When one sees something not right – out of the ordinary, for example – it’s only right to ask, “Why?”. Whether this is silently questioned in an inquisitive mind, or asked out loud, it must be answered. Such was an encounter the other day when I casually walked into a room for a mid-day munchie. In context, a mid-morning breakroom where there happened to be a lamination machine being officially occupied by a co-worker. Just the two of us. One casually snacking on mini whoppers and another seemingly working on a whopper of a job by said machine.
“Seemingly”, may I add. Granted, knowing this person, anything is possible. Generally, one should have available something to laminate? I spied by my very eyes … nothing. Clearly, nothing. Time being of the essence, I did understand the hesitancy in her reply when I asked, “Why .. ? What are you doing? ..There’s nothing here?”.
This was question #1.
Seeing through my “possible” sarcastic nature (but, avoiding a natural, satirical response), she spoke an unadorned comeback, “Hey, I’m waiting for this machine to warm-up. Do you know what temperature it has to reach?”. I was impressed with this reply. Logical. To the point; however, it was very transparent .. she was avoiding my, “Why?”
Again. “I know the machine is warming up. What project are you laminating? I don’t see anything on the table? Why?”
This was question #2
Once the machine reached it’s desired goal five minutes later, I got my answer. Five minutes of nothing. No laminated bird pictures, artist summaries, color wheels, how-to’s of this-and that’s, forest critter drawings, or kiddo crayon doodles – nada.
A pail-full of pellucid pandering for a period of five minutes. Intriguing? Yes.
…And I lamented the lamination – which ended up being my answer. You, distinctly, read this right. Q: To repeat #2 “Why?”. A: “To Laminate a Lamination”.
Ah, but there was a follow-up. Yayoi Kusama.
If you are familiar with a bright red bob wig, then my good friend’s answer makes perfect sense. Yayoi Kusama died mid-August and she was known for her signature wig as well as a distinctive art style. Mainly, her immersion into a clear, reflective, and boundless art style. This is what I can gather from my minimal search. So, from an educational perspective, to give students clear laminate in which to explore Yayoi’s world clears things up for me.
I guess I can see-through the genius of Yayoi to walk on my good friend’s motivational (and educational) path. Looking back, if I wasn’t hungry for the whoppers, none of this would have happened.
Lesson learned. Still ALWAYS good to ask, “Why?”. Even if the first answer doesn’t make sense, remember, the second mouse always gets the cheese … and learns a lesson in the process.
As long as it doesn’t get too close to the lamination machine. That wouldn’t be good.
It was a Konnor Griffin night at the Altoona Curve ballpark Sunday. Granted, a rehab assignment for the star Pittsburgh Pirates shortstop, but an important fan event locally. Over 7,000 fans packed People’s Natural Gas field to see this phenom swing a bat and field a few ground-outs before his expected return to the steel city. It’s expected to be a short stint here. Thus, the excitement.
Between a few bites of my Curve burger, I got up – noticing Konnor was up to the plate. Previous plate appearances had my torso jammed in a seat up in the third tier level … not real good for even a, err, new camera phone. Down in the first level concourse food court? Much better!
Ok, so the safety net is between us. Still not a bad picture. The only better ones I have are rookie photos graded and signed in my baseball card collection. Hey, for an amateur on a semi-burger binge – navigating a maze of hungry humanity – not bad, I say.
My scorecard began with swings and misses.
Going to the game at 5:30 was expected. Turning the corner off a major highway, coming back from an out of town trip and running into major traffic jams, was not expected. Traffic backed turning into an avenue leading to the stadium was horrendous. As that moment, I knew something was up. Not knowing Konnor Griffin’s appearance was the reason, frustration took root.
We had little time to spare. A side trip home was necessary (and planned ahead) before coming to the game. Passing by available parking wasn’t only a tough pill to swallow – that pill never came out of the bottle. Twenty minutes later upon our return, available lots were nearly full. Konnor elation in full swing.
By this time, pregame festivities were being broadcast on the radio, so I knew what was on base.
One lonely space became available waaay down in a lot seldom used during any other game. I suppose the walk up did me some good? Needed to burn off some calories ahead to help absorb the anticipated soda, Curve burger with cheese, chips, and soft pretzel w/nachos cheese I never can say never to …
There IS something to a local minor league baseball game. The 50/50 drawing I never win. Seeing a lot of people from the neighborhoods around who say, “hi”. Inter-inning games our Curve staff put out on the field. Fireworks almost every night. Pretty good food for only “slightly” higher prices than what would be paid outside of the stadium. A chance for kids to get an autograph of future MLB stars in rehab assignments or just coming up through the system. So much here for a nice evening.
When expected, I guess.
The traffic wasn’t. No real complaints. Just a half hour of “what are we going to do if there’s no parking?”… Be creative, I suppose. I’ve never gone to a Curve game where parking was a problem. The catch? Meeting friends who had free tickets for us. Just didn’t want to disappoint them by bailing. It’s why we made a special trip back from an activity an hour away.
Didn’t expect Konnor or the traffic. Knew it was going to be nice weather and wonderful friends to finish off a busy weekend.
Most times, Life isn’t 100% the way we expect. All kinds of “traffic” gets in our way.
In the end, most if it works out. After a longer than normal walk, we find our way through it to something enjoyable. Probably.
At least this is what I learned when Konnor stepped up and didn’t do real well at the plate. So he had an off night? On average, I believe he’ll be fine.
One night doesn’t define goodness. A little unexpected traffic didn’t ruin an evening, either. It was surprising, for sure. Glad one space was available and the opportunity was there, at the very least, to eventually relax.
Our hometown team lost. It hasn’t been a fantastic year. Westward by two hours, our Pirates aren’t that great. Both teams struggle. Can’t be sure. Could be ownership, management, player development, … I certainly don’t know. My life-lane doesn’t intersect at all with professional sports teams except in the card collecting area. Average minor league attendance per game here isn’t close to what it was Sunday night.
All I know – or care about – is: I enjoy the games in Altoona. The food and the atmosphere.
Wouldn’t mind the traffic all the time. This means they are playing well. Bumper to bumper would be expected. Now, that would be a home run on my scorecard.
Driving for most of all forty-five years since giving up my skateboard at age sixteen – as most sexagenarians – I’ve been successful at staying in my own lane. Save a few miles of mishaps and minor ticket travesties, vehicular events have been .. well .. uneventful and mundane. Here to there. Leave place A, arrive at place B.
Ordinary. Brick, pavement, dirt, and concrete roads leading to entertainment, work, or errand destinations. Every day. Thousands upon thousands of signal lights, signs, and road markings dictating our every move. Sounds from road noise can lull us into a mental hypnotic haze as cruise control takes over during longer trips.
With all that, a full bucket of paying attention while operating a vehicle is floating on wheels. As it should be. “Defensive driving”, as I was always taught. Not 100% fool-proof, but the best blueprint for effective, safe traveling two blocks or three-hundred miles. Dad said that two word phrase to me from the passenger side of a brown manual shift Pinto decades ago. Seems ironic, looking back, “safe”, and “Pinto” crossed lanes in my life about the same time … err, never mind.
My guess would be most of us practice safe driving, right? So, this can’t be just me. It can’t be. The past year (give or take a few weeks) the same thing has been happening on the regular. Today – once again – this specific strange occurrence visited my driving experience.
Leaving a Subway sub shop shouldn’t have had anything to do with it? Now, I did order a completely different sandwich. A wrap instead of the bread. Lest, I digress here.
So many different places I’ve pulled out into traffic. Slowly. Carefully.
I have two eyes, a relatively good rotation of my head, … and (counting the windshield and all windows) eight different ways to see all traffic coming in all directions. Once a decision is made to advance my life, my car, my day … forward, … the gods of traffic do this really weird thing.
…and, to repeat myself AGAIN… it can’t be just me.
There’s no traffic anywhere. I look. I double look. Up, down, left, right, … even those fortunate (or unlucky) enough to be in my passenger side confirm my eyesight evaluation. I trust but verify whenever possible. Always.
I think you have to know where this is going.
The second I am in my lane choice, there’s a person closer to the back end of my car than my proctologist was at my last exam. To make the situation worse, apparently these particular individuals are late on their way to an emergency White House meeting. I do believe they enter through a universal worm hole to irritate the living yield out of me.
Honestly, from where do they come? It used to be only the crotch rockets. Those super-hyped, over 120 mph cycles we can’t see, yet two seconds later they are on us flying by as a blaring blur of dangerous daredevily.
I get the normal tailgaters. We’ve all had those for years. If truth be traveled freely here, I must admit bumper stickers have been easily read by this writer on occasion as well; however, defensive driving 101 is almost always anticipating what the other drivers sharing the road will do.
Pulling out onto a road .. I’d be more than happy to anticipate what a driver would do – If that driver was actually ON the road.
More and more cars on the road now than back years ago, of course, when I sat in a (very) used Pinto learning how to shift without stalling the engine. The enjoyment faded, somewhat, after that day when I realized a car was needed for the jobs after school. The car meant more responsibility. As they say, a right of passage. I went with it.
Probably everyone’s attitude changed since then? We weren’t as anxious. As much in a hurry? We went with what life gave us.
A lot more cars with a lot more human stress behind the wheel now, … and so many additional distractions.
Pretty sure the road is always clear as is my mind. Passengers confirm it. It’s not a mirror coincidence this has been happening. Until I am satisfied with a real world answer, I’m going with my alien/worm hole theory.
If I look back one day and see a vintage brown Pinto tailgating me, however, …
… then I’ll give up and simply go back to my skateboard.
I’m not one to complain. Really. And, as life goes, this isn’t a big deal. A meal. A simple meal. Or, so I thought.
If a meal isn’t up to standards, so be it. My choices at local restaurants are always the same, anyway. I don’t order calamari or sushi. Avocado never graces my lips – can’t stand the texture. Steak, chicken, or haddock with a salad and/or pasta side. Maybe, just maybe grilled shrimp. Chinese szechuan sauce is cool, Korean chicken on a stick at any food truck festival 👍, and cold Thai yellow tea … all personal favorites.
Simple tastes.
Oh, and pizza on Sunday. Need to have 1/2 mushroom, 1/2 pepperoni, slightly over done, with a diet soda after 6pm on Sunday. This started decades ago and must continue. For the sake of all my dearly departed relatives, this tradition can never stop. Used to be after “Dallas” and our local Friday night football game – when my mom whipped together batches of Chef Boyardee paper thin pizza. You know, that yeast-by-the-can treat that was only edible after a loving mother added her special recipe ingredients.
I never complained. After a long halftime show with a very uncomfortable wool band uniform on – and general disinterest in the game itself – I was glad to be home. As well, any other time, the food placed in front of me was to be eaten, regardless. I learned to be thankful … even for meat pie, stewed tomatoes, and tapioca pudding. Ugh. No complaining.
That was as a child growing up. I’m positive you were taught the same life lesson.
As an adult, pretty much the same. Ninety-percent of the time. Save last Wednesday at a restaurant I frequent more than any other.
Did you ever know, just know, things weren’t going to go your way? Winning two rather cute stuffed animals in the claw machine while waiting for three friends to arrive felt normal. It happens frequently. Not to brag, but some day I’m going to get dragged into a back room and questioned under dim lights. The claw machine toughies are going to questions my tactics, prowess, perhaps a level of skill a bit beyond the norm? … without even considering just dumb luck: which it is. My odds are much higher than most because … wait for it … I play the darn thing coming and going each time. Two chances for one dollar. In my case, ten chances for five dollars 😆.
This is when normal stopped. “My normal”, that is.
Same meal, same drink ordered. Nothing new. Except the waitress.
This wasn’t (maybe) her fault? I blame the electronic, hand-held ordering thingy’s order takers have to tap on more and more. She fought with it, slowly. Distracted as she seemed to be, it was almost like a Tesla was being ordered online with a full interior package and every extended warranty available.
Please understand, at this point I am not upset … just relaxed and placing my normal order of an unsweetened tea, salad, lemon pepper fish, and a side of macaroni & cheese. No menu necessary.
My tea arrives. I sweeten it with two packs – one pink, one white. One sip and my over-sweetened alarm bells go off. After taste-testing from others, clearly the tea wasn’t unsweetened to start. Not the best start to a meal. Making the evening worse, our waitress came across as being slightly less-attentive to our table as we had been accustomed. Nice girl. Polite and respectful. Just didn’t come back soon enough to address my tea situation.
Yes, a first world problem. I get it. Sometimes, however, after the two weeks I’ve had prior … I looked forward to a nice dinner out with friends.
Didn’t take long for our dinners to arrive. Usually doesn’t at this restaurant. I addressed the tea problem with our waitress and she was glad to fix it immediately while I started my meal.
Ah, the meal. Lemon pepper has a way of going bad, apparently. “Maybe the claw machine guys finally got to the cook and made a deal to end my lucky streak?”, I silently mused to myself. A replacement tea came as I hadn’t the heart to tell our waitress my fish tasted like a brown, stale, ten-weeks old piece of veal – not that I would have ANY idea what the flavor of THAT would be?
I did have enough thirst to mention to her, once again, the second tea was as sweet as the first prior to my two-packet OCD addition. With an expected surprised look, she returned to the kitchen – second iced tea in hand.
Sweetened iced tea and horrible fish – 3, Doug – 0. Oh, btw, my salad and macaroni & cheese were both so-so at this point…
The manager I went to at the front desk – one who is familiar with my frequency – accepted my fish frustration with kindness after I explained the problem. He offered to personally go back and oversee my lemon pepper replacement. Good to go.
Yep. Good to go. Good. To. Go.
While sitting in baited anticipation for my fish, a third iced tea arrived! Woohoo! It’s unsweetened. Our waitress mistakenly switched pots/kettles in the back when cleaning. Problem identified. Problem fixed. I give her credit for, at least, recognizing the issue. My mood and expectations didn’t match up with it, however.
The manager hand delivers my lemon pepper fish. “Ah,..”, my mind sighs,”.. looks great!.. slightly darker than normal. Yellow-ish with good texture. I’m finally going to enjoy my meal”.
Slightly darker really meant extra pepper. When I type, “extra pepper”, I really should type what was going though the mind of whomever was over the grill. Phrases like, “He wants extra pepper …. I’LL give him extra pepper … grrrr..” and, “He thinks the LAST fish I grilled was bad … hmffph….” are most appropriate. I needed the whole third glass of tea after only two bites of fish. So much pepper … soooo muuuuch. I even took all the unused lemon wedges from our table to help suffocate the seasoning.
Hunger overtook the evening. I choked it down. Scraping after scraping, the fish went down with enough tears to fill any reservoir full of fish. As finally explained, the first plate of fish was seasoned with garlic .. that’s why. The seasonings got confused. Actually, they didn’t 😆, the cook grabbed the wrong one.
Again, with all that’s wrong in our beautiful world, this one meal – tea and fish – is so small and insignificant. I had food. I had friends to share time with. I had the money to pay for it. I had a few minutes to play a game and win prizes.
.. And a kind manager who didn’t charge me for the meal.
During the whole incident, no angry words were exchanged. Tears were shed because of a pepper error, not words. Things were a lot sweeter, albeit unnecessarily so, and stayed that way due to calmer heads prevailing. Throughout the meal, five adults had a wonderful time, yes, at the expense of one who had some difficulty getting ahead with his meal.
It was, truly, just tea and fish at the end of the day. Just like mom’s meat pie which I dislike to this day, if need be … I would eat it, be blessed, and fortunate to have it in front of me without complaint.
This evening, dad will be joining us for a dinner out if it works in the schedule. If you’ve been following lately, you know his struggle. It would be my honor to share an iced tea with him while I still can.
Sweetened, or not.
There are never any complaints when out with dad. Sharing a meal with someone who can’t process a menu anymore or understand the simple act of ordering, is never the time to complain. It’s a time to sit back and enjoy a meal regardless what season of life it is for someone who struggles every day, yet takes peace in the reality that’s his to cherish.
Pepper, or not.
And with that healthy serving of what is really valuable to all of us, the little inconveniences of too much pepper or sugar shouldn’t ever get in the way. Besides, there’s always a chance at more happy, cute animals just around the corner no matter what happens in life … unless I get there before you do.
