Thursday, August 20, 2009

Dear Female Building Janitor,

I find it strange that you seem to show up to clean the bathroom every time I'm in there. Sure, that's going to happen once in a while, but today marked the third time. It's embarrassing.

I go in there thinking it will be just like any other trip to the men's room. I sit down, settle in; there's someone in the other stall. He leaves. And that's when it happens: you knock on the door. "Janitor!" you shout. I never know what to say. Is there a socially-correct response? Should I say, "Just a minute?" What if I'm not done? I've thought of saying, "It's gonna be a while," but I know you've got a lot to clean, and I don't want to be rude. It's just so tricky.

So ends my only time of solace and reflection for the whole day. The one thing I count on when I go to my job is a quiet repose in the washroom, a respite from the hectic hubbub of cubicle life. It's a chance to catch up on the important reportage in the EW issue from three months ago. It's a chance to survey and consider the latest trends in men's footwear. It's a chance to examine some of the most non-uniform grout lines ever seen. Mostly, it's a time of escape.

You see, when I'm in there I can fully immerse myself in the alternate reality comprising all my visions and dreams of the future. Who am I? Am I still just a widely-read blogger, a bored employee, a local rock star? No! I'm a real rock star. But right in the middle of our best song, even though less than half of the audience is using a mobile phone, the great time for all is abruptly cut short by a jarringly-loud rap on the door. You're like the police showing up at a college party. Or the teacher finally returning from the copy room.

One thing I'll give you credit for - you do always smile when I walk out. I, of course, try not to make eye contact, but I can never avoid your face entirely. So I know you always smile. Maybe it's more of a smirk. It's possible you know that I, in a repeated exercise in futility, sprayed the air freshener. Or maybe you're amused at the irony of the enormous contrast between the restroom's beautiful aesthetics and less-appealing atmosphere. It's likely you're smiling because there's really nothing more to do in such a thoroughly-awkward situation.

The important thing here is that the poor air quality in the bathroom is mostly the fault of the other guy. I'm sure you saw him. The climate actually improved while I was in there. Think about that! The other important thing is that I don't use the restroom at the same time every day. So how can you always be there? See how messed up that is? The last important thing is that I'm not the one who uses all the TP. I just wanted you to know that. From now on, just put the cleaning schedule on the door. I'll do whatever it takes to avoid your appointed cleaning time. It will be better for both of us.

Wednesday, August 12, 2009

Dear Auto Mechanic,

I find it strange that very many people would hire you to work on the ignition system on their cars. You said this repair is "what we used to call a major tune-up." Like back in the Golden Age of Car Repair? You initially wanted $900 for this. I guess since it's a "major" repair, some might not be surprised by the cost. But since that money could buy a formidable computer, a set of MSR cookware, and a 10-channel mixer, it was an alarming figure to me.

Now, I wasn't sure what was wrong with my car when I brought it to you. It was acting up. So the $100 you charged me to diagnose the problem may have been worth it. I'm sure you used some expensive tools I don't have. Only you guys can cross your arms and shake your heads in that certain way that says, "She's acting up alright." And you did identify the problem. For that, and the tiny cup of coffee-like brown stuff, I was content to pay some money. To have you fix the problem, I was ready to pay you even more.

But when you called to tell me what needed to be replaced and the cost, I began to reconsider. You said it was not the transmission, which I had previously suspected. It was the ignition system. Hmm... that's why having you clean the trans fluid a month ago didn't help. I suppose that's not your fault; you did offer to do your $100 diagnosis at that time too.

I asked you to go through exactly what the ignition job entailed. You listed the three parts you'd change out, the cost of each, and the labor required to swap each one. Replacing coil, wires, and plugs for $900. That seemed high. You see, I've replaced the spark plugs and wires in a car before. It was pretty easy. And the parts didn't cost much.

That's why I felt confident in calling you out on the labor times. "How can it take 1.4 hrs to replace spark plugs and 1.2 hrs for the wires? And why should they be entirely distinct jobs?" The plug wires have to be removed to get the plugs out; I figured you knew. After admitting you weren't "really sure how involved it is," you said, "There's usually not any overlap on these labor quotes, but I'll go ask the tech." When you called back you said, "The tech agreed with me that there's not usually any overlap on the labor quotes. But he did say the quotes were too high. So he knocked down the labor for the wires and the coil by about half." Well, I'm glad you can feel good about your quote assumptions, but I'm even more glad your tech is somewhat honest about them.

So instead of 1.2 hrs for the wires, and 1.1 hrs for the coil, you then allowed it would only take a half an hour for each of those parts. Really? Let's get this straight. Half an hour to pull the plug wires off of the ignition coil (which is in plain sight, right on top of the engine), remove three screws, and affix the new coil. Doubt it. Then 1.4 hrs to pull the other end of the wires from the plugs, unscrew the plugs, and insert the new plugs? Not likely. Finally, an entirely separate, 30-minute job to connect new wires in place of the old wires you only just pulled off? Hard to believe. All for the now-reduced price of $775? Um... let me try my hand at home.

With a trip to the auto-parts store, I acquired each of the requisite parts. I had the coil switched in about 8 minutes. I pulled three of the old wires off the plugs in about 2 minutes; the last one was stuck, so that one took 5 minutes by itself. That comes to 15 minutes for the coil and wires. Then I realized I couldn't access the spark plugs very easily. I stood looking at the engine.

At that point, I considered that maybe the labor quote for the plugs was legit. How could I reach those buggers? So I consulted a team of expert DIYers I've assembled over the years. They are known as the internet. They told me I had only to remove the wiper-fluid reservoir and the intake plenum to gain ample access to the plugs. I returned to the garage, and continued working. Removal of both obstructions was straight forward. I would have preferred not to spill a quart of wiper fluid, but whatever.

All told, I finished the entire job, from hood raised to hood closed, in 1:45 hrs. That includes the following:
- several trips to the basement for miscellaneous tools
- identifying and locating each part in the engine compartment
- pondering again why I haven't purchased a better socket wrench
- internet use
- telling my son not to carry any tools outside to fix his trike
- finding a plastic jug
- pouring wiper fluid into a plastic jug
- staring blankly at the engine
- pouring wiper fluid back into the reservoir

I think, assuming your technicians know exactly what they're doing, you could have done this job in an hour, at most. Oh, and my parts cost? $24 for 4 plugs, $36 for a set of wires, and $170 for the coil. My total cost, after taxes? $264.20.

Your income from the job? $0

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Dear Sleepless Compadre,

I find it strange that the other day you said you "slept like a baby." You're like the third person I've heard say that in the last few months. I totally know what you're saying.

Last winter, I had a vicious cold. I was so congested my forehead actually looked swollen. I was coughing so much I thought I had emphysema. My body ached almost as much as the time I didn't outrun that avalanche in Paraguay. Throughout the ordeal, I was able through heavy drug use to sleep in short increments from which I awoke wishing someone would just bring me some food and wanting to go back to sleep. I was continually attempting and failing to catch up to myself, myself as would be if I could just sleep. I was really sleeping like a baby.

Sometimes, you need to sleep like a baby to get people to take your situation seriously.

There are a few important things to keep in mind, I've found, if you really want to sleep like a baby effectively. When you're asleep, make sure you seem calm, tranquil, at peace with the world. Try sucking your thumb or nuzzling a blanket. This helps others realize just how exhausted you really are.

Did you scream relentlessly and as loudly as you could every time you woke up? That's essential for getting proper attention. Better yet, when someone asks you what is wrong, shut your eyes tighter and continue to scream. I suggest raising the volume each time someone asks. This shows you are important enough that no one should have to ask what you need. Honestly, your needs should be met before you need them. By the time you know you need something, it's too late; someone deserves to suffer a good hard bawl for not keeping on top of things.

When someone finally does bring you some food or drugs, or adjust your onesie, open your eyes only enough to get a look at them. If you open them all the way, your attendant might suspect you've rested sufficiently. Your face should say, "That was pretty good, but I expect better next time. I'm going back to sleep now. And I know what you look like, so don't think I'll forget."

If your spouse attempts to ignore you by letting you "cry it out," try to get up to use the toilet or something like that. It's very effective to indicate you just might have to vomit, then slowly work your way to the toilet, keeping your body doubled over and one hand out for balance. When you get to the toilet, make a few really hard swallows while shaking your head. Then say that it must have passed and you can probably make it back to the bed on your own. No one should be able to ignore that.

A word of caution: if it gets really desperate, you might be tempted to pretend to stop breathing until someone comes to see whether you're okay. Don't bother with this. With babies, everyone is all worried about respiratory function, and will turn up the $100 room monitor so loud it drowns out the $800 hi-fi and the dinner guests. But with adults, I guess, nobody really cares. I agree, not fair.

It's not easy to sleep like a baby; it takes persistence and humility. And it probably won't help you feel well any sooner. But sometimes, if you really want to get the treatement you deserve, it's the only way.

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Dear Seth MacFarlane,

I find it strange that you think your show, "The Family Guy," should compete in the same category as live-action comedies. I know you want the show to be viewed as a comedy, not an animated comedy, but to do that is to disregard a truly salient feature of the show. Namely, that it's animated.

Of all people, I would expect you to understand the importance of animation as a medium. You got your start as an animator, and I think you're an artist at heart. There are artistic capabilities inherent in and unique to every medium: literature, music, film. As such, each medium allows an artist to do things impossible, or at least difficult, with other media. Let's call these capabilities organic traits. It's not that these traits have no added preservatives or pesticides, it's just that they come naturally to the medium. And organic is a very cool thing to be these days.

In a way, you belittle the power of animation by implying it's not important to the show. It's precisely animation that allows you to express your humor in your unique way. Sure, you could rip on Bush in a live-action show, but would you be able to have a dog do it? You could probably work Cap'n Crunch or free health care into a show without animation, but since both of those things are fictitious, it would probably ruin the effect.

In truth, I think TFG employs the organic traits of the animation medium to great effect. Like when Stewie imagines himself in thirty years as a callous playboy. Or when the Kool-Aid Man breaks through a wall at an inopportune moment. Or the very fact one of the main characters is a dog, and another a baby. That's awesome. Real-life babies who get put on sitcoms end up as anorexic drug addicts. Nobody wants that.

So give your medium the respect it deserves and call TFG what it is. It may not feel great at first to lumped in a category with "Dora the Explorer," and it might be discouraging to lose to "The Simpsons" every year. But then, if you've used the medium better than those others, you should win eventually.

Dear Lay's Baked!,

I find it strange that you have decided to sell your chips in bags of seven. The bag I opened today had seven chips. Seven might be a "perfect" number for some religious people, but it's a woefully inadequate number when it comes to a bag of chips. Come on! What do you take us for? Yes, I'm on a diet - that's why I bought the dumb baked chips - but I thought I'd get more than seven chips.

People on diets are willing to eat some pretty tasteless stuff, which includes your chips. We do this so we can eat a portion the size of the US national debt. When people order one of those trendy salads from Applebee's, they don't expect something that fits on a so-called salad plate. They want leaves, roots, and tiny, exploding tomatoes heaped so high it'd make a mule deer feel bloated. When I buy rice cakes, I want a package the size of a giant sequoia. Seriously, if I had any ability to exercise portion control, I would just eat food that tastes good.

And in case you thought I wouldn't notice, I can see very clearly that those baked chips are not slices of potato. Cold cuts and hot dogs are bad enough; I don't think it's necessary with potato chips. Why did you spend all your time figuring out a way to make pressed chips, instead of a way to bake microscopically-thin potato slices? I'm not sure how you pulverize a potato to the degree required to make those things, but you should consider sharing that technology with the waste disposal industry.

You also need to come up with a different name for the flavor known as "Original." Original? What's that? What if Coca Cola sold club soda and called it "Original" Sprite? Or how about sweetened ice cubes called "Original" Popsicles? Or rock candy called "Original" Jolly Ranchers? Not gonna work. Try "Unflavored," or "Plain," or even better, "Potato." You're not selling bubble gum.

You have ruined potato chips the way "fun size" ruined candy bars. It's just no fun anymore. From now on, I think I'm just going to pass on the chips altogether. And get one, very delicious cookie.

Saturday, August 1, 2009

Dear Allergic Co-Worker,

I find it strange that you didn't publicize more heavily your allergy to nuts. Seriously, how would any of us know that you even had one? Yes, I saw your MedicAlert bracelet, but I didn't think it was really my business to pry. So I didn't ask about it. Of course, when you collapsed in the break room, I read the bracelet thoroughly before taking any action. I had no idea what kind of stuff is on those things, so I had to be cautious. Sure, I saw then that you have a nut allergy. It was a little too late at that point, don't you think? You never told us you have Epilepsy, either. I didn't know Epileptic people could get jobs. That's cool.

I hope you don't think I was laughing at you when you couldn't breathe. That isn't what happened at all. Right before we came in, Aaron Barttleson had been doing his impression of this monkey he saw at the zoo last weekend. The monkey got super angry because he was trying to use a stick to get a piece of food from the ledge, but he couldn't. It was sooo funny; you'll have to see it when you get out of the hospital. Anyway, I was laughing at that, and then I saw you on the floor. I didn't know it was you at first since your face was so swollen and you weren't talking. That's why I didn't rush right into giving you mouth-to-mouth. Obviously I would have if I'd known it was you, but it might have been a total stranger. It probably wouldn't have done much good anyway, because, as Jeremy was saying later, your throat was shut up tighter than a submarine. I thought that was pretty funny too. That's probably about what it was like, huh?

Just so you know, this whole thing is not really my fault. It's Aaron's fault. He knocked the can of cocktail nuts out of my hand; that's how it spilled into the drawer of utensils. I have to stick up for him because he did say he was sorry, helped me pick up all the nuts out of the drawer and the utensil caddy, and bought me a new can of nuts. I couldn't eat them after they fell all over those utensils; gross! To my credit, I did make absolutely sure there were no nuts left in the drawer. And they were unsalted, so Jennifer's assertion that I should have washed all those utensils is totally unreasonable. There must be 30 forks in there, and at least that many knives and spoons. They were still clean enough to use. Besides, wouldn't Aaron have to wash them?

I have to say, for the record, that maybe people with allergies should be extra careful using utensils from the community drawer. I know this girl who can't eat wheat gluten, and she has to wash everything before using it, even at her own house. That seems like the safest approach to me. I know what you're dealing with, too, so I know it's not easy. I had these friends in grade school who had Persian cats, and they didn't care if the cats went all over their counter tops and in their cupboards. I mean those cats went everywhere, and so was the fur. So when I was at their house, I had to inspect every dish extremely well before I could use it. I usually found a few cat hairs, which meant I had to wash the dish. What a pain! But, you know, sometimes that level of vigilance is worth it.

I'm sure you know more about this whole thing than I do, so I'll let you figure out the best solution. I'll do my best to make sure to let you know if anything like this ever happens again. Please don't be too mad at Aaron. Hope to see you soon. Take care.