or just plain bizarre.
My new supervisor was an icon of sorts. This assumes that there is an icon for ‘overbearing, short, fat men’ who have nothing better to do than punish people for their apparent miserable little life.
The “boss”, was a retired Marine and tended to run everything in his life in this regard. It was rumored that at his home, he would put on a white golf shirt and inspect his wife’s dusting skills. He often brought this style to the work place.
He loved to intimidate and threaten his way through the work place. His peers and workers did not think of him fondly.
One of the duties you could be assigned was the ‘manning’ of the tool trailer during plant shutdowns. The tool trailer is a converted semi trailer that was fitted with ‘binfuls’ of tools and supplies for the real workers. My boss told me that we were more like a ‘jock strap’ and were there just for support. (A sweaty thought that lingered for years.)
I had somehow gotten on the bad side of the boss and was assigned to tool trailer duty on night shift. I was also teamed with a contractor who was a retired friend of the boss. A fact I was unaware of until later, after I had made some rather off color comments about the boss.
So into work I head for my night shift and waiting for me is the boss. He tells me that he has inspected the tool trailer, and it is filthy. He is holding me solely responsible for the cleaning of said trailer and will be in early the next morning to inspect the neatness of the trailer. Visions of white gloves flash through my brain.
I’m not always sure why I do what I do. I often wonder if there is an important feature of rational thinking that simply checks outs at moments like this in my life.
After arriving at my worksite, I inspected the trailer for dirt and so on. Looked ok to me, considering it is sitting in the middle of an oil refinery and the trailer is about twenty years old.
But he said to ‘get it clean’. The term “Vicious Compliance” jumps to mind here. This would be… you do exactly what you were instructed to do in spite of the fact you know it is lunacy and will probably not reflect well on your boss in the long run.
Upon inspection of the trailer, I noted there was large vent opening on one end of the trailer. It was one that could easily be pried open to accommodate a water source for cleaning. And it would go a along way toward doing some Serious Cleaning. On the other end of the trailer were two swinging doors that also opened if need be.
I gave a broom to my co-worker, the retired buddy of the boss. I grabbed a large container of detergent we called Rid-All (actually years later I realized this was more of a ‘eat through metal and skin caustic’ than let’s say a 409 Spray) and spread it on the floor of the trailer.
I told my co-worker that I would find a source of water to help wash away some of the dirt, and he should merely sweep away to help the process. I then opened the two swinging doors to give water a place to exit the trailer.
I discovered a source of water that I could introduce through the vent on the other end of the trailer.
It should be noted here, that there are several sources of water to be had in a refinery. Most commonly used, of course, would be utility water, where the hose is roughly the size of a garden hose. It is not the most powerful of streams in regards to pressure, but would clearly have worked well for the job at hand.
I opted to use another source.
Right next to the trailer was a fire hydrant and hooked to it was a nice length of 1 ½” fire hose. I wired the nozzle to the vent and cranked open the hydrant.
Later a friend of mine told me, he was driving by said trailer, and it was the most amazing thing he had ever seen. All he saw was a torrent of water shooting out of the end of the trailer. Wrenches and assorted parts were flying out 20 feet onto the pavement. And in the trailer he could see an “old guy” sweeping for his life, while trying to keep from being swept away himself.
Somehow my boss was not happy, but I thought the trailer, and his buddy, looked very clean.
Try to please some people….
Wednesday, January 26, 2005
A Day in the Life
So today, I get to reflect on life.
It is the one thing I tend to do on my birthday, it is a present to myself.
I have lived in three countries.
I have had my heart broken more than once. I have met and become friends with more people than one person has a right to. I can count on two hands, the number of people who were important to me, that I never see or speak with anymore. This always makes me sad.
I have two beautiful daughters and two equally witty, granddaughters.
I also have two grandchildren who we lost far too early.
Sometimes life isn’t fair or fun.
I am married to my best friend. I would do anything for her and probably would…even if she wasn’t my wife. She is the best person I have ever met.
I am loyal and will work hard to keep a friendship alive and viable. I believe friends are a gift from God and should always be nurtured. Often I have been naïve in this regard, but it is the choice I will always make.
I have a temper and a sense of humor; often they are blended together.
I love music. I just never learned to dance all that well
I love sports. I am better at watching than actually doing them.
I take stupid risks and God smacks me on the head once in awhile to get my attention.
Overall, I do the best that I can.
I have no room for lies or arrogance; it is probably a fault I see in myself all too often.
I am neither a Republican nor a Democrat.
I vote from my heart, and if that doesn’t work, for the coolest sounding name.
I have no room for extreme anything.
I rarely suffer fools well.
So there you have it… just a flawed person doing the best that he can.
It is the one thing I tend to do on my birthday, it is a present to myself.
I have lived in three countries.
I have had my heart broken more than once. I have met and become friends with more people than one person has a right to. I can count on two hands, the number of people who were important to me, that I never see or speak with anymore. This always makes me sad.
I have two beautiful daughters and two equally witty, granddaughters.
I also have two grandchildren who we lost far too early.
Sometimes life isn’t fair or fun.
I am married to my best friend. I would do anything for her and probably would…even if she wasn’t my wife. She is the best person I have ever met.
I am loyal and will work hard to keep a friendship alive and viable. I believe friends are a gift from God and should always be nurtured. Often I have been naïve in this regard, but it is the choice I will always make.
I have a temper and a sense of humor; often they are blended together.
I love music. I just never learned to dance all that well
I love sports. I am better at watching than actually doing them.
I take stupid risks and God smacks me on the head once in awhile to get my attention.
Overall, I do the best that I can.
I have no room for lies or arrogance; it is probably a fault I see in myself all too often.
I am neither a Republican nor a Democrat.
I vote from my heart, and if that doesn’t work, for the coolest sounding name.
I have no room for extreme anything.
I rarely suffer fools well.
So there you have it… just a flawed person doing the best that he can.
Tuesday, January 25, 2005
And you sleep well?
Tsunami scams beset Internet
By Chris BakerTHE WASHINGTON TIMES
Internet scammers have pounced on the outpouring of good will toward the victims of the Asian tsunami in their latest scheme to con people out of their money. Fake fund-raising messages have landed in the e-mail boxes of Internet users in the United States and other countries since the Dec. 26 catastrophe. Some of the messages appear to be direct appeals from the survivors; others are made to look as if they came from the organizations assisting the victims.
Ok, I give up.
How much of a bottom feeder do you need to be to do the above?
Can you get any lower and not be considered a bad excuse for yogurt gone bad? What next, getting on the ‘telly’ and getting poor people to send you money for prayer towels? Like that could ever happen.
I watched a clown from Pittsburgh being hauled off by the cops who had started one of the first scams involving tsunami disaster. He, of course having the IQ of pond scum, was caught after he made about $120.00. He commented that everybody needs money, so what was the big deal? Well, that explains it.
I get the fact there are ‘con guys’, I just don’t get why they aren’t SHOT (out of general principle.) I’m thinking if you have the balls to scam old folks and people, who are just trying to do the right thing, you have time to share afore mentioned balls with a large angry man in prison. I could be wrong, but I don’t care.
We have a local car dealer in town that is notorious for having a group of sales folks who target seniors. It is a rare deal when you go in and pay full price at a dealership, let alone all the “extra protection” for said purchase. But this dealer has it down to a fine science, no discounts or low interest rates for these folks. Full price and undercoating to boot...
The price of success often comes without a conscience.
But, hey, what do I know?
Just working on my golf ball collection here…
By Chris BakerTHE WASHINGTON TIMES
Internet scammers have pounced on the outpouring of good will toward the victims of the Asian tsunami in their latest scheme to con people out of their money. Fake fund-raising messages have landed in the e-mail boxes of Internet users in the United States and other countries since the Dec. 26 catastrophe. Some of the messages appear to be direct appeals from the survivors; others are made to look as if they came from the organizations assisting the victims.
Ok, I give up.
How much of a bottom feeder do you need to be to do the above?
Can you get any lower and not be considered a bad excuse for yogurt gone bad? What next, getting on the ‘telly’ and getting poor people to send you money for prayer towels? Like that could ever happen.
I watched a clown from Pittsburgh being hauled off by the cops who had started one of the first scams involving tsunami disaster. He, of course having the IQ of pond scum, was caught after he made about $120.00. He commented that everybody needs money, so what was the big deal? Well, that explains it.
I get the fact there are ‘con guys’, I just don’t get why they aren’t SHOT (out of general principle.) I’m thinking if you have the balls to scam old folks and people, who are just trying to do the right thing, you have time to share afore mentioned balls with a large angry man in prison. I could be wrong, but I don’t care.
We have a local car dealer in town that is notorious for having a group of sales folks who target seniors. It is a rare deal when you go in and pay full price at a dealership, let alone all the “extra protection” for said purchase. But this dealer has it down to a fine science, no discounts or low interest rates for these folks. Full price and undercoating to boot...
The price of success often comes without a conscience.
But, hey, what do I know?
Just working on my golf ball collection here…
Monday, January 24, 2005
Some coffee with that?
My office is a mess. This is not a shock to anyone who knows me.
I can find stuff, most of the time, on my desk. Every three months or so, I clean-up my office and find all the stuff I was sure I threw out before. My office at home looks about the same as when I had an office in the “working” period of my life.
I worked most of my career with engineers and cost folks. Many of these people are neater than me; I say that as a point of interest, more so than a good thing vs. bad thing.
I have a good friend in Montana who once told me, that a four year degree means he knows “a lot about one thing.” And over the course of time, he didn’t use this knowledge, after being hired for the knowledge he had.
We had this dude we worked with who was the polar opposite of me when it came to neatness. Actually, probably even more than the neatness difference…
You could eat off this guy’s desk. I have been in museums and hospitals that paled in comparison.
He actually kept his files in file cabinets!! I personally chose to use the floor of my office. One time when I was working late, the janitor asked if she could speak to me.
She was concerned that even a light cleaning of my office was next to impossible. She was afraid that even walking into the office would disturb my system of filing.
So anyways… Mr. Neat clearly was light years ahead of me in filing and the use of Windex.
It was announced at our staff meeting that Mr. Clean was being transferred to Los Angeles and would be leaving in four weeks. So of course something needed to be done to keep our memory alive in his mind.
Chocolate cream pie…
We had, on occasion, an assortment of foods brought in for meetings. Not to say it was a great deal of food, but after I retired I lost about 25 pounds.
So following one of these meetings, my friend, Ron, and I noticed some chocolate cream pie leftover. Ron and I were never very good at just letting things be.
We took a slice of the mouthwatering pie and placed it into a Ziploc bag. We then, of course, proceeded down to Mr. Clean’s office. We went to his files, found an empty folder. We then made a sticker for the folder name and marked it as, “Pie (chocolate cream)”.
We then placed it in its ‘proper place’ in the file cabinet. (Ron had to show me how to do that, since I kept coffee cups and baseball caps in mine.) We then left the area.
We waited and waited, yet no type of response.
We would slip down to the office and check to see if the pie was in fact still there. It was, still in its folder and Ziploc bag. However, it was beginning to look less and less than the delicious piece of dessert it had started out as. I believe the term would be ‘science experiment’. At one point, I think everyone in the building knew about the pie, with the exception of the owner of the pie-file.
So, here we are at the day of Mr. Clean’s departure. We of course bring in food to say ‘farewell’. During the luncheon, Ron and I slip down to Mr. Clean’s office and notice the packing boxes everywhere. Surely, the “pie is out of the bag” so to speak.
We glance in the now, empty filing cabinet. We look in the garbage can, no pie.
We return to the luncheon, skip the pie selection and bid farewell to our departing workmate. He promises to call us and keep us up on how things are going in the ‘big city.’
Months go by and the pie is forgotten. We talk with Mr. Clean and all is well.
One day, the phone rings. It is our friend in LA and he has just discovered something “too gross to believe” in his new filing cabinet.
“Pie, you say? Yep, that’s pretty weird alright.”
I can find stuff, most of the time, on my desk. Every three months or so, I clean-up my office and find all the stuff I was sure I threw out before. My office at home looks about the same as when I had an office in the “working” period of my life.
I worked most of my career with engineers and cost folks. Many of these people are neater than me; I say that as a point of interest, more so than a good thing vs. bad thing.
I have a good friend in Montana who once told me, that a four year degree means he knows “a lot about one thing.” And over the course of time, he didn’t use this knowledge, after being hired for the knowledge he had.
We had this dude we worked with who was the polar opposite of me when it came to neatness. Actually, probably even more than the neatness difference…
You could eat off this guy’s desk. I have been in museums and hospitals that paled in comparison.
He actually kept his files in file cabinets!! I personally chose to use the floor of my office. One time when I was working late, the janitor asked if she could speak to me.
She was concerned that even a light cleaning of my office was next to impossible. She was afraid that even walking into the office would disturb my system of filing.
So anyways… Mr. Neat clearly was light years ahead of me in filing and the use of Windex.
It was announced at our staff meeting that Mr. Clean was being transferred to Los Angeles and would be leaving in four weeks. So of course something needed to be done to keep our memory alive in his mind.
Chocolate cream pie…
We had, on occasion, an assortment of foods brought in for meetings. Not to say it was a great deal of food, but after I retired I lost about 25 pounds.
So following one of these meetings, my friend, Ron, and I noticed some chocolate cream pie leftover. Ron and I were never very good at just letting things be.
We took a slice of the mouthwatering pie and placed it into a Ziploc bag. We then, of course, proceeded down to Mr. Clean’s office. We went to his files, found an empty folder. We then made a sticker for the folder name and marked it as, “Pie (chocolate cream)”.
We then placed it in its ‘proper place’ in the file cabinet. (Ron had to show me how to do that, since I kept coffee cups and baseball caps in mine.) We then left the area.
We waited and waited, yet no type of response.
We would slip down to the office and check to see if the pie was in fact still there. It was, still in its folder and Ziploc bag. However, it was beginning to look less and less than the delicious piece of dessert it had started out as. I believe the term would be ‘science experiment’. At one point, I think everyone in the building knew about the pie, with the exception of the owner of the pie-file.
So, here we are at the day of Mr. Clean’s departure. We of course bring in food to say ‘farewell’. During the luncheon, Ron and I slip down to Mr. Clean’s office and notice the packing boxes everywhere. Surely, the “pie is out of the bag” so to speak.
We glance in the now, empty filing cabinet. We look in the garbage can, no pie.
We return to the luncheon, skip the pie selection and bid farewell to our departing workmate. He promises to call us and keep us up on how things are going in the ‘big city.’
Months go by and the pie is forgotten. We talk with Mr. Clean and all is well.
One day, the phone rings. It is our friend in LA and he has just discovered something “too gross to believe” in his new filing cabinet.
“Pie, you say? Yep, that’s pretty weird alright.”
