Break a leg

Preface:

This is a bit more serious that most of my posts.  As I've said before.. I never expected that anything I write here would redound to the betterment of mankind.. I always felt that if I could just get a few laughs by allowing others to take a stroll though my particular take on things then this forum would have accomplished its goal.

But I have been watching... for about the past 30 years now, with great interest, what has been happening in our culture and especially within our schools with regard to so much violence.  And I'm not just talking about after-school fights.  We've always had those and probably always will.  What I'm talking about is the utterly psychotic rage and emotional breakdowns that seem to be occurring almost on a monthly basis.  Something has gone terribly wrong and no one seems to be able to get a handle on it.

This is not a rant about gun control.  This is not a rant about putting God or prayer back in the schools.  (Frankly, I'd be happy if they could just put Education back in the schools.) 

This is an observation drawn from what I call a 'video tape' view rather than a 'snap-shot' view of some rather stark changes during this period and what I feel is the core cause... as well as how it might be addressed.  Because up until now we just seem to keep pouring on more of the same things that have caused the problem in the first place.

We didn't get here over night.  You don't change an entire culture over night.  And so it will take some time, if people are willing to at least explore .. how to begin to heal this wound.. because what we're doing now simply isn't working.

It's about a 10 - 15 minute read.  No pictures this time - this subject is too important.

Thank you for reading with an open mind.

BREAK A LEG:

Other than a theater reference wishing ‘good luck’, there can be no good connotation for the notion of breaking a leg.

Imagine if you will, a boy comes home from school one day having been abused by a bully.  His leg has been broken.  The parents, as any parent would be, are deeply concerned and want to know how this happened.  The boy goes on to explain that there’s this big kid in class who picks on others... and sometimes he gets a little rough.

They listen with great concern and empathy, and as the story unfolds they are making haste to get him to a doctor as soon as humanly possible.

Good call… or so you’d guess.

The doctor examines the boy, and while looking down at him and rubbing his chin, he says: “Yep, that leg is broken alright.  And there’s only one clear fix - we need to...

…. break the other leg.”

I’m sorry,,,  what??

“You heard me – I’m a doctor…  I'm in charge and clearly know what I'm doing.

 The other leg has to be broken....  we should get him prepped for the procedure.”

Let’s get serious for a moment..   of course this is an absurd scene; and of course exaggerated to make a point:

We are losing an entire generation.. and will continue to lose subsequent generations to the fiercest bully of them all if we keep trying to fix the problem with the same ‘remedies’ that caused us to lose this generation in the first place.

When I was growing up I lived in a world where if you were having a bad day at school, or trouble with an assignment, the teacher could pull you aside and put their arm around you and give you a little pep talk – sometimes a shoulder hug and perhaps a little kiss on the forehead just to let you know they understood, and to let you know that everything was going to be alright, and that together… you were going to get through this.

They might have used humor to defuse the situation, or perhaps draw from personal experience about a time when things weren’t going so well for them and how they dealt with it.  But either way, the goal was to make a human connection.  You knew that you were not alone. 

They took the time and made the effort so that you knew and felt, that as a person… as a human, your problems mattered to someone else… that there was someone in authority who not only understood, but cared and could help do something about them.  It meant that you were Connected on a human level.

And it was because of this connection that the very same teacher who patted your head one week could look down over their glasses the next week and let you know that they were disappointed in you... or that you were not living up to your full potential and this meant something to you. 

It is because of that same connection that they had earned the moral authority… and it was because of this connection that what that person Thought of You…

….was important to you.

These people set the bar high because they wanted the best for you and understood that no one ever “rises to low expectations”.  It was a good system.

But … no more.  

Sadly, that kind of caring or concern on the part of a teacher is at the very least considered ‘suspect’, if not total perversion.  So in an effort toward self/ or career preservation, those teachers must disconnect: 

“I’ll be damned if they think I’m going to put my life and my career on the line for that nonsense in this day and age… not for a crying student… I just can’t”  And so..

… no more Human Connection.

When I was growing up it was not uncommon, in fact a regular occurrence for an adult to make casual conversation with a child in the grocery store line: 

“My, what a handsome young man… what are you going to be when you grow up?”  Or “What a pretty little girl! … How’s your summer going?” 

There was a time when parents would actually smile as they watched this time-honored exchange… of youngsters learning to interact with adults because they understood that this sort of ritual was essential to human development; Children desperately need this level of interaction and connection with adults as part of the maturing process.

Sorry - Not anymore.  That sort of thing is now considered ‘suspect’ as well. 

“Why, only a Pervert would initiate familiar conversation with a child out in public like that!”  Or “They’re just CRUISING for their next victim.. that’s what that pervert is doing!!”. 

And so rather than face that level of risk…  Adults sigh… and give up… and stop making the effort… and leave the child alone to text in peace.  And so.. no more Human Connection.

When I was in high school and the star football player made a touchdown he could slam that ball down in the end zone and dance to his heart’s content.  The whole community rejoiced with him. These types of reactions are a completely natural human response.  It was just a given:

“Kid who makes the play has earned the right to show off a little.”

Sorry - not anymore. 

If someone had told us back then that there would come a time when that sort of thing was not only frowned upon .. but would actually be Forbidden – we’d have reckoned them utterly mad.

But here we are – in the year 2014, when supposedly we’ve ‘come a long way, baby’, and actually doing everything we can to separate our kids from natural human emotions and responses.   Responses and reactions that were given to us by the Creator as a part of who we are as humans. 

Think about this – to live in a culture where it is wrong to CELEBRATE ACHIEVEMENT or victory at a high school ball game….  and instead…

Ready for this.......?? 

Glorify the Kartrashians. 

Seriously??

Doesn’t anyone see what’s happening here??

And what have we instituted in place of natural human responses and growth patterns?

A system supposedly designed to ensure that no one is ever offended, nor will ever have their feelings hurt again!  A culture where no teacher will ever be considered a pervert for simply wanting to help or mentor a child. 

A system which completely separates our kids (and the rest of us, for that matter) from the Human Connection.

A system that is completely counterintuitive to who we are as humans.

A system ultimately designed to produce robots who will never question 'The System'.

The reasoning given goes something like:  “Now we mustn’t celebrate victory excessively…  we don’t want to (and I’m not making this up!) hurt the feelings of people on the other team…  we don’t want to offend the other side.”

NOTE:  The feeling of Triumph over Challenge and Adversity is God-given.  It is the feelings which come with defeat that inspire us to press harder.. to seek answers.. to fine-tune our performance..  to Get Better.

And so rather than celebrate the Human Spirit..  we crush it.

As a culture, for whatever reason, we have worked hard, , , in fact, especially hard over the past 30 years to completely separate youngsters from who they are as humans...  to remove any and all semblance of human connection, having attempted to replace it with an attitude of non-thinking, non-feeling total uniformity.    

Rather than striving to equalize opportunity, we have worked toward equalizing outcomes and the results have been disastrous.  This is a perversion equal to the exact same perversions we have sought to avoid… by avoiding all appearances of human connection in the first place.

And so over time..  when these kids and future generations… naturally and subconsciously begin to rebel from this madness, as evidenced by so many news stories over the past few years – they are simply branded ADHD and drugged. 

There now... that’ll fix that!

Please get this - - - And when they rebel from this insane indoctrination…  we chemically lobotomize them.  Rather than address the actual problem - this sin of systematically destroying Human Connection, in our attempts to heal this broken leg -  

….we simply break the other leg.

…

with things like Ritalin… or the passage of  more feel-good, do-nothing legislation... or rules in school that forbid natural human emotional responses - apparently geared toward the wholesale elimination of this thing called the Human Connection. 

“If we dehumanize them we’ll eliminate all the problems that come with that.”  “Rather than teach them and mentor them how to work through life’s problems.. we’ll simply ‘deprogram’ them by allowing those particular ‘muscles’ to atrophy … to the extent that’ll never be a problem again – we’ll eliminate that entirely…

….along with the next Einstein… or Hawking..  or Saulk… 

In essence, we have normalized and legitimized the Crushing of the human spirit – but it’s for all the right reasons...      right?

And so eventually,,,  when one of these poor disconnected victims of this social perversion just snaps, as they are beginning to in great numbers… and there’s no one in their mentoring up-line… No level of human connection to ground them …  No teacher who cares and waiting to be proud of them… no minister, who was not about to be “seen as cruising for their next victim” … when there’s no one to look up to…  When the ultimate goal is reached and they are no longer connected to humanity…

… they walk onto a school campus with a gun, or some equally bizarre activity.

And, to be very clear:  this is not a rant about gun control.  Haven’t you been reading?  Guns are not the enemy.

This is a rant about reversing the cultural evolution which is destroying the process of maturing young people into successful and well-grounded adults.  This is a rant about what is actually causing the problem, and it is not “access to guns”.

This is not a rant about the ‘wayward trigger’.  This is a rant about a set of conditions.. and conditioning, which would inspire someone to pull that trigger. 

We’ve had access to millions of triggers throughout our history, but never, ever, have we seen a time when so many people wanted to pull them – and for all the wrong reasons. 

It’s not about the trigger.. it’s about the motivation.

This is a rant about a concerted effort to destroy what it means to be human and turn it into something else… because we have forgotten how to deal with these precious jewels as individuals.  Seriously.. who can be bothered, right?”  There are so many of them.. it’s just easier to zombie them up with propaganda and drugs.

And so rather than address this problem, what we hear in each of those situations is

“We need tougher gun laws.”  Or

We need to ban words like “bossy”

Wow – really??  As long as we continue to say that broken and disconnected children got that way because there aren’t enough laws on the books and we need even more laws – we will continue to sound like the doctor who says:

“We need to break the other leg.”

In essence the doctor is saying, “we need to engage in SOME type of activity for the sake of appearances, but to actually address the core problem doesn’t accomplish the ultimate goal.”

We don’t need more laws.  What we need… is to do whatever it takes to re-humanize our precious youngsters or we are going to continue to lose generation after generation.  

Children desperately need the Human Connection – not more laws.

What we’re doing now isn’t working.  It seems like more and more, as these horrific events unfold in our communities.. the answer is always to pour on even MORE of not only what isn’t working…..but can NEVER work.

This is the reality you earn when you allow people into positions of leadership with absolutely no leadership skills or vision.

It’s a mess of unimaginable proportions.  The President doesn’t get it – or won’t get it.  The congress doesn’t get it.  Limbaugh doesn’t get it.  Hannity doesn’t get it.  O’Reilley doesn’t get it.  And what’s more, they don’t want to get it… because it doesn’t promote their “Us vs. Them” agenda.  It’s not an official ‘talking point’.

In order to get the point across…  In order to shed light…It’s going to take a leader who knows something about leadership to begin work on this and frankly, I’m deeply concerned that there doesn’t appear to be one on the horizon.  

But until that time, for anyone reading who would venture down this far down the page..  Please, Please.. Speak to children in the grocery store line.. Please Engage them in friendly banter..  Please Help the student who just can't seem to grasp the concept and will be lost without your insight..  Praise the winner of the spelling bee, or the science fair..  CHEER like Hell when the young man or young woman scores..     Help us all to restore the Human Connection .. the Art of Conversation...  the Beauty of Mentorship... To hell with "diversity" ..  Praise Achievement ... And please, let's all do our best to turn this thing around before it's too late.

And should there be someone .. anyone.. with the particular type of leadership skill of which we're in such desperate need right now...    If that person does come along... they’re going to need all the luck and support they can get... and to that end I send to them my sincerest good wishes and would say to them from the bottom of my heart:

“Break a leg.”

~A.B. Miller

“The Man of a Thousand Opinions”

03/31/14
 ________________________________________________
 
Better guide well the young than reclaim them when old,
For the voice of true wisdom is calling.
"To rescue the fallen is good, but 'tis best
To prevent other people from falling."

Better close up the source of temptation and crime
Than deliver from dungeon or galley;
Better put a strong fence 'round the top of the cliff
Than an ambulance down in the valley.

~Joseph Malins - 1895

What's your sign?

Probably among one of the Worst pick-up lines known to ‘woman-kind’. That, and lines like “Hey, I may not be Fred Flintstone, but I bet I can make Your Bedrock.” *wink wink.

But this isn’t a story about how to pick up women in bars, or any place else for that matter.. this is a little recollection about something that may… or may not... have happened sometime in the past. You see, if I don’t hint at the notion that this could be fraudulent fantasy... some folks in a certain small southern town could come looking for me. So we’ll just call this my first attempt at pure unadulterated fiction – k?

First off.. speaking of birth signs, mine happens to be Scorpio. We Scorpios can be a somewhat serious-minded group of folk, but can also be fairly easy-going for the most part … until someone crosses the line. And then it gets intense.

And we don’t need an audience to watch us balance the scales either. We don’t need the recognition. .. and we sure don’t need to hear someone say “Oh, you got him good!! That’ll show him!” Nope.. we’re more about results.. because with a Scorpio anything that might deter, diminish or detract from the ultimate goal is not considered a ‘legitimate pleasure’. We are perfectly content to hide in the shadows... finish our business… and be done with it. The fact that our tormentor never sees us coming does not in any way take away from the joy that ‘justice has been served’. And while we may even forgive sometimes.. a Scorpio never forgets. Ever.

And that’s where this all begins:

Some years ago.. around fifteen I would guess, late on a Sunday night, I was on the road through the deep south returning home from a job interview. The whole process had gone really well and I felt certain I’d be offered the job within the week. But for now I’d still need to drive through most of the night in order to make it into work the next morning. Fortunately I lived ‘on-site’ where I worked, so without that morning commute I’d be able to add a good 30 minutes to some precious sleeping time.

Driving into this quaint little town I noticed these charming old clapboard-siding houses and an old town square; there was an ancient courthouse at the center with a tall clock tower, which actually worked… just lovely.

The part I drove through on my way out of town was just as nice. A long street lined with grand old Victorian houses on one side and some railroad tracks on the other. I remember thinking how nice it would be to perhaps return someday to see it during daylight.

The posted speed limit was 25 miles an hour. (which made some sense.. I mean, it was a residential area) However, with absolutely NO one around.. and a fairly clear shot toward the city limit, I was going about 45.

Uh oh.

Helloooeeewww Local Law enforcement!

I should have remembered that when it comes to interaction with local law enforcement…

….once Krispy Kreme has closed for the evening… it’s open season on tourists.

And that is how I came to know Officer Mark. (I won't give his real name, but the name “Mark” is also slang for the target of a practical joke, so somehow that handle seems fitting)

“Evenin’. Do you have any idea why I stopped you?”

(Never admit guilt of any kind)

“No Sir, I can’t imagine.”


“Well, the posted limit through this part of town is 25 miles an hour – and you were going 48”. (Ok... so I fudged earlier on the 45)

“You see, Sir..... there was no traffic.. and I was on a long trip home.. you see.. uh.. and I just finished this job interview that went very well and .. “

“Well there, young man, if th' inner-view went That good then you shouldn’t have any problem payin’ this ticket, reckon?” , he said with a smirk, opening his little book.

Yeah... I reckon.

He did happen to mention that if I could somehow make it back to town for the court appearance…and stand before the judge and specifically request a ‘two point reduction’… that most likely he would do it.

“But you have to actually show up – he won’t do it over the phone now.” said Officer Mark.  Seriously, he had the entire 'bumpkin cop' routine down to the nth degree - everything but the tobacco spit.  But he seemed fairly serious, as if he were trying to toss me some sort of consolation prize and that put my brain into gear..

At the time, although I lived in Georgia, I still had a Tennessee driver’s license. And looking back, I can see where he might have thought, just by looking at my license, there was no way I was coming all the way back to Podunkville just to ask for a two point reduction on a traffic ticket… But then, the officer probably didn’t have any one close to him who just happened to be a Scorpio either.

I have referenced it more than once: Dura lex sed lex - “The law is hard, but it is the law”. True. But even still, you’d think he might have made SOME concession .. . considering the fact that it WAS... in the middle of NoWhereTown USA… at TWO o’freaking clock in the morning.

But nope.. he wadn’t havin none of That!  Ok then, Mr. Mark...   but remember... YOU drew the line in the sand.

So all the way home.. in the dark.. on that lonely stretch of highway... I kept rolling it over and over in my mind: WWTASD?

(What WOULD the average Scorpio do??)

Well, I’ll tell you what THIS Scorpio did. It took some time and planning to get it all together. .. but first thing I did was talk to the boss Monday morning and ask for that court date off. No problem there – done.

The morning of the court appearance I had to get up mighty early to leave in time to show up for court at 8 am. Eventually, I found an open McDonald’s, grabbed some breakfast and was on my way.

That ancient courthouse seemed just as charming on the inside… and “wooden”. Much more beautiful in the daylight. High ceilings with rotary fans…no air conditioning. Wide slat pine board floors – charming.

Since I was the first arrival, when court began I was the first to be called. And for what it’s worth, I also happened to be the ONLY person in court wearing a jacket and tie.

And somehow, based on the judge’s slightly startled reaction, I don’t think that anyone had ever said the words “Good morning” to him while they approached the bench either – but it felt like the right thing to do.

(As Mother used to say: “There’s never a good excuse for bad manners!”)

The visit was short and sweet, and I did get the opportunity to ask him if it would be possible to reduce the points by two. He shrugged.. and looked over at my tormentor, Officer Krispy Kreme,

“Did he give y’any trouble?”

“Naw’sr, he done good.”

“Very well then, we’ll reduce by two points, you can pay at the clerk’s office, get your receipt and be on your way.”  Down went the gavel  *SLAM!  "Next case!"     Thank you, your Honor.

I paid.. and got my receipt… that sacred document…. with the officer’s first ….AND LAST name on it.

Gold!

Now for part B.

Back in those days, it was fairly easy to find someone’s address and other information by just looking them up in the phone book or by calling directory assistance. That was before the days of the World Wide Interweb and wide-stream stalker paranoia. Directory assistance was more than happy to provide the information I needed. So now that I had a name.. and a town.. it wasn’t too difficult to find an address.

(And no….. I wasn't going to stop by the house – too damn simple.. certainly no glory in that.)

But what I did do instead .. was stop by a printing company .. and have a rubber stamp made.. you know.. like those address label things.. or the ones that say in bold letters “PAID”… only this one read:

“From the Library of “Officer Krispy Kreme”… along with the street address..In fact, I believe the print shop actually Gave me a little ink pad to go with. Nice people.

And finally,,,  it all comes together

The next time I headed home for east Tennessee from Atlanta I made a short stop in Chattanooga.. at what was once one of the largest adult bookstores in the region. Couldn’t miss it - right there off the interstate.. huge yellow and red signs…. I put my head down.. averted my eyes.. and went right in.

I quickly spotted, and picked up about 4 or 5 of those little perverted dime store novels. You know,,, the really classy paperbacks… ones like… “The real reason Father Tom is not married” and “Fun with Me and Sis.. “ and “My goat, my lover.” You get the idea.

I made the purchase.. folded the black bag tightly… and got the hell outta there.

When I returned home, under the light of the green bankers lamp over my roll-top desk .. in each one of those little books.. up front on the inside page…. With a slight tilt, just for that artistic effect…

…. went the stamp ...

From the Library of:

Officer Krispy Kreme

1111 Address Lane

Smalltown, USA 55555

And then right back in the black bag they went.

Several months later, as luck would have it, I eventually got my wish, and I was able to once again pass through that quaint little town with the clock tower… in the middle of the business day.. when everything was open….

Including the local library.

I nearly danced up the limestone steps and walked in... greeted the kindly old lady behind the desk with a smile and a nod, as she happily gave me directions… and then…….. rather quietly …

 And surreptitiously,,,

… one-by-one… proceeded to insert each of those books from my little black bag…

....in random spots throughout the children’s section.

Scorpio One – Donuts None

You know, I almost felt sorry for the guy.

Almost.

I remember from years ago something my mentor, Mr. Abell, told me

“Things don’t just happen, Mr. Miller.. things happen just.”

Gosh… if only Officer Krispy Kreme had just bothered to think his way through to a better opening line than:

"Do ya know why I stopped ye?"

 and simply asked...:
“What’s your sign?”

Hey Oregon... You can kiss my Gas!

This story begins some two and a half years ago, back during the summer of 2010.

I was returning to Seattle by car from a trip to Nashville, and was taking what I believed to be the most efficient route - through the state of Oregon.

It's a big state, with a varied mix of landscapes for just about any preference: Mountain ranges, farmland, desert toward the south, plenty of forests, etc. It’s a nice drive from any direction.


When I reached the city of Baker I pulled into a gas station and was about to fill up and grab a drink when someone wearing an orange vest with some reflective tape on it...

(like the guy on the construction crew who holds the slow sign)  

...approached the car and began fiddling with the gas cap.

Thinking I had pulled up to the ‘full service’ pump, I opened the door slightly and said to him,

“Excuse me, I’ve pulled up to the wrong pump.. let me move my car.”

He didn’t stop.

A sworn enemy of rational thought

I could only assume now that this poor victim of our public education system might have been completely tuned out, or just had something else on his mind. Either way, he wasn’t listening. (You know, there really isn’t much service in the ‘service industry’ these days.) And so I spoke more loudly: “Excuse Me – I need to move my car to a self-serve pump.”

He kept at it.

At this point I became not-just-a-little irritated – so I walked up to this ‘nummy’ and said to him “If you don’t take your hands off my car I am going to remove them for you, and not just from my car.”

Now I had his attention. He turned to me, as if I should have already known this, with a completely blank expression, and said:

“All gas in Oregon is full service – By Law.”

“Uhh….. I’m sorry……. WHAT? ?

This has to be some kind of a joke. Come on now… where are the cameras? Where’s Ashton Kutcher?? I’m being filmed for some reality show – I just know it.

No – this was for real.  All gasoline in the state of Oregon, by Law, is mandatory “Full Serve”. I was, as you can imagine, Utterly Astonished.

But sure enough, you can look the law up for yourself:    ORS 480.315-320


Let’s take a little side-trip, shall we?


The following is from the text of ORS 480.330:

"An owner, operator or employee of a filling station service station, garage, or other dispensary where class 1 flammable liquids are dispensed at retail may not permit any person other than the owner, operator or employee to use or manipulate any pump, hose, pipe or other device for dispensing the liquids into the fuel tank of a motor vehicle or other retail container."

ORS 480.385, Civil penalty for dispensing law violation:  Civil penalty shall become due and payable 10 days after order: up to $500.

*Out of 17 declarations used to justify this completely asinine law, it was number 7 that I found the most amusing:

“Exposure to fumes presents a health risk to customers…”

However, it didn't appear to be such a 'health risk' to the “Qualified Fuel Dispensing Operator', who wore no mask or protective gear.

So if it’s a risk to ME… but HE is not required, nor has the intellectual wherewithal to protect himself, it sounds like EITHER a major lawsuit in the making, or that these people are hired because of some aberration in their DNA which makes them naturally immune to such dangers.

Seriously, , , “Qualified Fuel Dispensing Operator”?? Who comes up with this nonsense? Does someone REALLY attend a special course (and who pays for it??) to become a certified Pumpologist??, or whatever they call it.)

And just how long would those classes be? Days? Weeks? Would they break for lunch … or have homework assignments with a deadline??  For pumping Gas??


For pumping gas...


So – of course I asked the attendant: “But Why??”

He didn’t hesitate, per his programming: “Basically, it’s for two reasons.”

“Sure”, I said.. “… go on.”  (I could not WAIT to hear this one.)

“Well number one, it prevents ‘drive-offs’.

I had to interrupt: “Uh.. No – it doesn’t.”

“PRE-PAY, young man… is what prevents drive-offs. That’s why most stations in America do it that way now. You see, unless you PAY FIRST, they won’t actually turn the pump ON.  And that’s how 'drive-off's' are prevented, my unprepossessing friend.”

Completely unfazed, the blank stare continued and he just kept going, as his apparent programming dictated. He absolutely was not interested in any kind of exchange. But then again, why should he be? …there was nothing he could do either way:

“Dura lex sed lex” The law is hard but it is the law.

“And number two, it helps with job creation.”

I was completely dumbfounded. I almost didn’t know where to begin.

"Nope - wrong again.  Young man I don’t know where you got that little jewel, but actually it doesn’t help with job creation. Allow me to shed a little light on some basic economics for you:”

                                                                       

        

“What helps with job creation in a free-market economy is the principle of bringing something of value to the marketplace so that a free people, making decisions in their own best interest, can choose whether or not they’d like to participate. Hell, if you wanted to follow that argument through to its logical conclusion then why not just make it illegal for me to tie my own shoe laces?”  That would certainly aid in 'job creation', wouldn't it?

By this time however, I realized it was a lost cause and that I was sounding more and more like my father talking back to the editorial page. And now there really was but one question left to answer:

Do you want the gas or not?

So I chose the gas.

But not before I pulled out my Rand McNally road atlas and calculated the miles from Baker to the city of Kennewick, Washington, and then determined the gas usage. “Give me EXACTLY 8.1 gallons of regular - and if you go over by once cent I won’t pay it.”

I made it to Kennewick and filled up.

Seriously, could government be any more of a complete ass wiper?? Even now, I still can't get over it. I simply cannot wrap my mind around the government at any level, in a supposedly free society, dictating how and Whom can fill your gas tank; any more than I can wrap my mind around a city government telling a for-profit business what size soft drinks they are allowed to serve.

So... let’s fast forward to this past week.. I was honored to speak at the annual professional butler’s conference in Los Angeles, and the plan was to make my way up through California to Seattle afterword.

But I was ready this time.

Calculator and atlas in hand, I figured the miles from Hilt, California, virtually right on the border, over the bridge in Portland, Oregon into Vancouver, Washington: 311.22 miles. On the road, my car will average about 337 miles per tank – So it would be close, but if I didn’t jack around on the road I could make it.

Portland Bridge

Several hours later, just out of Portland into Vancouver, with my gas needle Way below the E, as my car essentially rolled down the bridge onto an off-ramp and into the first gas station I could find, I beamed with a pride that could be described as something akin to a mad scientist after witnessing his creature come to life for the first time-

(or like my father when one of his weird theories had been proven right)…

I stepped out of the car, hair blowing in the wind, face toward the rising sun, , , (notice I said hair, and not “hairs”) patted the old Jeep on the hood and said: “You did good, old girl… you did Real good..!” While others shot me those little sideways, uncomfortable glances and then looked away. 

I’m certain that to the other random tourists and customers I must have been some sight. Parents began pulling their children closer.. and some of them just drove off without replacing their gas caps.

And I do realize that only 1 person trying to make such a point based solely on principle may not carry very much weight overall. But perhaps if the other person (I’m sure there must be at least one) who reads this blog gets so inspired, they might even choose to avoid an Oregon gas pump as well… And who knows, we may even just start a little revolution – hell, there could eventually be as many as Five or Six of us!

Or … I might just be completely delusional and, in a way,  just be reassuring the parents who pulled their kids to safety while tearing out of that gas station parking lot that morning that they were completely right in doing so.

Either way, they can all think what they want...but By God,,,,, I made it… and I got my Washington Gas.

And now that I've GOT my gas..  The state of Oregon can Kiss It.

There Auto be a Law

“This weekend ONLY! Fantastic Deals! All Applications will be Accepted” All Inventory MUST be sold!”

Few things actually frighten me anymore. I’ve dealt with the death of loved ones.. with collection agencies.. getting pulled over by local law enforcement when I knew I’d been going just a bit over the limit…even got fired a few times. Then there was that little stretch where didn’t file taxes... for ten years (which I’m sure will make another fascinating record for this journal).. that was kind of scary, but all resolved now.

When I was young, I remember watching a movie called “War of the Gargantuas”, a pretty creepy sci-fi movie of the Japanese variety which scared the wits out of me. (Looking back now, I think the scariest thing about that movie from today’s perspective was the horrific English over-dubbing.) I slept with the lights on for a month.

Back in my hometown our minister, Preacher Maddox, would attempt to literally “scare the hell out of us” on Sunday mornings,
but now I kinda think that whole “hell thing” may be more like the evil monkey in Chris Griffin’s closet… perhaps more fantasy than fact. (Seriously….so you lived 70 years and did the best you could and still didn’t “Accept Jesus”.. and that’s a reason to burn ForEVER?.. But I digress)

So as I approach my 50th year, there just aren’t a lot a lot of things that spook me these days.

Except for this one thing… that sort of sets me on edge…

The Car Salesman.

Not ‘A’ Car Salesman…. But THEE Car Salesman. Because there really is only one, eternally existing in various forms on every auto lot in North America. And I just don’t like dealing with them.

Come on... really? “All applications accepted!!”?? Of course they’re all accepted… that doesn’t mean necessarily that they are all approved now, does it?

“All inventory MUST be sold!!”?? Seriously, how can this possibly be news to anyone? I always thought the objective of any retail business was to sell all of their inventory. And I’m not so sure whether it’s the asinine nature of these statements that bothers me or perhaps it’s the volume level at which these commercials are broadcast.

The Great Cal Worthington

Here’s a little rule of the thumb that you may not know about car dealers and their radio ads: “The lower the intellect of the customer they’re trying to reach – the louder the voice of the announcer.” And you can mark that down;

No one ever had to yell at you to sell you a Mercedes.

This morning, I heard yet another brilliant one of these ads on the radio: “….but hurry!” They declared, “This Limited-Time Offer will not Last Long!!”

Ya think?? Can you imagine, just for a moment, a radio ad declaring that a “Limited-Time” Offer would last as long as you wanted it to? Dumbasses.

I have been driving my (fairly ancient) Chevy Blazer, for about 10 years now, and truth be told … it has seen better days. But I was never one to just go out and buy a new car on a whim. I’ve never said.. “I make pretty decent money,,, think I’ll just go get a new car. Although I know some people who are in and out of new cars all the time – it’s just not my thing.

The reason I go shopping for a new car is for the simple fact that the current vehicle has just been run into the ground and it’s either ‘switch’….or walk.

And so one evening this week, while pulling into the parking lot of the local “Bed Bath & I’m Sorry, we’re out of That”,,,, listening to the squealing of my fan belt,,, and no longer able to see what’s directly behind me because the summer sun here in the desert has destroyed the glue holding my rear-view mirror in place… it just occurred to me:

…it’s kind of troubling when a person makes a decent living, and pretty much in control of every facet of their life, But… still driving a P.O.S. vehicle because of an unnatural fear of a simple-minded man in a pair of high-water khakis and a logo-embroidered, short-sleeved shirt with a hellish, unnatural smile which never seems to go away – Yes… That Salesman guy.

So I said to myself .. nope… not going to run this time. Something needs to be done. I’m going to beat this thing and go find me a new car! Time to visit the dreaded salesman.

Now to be sure, I know there are the politically correct among us who will say “You shouldn’t say “salesman” .. you should say “sales PERSON”. NO, actually, I shouldn’t – because frankly they are NOT persons.. they are something else. They are some mutated form of the species, devoid of all the things which allow us to respond naturally to life … like a pulse, for example; or the ability to make eye-contact, or to smile with their eyes rather than with just their mouths. It’s uber-creepy and I don’t like it. I tend not to trust people in general, but when it comes to someone who’s trying to sell something that costs over ten thousand dollars… and they don’t blink – that’s a tough one for me.

So.. I take a deep breath; turn on my right turn signal (because that’s the one that still works. If it didn’t, I’d have gone around the block to make my turn from the other direction), pull onto the lot – and Let the Games Begin.

There they are… a small herd of them… standing out in front of the showroom… arms folded... some of them killing time with cigarette in hand.. completely lost in their own reality.
They look like a pride of lions sitting on a rock waiting for the next gazelle.

UNTIL.. you reach for your door handle and put one foot on the pavement, and then, as if by instinct, they all begin approaching slowly.. arms outstretched, like creatures in some bad zombie movie…

You can hear them through your closed window.. “Brains! Brains! Customers! Brainssss!! You roll your eyes and step out of the car, greeted by the first zomb… er….salesweasel, saying something that sounds like some part of an auctioneer’s chant, with no punctuation or breath in between words: “Good Afternoon, Sir, and Welcome to Con-Way Chevrolet How Are You Today What Can We Help You Find Today Sir??”

Was that even a sentence?? Seriously, dude.. are you trying to buy a fucking vowel??

He sounds like that same old tired DJ at every strip club in America – the one with the high, pinched-nose voice, who didn’t quite have the talent to make it in radio, but thought.. Ok.. I’ll be around naked women who will never want to touch me… and I won’t have to sell insurance for a living, but it’s still a job in “Broadcasting!”

(To explain what I mean by ‘that voice’, just pinch your nose and say this out loud and you’ll know the sound I’m talking about:
“Ok, gentlemen… these girls aren’t gonna show any skin without some participation on Your part, so let’s welcome to the stage...… AN – GEL (accent on both syllables) .. But don’t let the name Fool Ya, Gentlemen!!.. blah blah blah…"

In the first place, dude, stop calling them gentlemen. And in the second place, the fact that she’s taking all of her clothes off in front of complete strangers who are stuffing dollar bills in crevasses probably not seen by the maintenance department for some time, have not allowed the name “ANGEL” to ‘fool’ me in the least.)

Anyway…….back to the dealership: As the young salesweasel nears my car, I step out.. He’s approaching the car from just behind the driver’s side window… Like an officer pulling you over and doesn’t quite want you to have the visual advantage.

So I say to him: “Uh.. You know that’s a really good way to get pepper-sprayed, sneaking up on someone like that.” But somehow he is unfazed, and the smile never leaves his face:

“Oh I’m Sorry Sir We Just Like To Make Sure That Everyone Gets A Proper Greeting When They Come On To The Property, Sir Now What Can I Help You Find Today Sir?”

“Young man”,,, I say with a weak smile, pulling myself out of my car, “I’d bet a week’s salary that NO ONE comes onto this lot without getting a greeting”. (At this point in my not-so-young life I love using that “young man” thing.)

“You and I both know that squirrels and mice passing by the front gate do NOT pass by this lot and NOT get a greeting, just on the off-chance they might be interested in buying a car”, I observe pragmatically. (He’s still smiling, and ready to go. He’s got STUFF to say!)

Now, we’ve all been involved in conversations when we knew the person on the other end was just full of crap,


....but they knew that for the sake of keeping the peace we wouldn’t dream of calling them on it. But I’m not like that with the species I call by their Latin name: “Comunitcatus Bullshitus”.. I just tell them just like it is and let the chips fall where they may.

“I am not here to win friends and influence people”, I say.. I am here to get the best deal on a vehicle.”



He continues, “Well Of Course Sir You Just You Just Tell Us Where You’d Like To Be Sir and We’ll Do Our Best To Get You There!!” (Well, of COURSE he will .. why wouldn’t he? Isn’t that his sole purpose for being on the planet… to “get me there”?)

At some point, you realize these people are using a special code and language designed to round the edges on the questions they’re really trying to ask. This last sentence, for example, translated from “weaselspeak” simply means, “How much money did you fantasize about spending before we got a-hold of you, and we’ll do our best to make sure you spend it… and don’t forget add-ons.. like undercoating, etc……. “Sir.”

Hmm .. where would I like to be ….? “I’d like to be under the covers with Liz T. while she’s wearing one of my starched custom shirts with the sleeves rolled up, but she’s in school finishing a nursing degree somewhere in California right now, so that’s just not possible.”

“Uhmm….Sir?”

“Oh…you meant “What’s your budget?” Yes.. I understand”, returning from my dream-like state – “I’ll tell you what.. why don’t we just look at cars, I’ll tell you what I like, and you make your best deal – and if I don’t like it we’ll simply shake hands and call it a day, fair enough?” “Certainly, Sir.”, still forcing a grin.

Damn! I’ve taken away what the young archer needs most: A Target!. Without the target dollar amount he’s unable to gain traction. He’s looking for something to ‘pin me to’ and I’m not giving it to him.

So, with the continued smile, which incidentally has not once left his face, he agrees and we move forward.

Back to my reading audience for a moment: Now, what I really need is a mid-2000’s semi-large SUV. Because I have to be able to haul my upright bass around the countryside, so it has to be large enough to accommodate my instruments and other necessities when I travel. I like the idea of a Chevy Tahoe, but that’s beside the point. We pick one out and get to work.

Throughout the afternoon’s conversation I hear him rattle on about a myriad of things, family, community, politics.. all in an attempt to establish some sort of what they call ‘rapport’ with me. It is somewhere during the middle part of this strained conversation that I begin to realize: “This person appears to be genetically pre-disposed to utter nothing of any lasting significance whatsoever, and I’m just going to have to endure.”

But now we’ve made it through to the final stages… The fun part - the part where he pushes a piece of paper on front of me with an amount on it and I get to say “yea or nay”, which, in the world of sales, is just plain stupid. I don’t like the idea of being pitted against someone who’s deliberately trying to make me feel uncomfortable – when in fact, I’m still holding all the cards! But even more importantly, knowing that his approach is all wrong, and I want to help him but for obvious reasons cannot.

What he should have done, just between my millions of readers and me… was to have me focus on two vehicles rather than one – gotten the best prices on both – and THEN sat down with me and both offers to ask: “Which One?”, rather than a “Yea or Nay” winner-or-loser-take-all kind of question. With the two-car option, which is geared to make it appear that I am in control, it makes it seem as if all the decisions are mine, but in reality.. either way, I’d have done precisely what he’d intended for me to do all along: Which is buy a car.

And so it all comes down to a number.. somewhere in the neighborhood of $17,600.00. Hmm.. not sure….. I’d kind of planned on spending that much, but is THIS car really worth it? Is this the best value for dollars spent?

I know that in the game of negotiations.. the first person who speaks loses…. But since I never lose, and frankly I’m done with the visit at this point. So I ask: “How about I give you a call by five and let you know either way?” His automatic answer: “Of course, Mr. Miller.. whatever works best for you.. “ And that’s the end of that.

Hell NO, that’s not the end of that! Of COURSE that’s not the end of that. You didn’t seriously think he was going to not at least Try to keep the conversation going.

Says the Salesweasel after a calculated pause: “Can I ask you one other thing, Mr. Miller?” (There’s Always one more question…..one more ‘word bridge’ to step out on, in order to keep hope alive) “Of course you can ask.. go ‘head.”

“Well, other than me making it affordable to you, is there any other reason we couldn’t do business today?”

I sit…. Rub my chin… looking down at the paper and the price... as if I’m seriously considering his approach. I’m surprised, as will be most of those reading this, that I am able to keep silent for so long. Finally … I say to him: “But you already HAVE made it affordable to me.” He looks puzzled.

“Don't you remember, from when we first talked, just a little while ago?” I said “I really don’t have a target price, so how about if I just pick out a car and you make the best deal possible, and if I don’t like it we’ll shake hands and part company.” So you've already MADE your best deal.. based on our initial conversation. And if that’s not your best deal…and you CAN go lower… then you’re basically full of shit from the start and I can’t do business with you anyway.” (Now it was MY turn to smile with my mouth, but not with my eyes)

The silence was deafening. And again, I almost felt sorry for him.

He rubs his chin again and forces a smile…..”Right you are Sir…” I’ll just wait for your call at 5:00.

Well……….that was then…..this is now.. It’s been about three months since that conversation took place, and I’m still driving the thirteen year-old blazer with the fallen rear-view mirror and the squeaky fan belt. Thanks be unto whatever god you pray to that I replaced the air conditioning last year.

It’s just kind of astounding that so many of these businesses go out of their way to perpetuate every bad stereotype about them. And it really is true that those who do not learn from past mistakes are doomed to repeat them. But while you really can’t legislate against ‘stupid’, you can still get your point across by voting “with your feet”,,, and even then, the whole thing still leaves you feeling that somehow …

There Auto Be a Law…

Update: Since this was written last year (and now finally posted) I did eventually end up getting a great deal on a Jeep Liberty which is a pretty nice ride. It's functional, and it gets twice the milage of the old '98 Blazer. And I did NOT get it from Con-Way Chevrolet.

You will not RE-Member

Some years ago, a good friend of mine invited me to lunch at a Private Club. Oooohhh… big deal that was! I was kind of excited, and thought perhaps I’d get to name-drop afterword… you know, show all my friends what a cool cat I was – perhaps rub elbows with the swells while waiting for our table…

Should I wear a suit and tie? Should I go formal? Nooo, he assured me – this would be extremely casual. “How cool is this”, I thought… Just me and my friend .. sailing past the guards at the gate…. Hey… don’t mind us … we’re MEMBERS!

I spent a great deal of time anticipating this luncheon and how I was about to enter a new paradigm of consciousness. I was excited about my big new adventure amongst the jet set.

The big day arrived. He picked me up on time, just as he’d said he would. I didn’t ask too many questions, as I didn’t want to seem naïve… or ill at-ease with the prospect of having lunch with the high brows. I wanted it to seem as though this was completely natural - just the everyday norm for me.

I soon realized that it actually WAS the norm for me… as my jokester friend pulled into the parking lot of Costco – the wholesale warehouse.



(Private Club: Get it??) We walked to the front door - he showed his membership card, and we waltzed right up to the lunch counter and ordered those wonderful Polish sausages they sell, and had lunch at the 'private club'. Wow.

A HUGE learning experience for me that day. Membership does not always have its privileges. I expected one thing and got another. Hopes for the High Life sacrificed on the alter of comedy.

Fast forward 20-some years: I’ve long since been a member of that August private club… But not for long.

You see, Costco sold me on this idea… that even though you couldn’t play golf on the back Nine, or hob-nob with the elite at their private club, they did insinuate that membership did indeed have some advantages. Many of which I’m still trying to determine. In essence, I'm still expecting one thing and getting another.

“You’re not just a Customer”, they said. “You’re a MEMBER” and that Means something!

So what the hell DOES this mean? Really...?

What it means.. is that When I call to ask about tires for my car… they will not have my particular size or style on hand. However they are Really VERY Sorry…and can order them.

It means that when I call to ask about ANYthing they might have in stock that I’ll get put on hold for roughly 20 minutes until someone finally picks up the phone and says: “Who you hoe-din for?” OR… they will pick the phone up and say “I’m sorry.. but we’re out of that.

*Blink

OUT? How can this be?

I’m doing the math in my head right now, and I just don’t see how it’s possible that you can be out of ANYTHING.

Let me explain what I mean:

Whereas Costco is a Membership warehouse, which means you Must be a member to shop there; and whereas each basic membership (on average) is now Fifty American dollars. (now, they do sell something called a Premium membership, but for the sake of this exercise we’ll just assume that all current members paid the base fee of $50.00); and whereas Costco boasts roughly Fifty Five Million members…



Hmmm…..let me see now.. 50 dollars……times Fifty Five Million … Hmmm put this number here… and carry the one…

Whooolly Scam of the Century Batman!! That’s 2.75 Billion Dollars!!


Let me say that again – Two Point Seven Five Billion Dollars…

In positive revenue flow – before they EVER stock or sell the first item.

Now I ask you – is that a great scam or WHAT? What other business (other than Sam’s and BJ’s, and a few other sordid warehouse enterprises) have the unmitigated CHEEK and GALL .. to ask for Two Point Seven Five Billion (with a B) right up front before offering Anything of Tangible Value? And then turn around and tell you about all the money you’re saving by “Buying in Large Quantities”??

Can you imagine saying to your prospective employer during the interview process: “I’ll need to have a Hiring Bonus of $20,000.oo, before I ever touch a keyboard or ever clock in, please.” And when the boss, looking at you in utter amazement, says: “For WHAT?” And you were to think about it for a moment and respond: “You know, I'm not really sure – I just know that Costco does it and it seems to work for them. Now how would you prefer to pay that? In a lump-sum check?? Or by direct deposit into my account – it’s entirely up to you.”

That boss person would look at you as though you had actually declared war on rational thought. Not only would you NOT get the $20,000.oo, but you would also NOT get the job. And moreover what you probably Would get is escorted to the parking lot by a member of the security team.

But yet EVERY year – Costco says to its “Members”: Pay up. Don’t ask – just pay.”

Well – you know me. I DID ask. HAD to ask. And frankly wasn’t too enthused with the answers I got.

A few weeks ago I called the local Costco warehouse. I asked to speak with someone who could answer some questions about membership.

“Good afternoon, Sir, and how can I help you?”

“Well, I was looking for someone who could answer a few questions about membership, and why it might behoove me to join your club.”

“I would be happy to help you with that, sir…. What are your questions?”

“Well, first off – What do I get?” “I mean… What distinguishes YOUR shopping experience from that of say… Safeway or Kroger, or perhaps Dominick’s??” What’s the one big deal about shopping at Costco that makes it worth Fifty Dollars for the year? I sure as heck wouldn’t pay Dominick’s Fifty Bucks a year for basically nothing, just for the privilege of giving them more money for... ‘something’.”

There was a long pause. I don’t think she’d ever been hit with that question in quite that way before. I really felt uncomfortable for her.

She began slowly and nervously: “Well…you do get the added bonus of getting to visit with US each time you stop in.”, she said with an obvious smile in her voice. I know she meant it to be funny, but I also couldn’t help but think she was stalling.



She grasped for more facts about the Shopping Experience: “Actually Sir,,,, (as her confidence was building) … The products we carry are much more superior than the average store. The lines and brands we carry tend to be top of the line".

I couldn’t help but think that since the whole big deal about buying a membership and shopping at Costco was the SAVINGS – that she didn’t have some sort of data she could fire off from memory… something like…… “Well, Sir, because the average family saves roughly blank % per year by shopping with us. But that never came up.

She asked at that point if she could put me on hold and would be right back. “Sure!” I said. But the odd thing is that she never did come back. At least not in the next 13-15 minutes; the point at which I decided to give up and think more in terms of how to get my money back for the MEMBERSHIP I’d already been suckered into.

Tip.. for the membership recruiter: If you’re going to ask us to surrender TWO POINT SEVEN FIVE BILLION dollars a year, before we even purchase the first product, you’d damn sure better have a pretty good reason to proffer as some sort of inspiration for the investment. If you’re going to ask us for Two Point Seven Five Billion dollars right up front, you’d better, darned good and well have someone with the voice and talent of Paul Harvey or Katie Couric answering the phone. And you’d sure as heck better keep enough of that nearly three billion dollars handy so that you can BY Gosh stock your shelves with my 'blanking' Tires when I call for them.

So this week, looking at my annual correspondence from the Costco Membership office… the one which naturally assumes I will just be mindlessly renewing once again, and doesn’t even ask “yes” or “no” – but simply wonders whether I'll be taking the 'standard' or the 'premier' membership. I’ll have to find some way to let them know that I do seem to recall something about major value for dollars spent, but it’s been so long since I’ve experienced any of that at Costco… frankly, I just can’t ...

RE-Member.