Wow ... the final lesson. We've come so far, shared so much together.
At least, I've provided enough evidence to keep me in the padded room. Oh, well. To the disclaimers!
All violence within these lessons are for demonstrative purposes only. On the moon, we have more advanced lessons. I like Ike. Finally, if you really want the full experience while reading these lessons, watch a cartoon character swallow dynamite only to hold in the explosion.
Good. Let us proceed...
Lesson #5: You are not the only customer here.
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
I realize we live in a country where egocentrism is an expected viewpoint, but I don't care. The customer I am currently talking to is a nice person (If I'm lucky), and they have valid questions/concerns that need addressing. In other words, this is not the time for the Selfish You to rip off the mask of humanity and demand that I find the latest inane pop/rap/country/rock release.
(Besides, it's right next to you, you egocentric bastard. Maybe, if you actually learned to focus on something besides yourself, you would have noticed it. Ass.)
Allow me to provide you with another random insight into the workings of retail. Odds are, the day you stop in is the day that we're understaffed. It happens, and it will happen. Often. It's just one way for the company to stay in the black. (Unless it's MegaSoullessCorp, in which case they'll simply fire anybody who's worked long enough to get paid a decent wage.)
Ladies and gentlemen, guess what? Despite the obvious rage in these lessons, we want to help you. We desire it. We will stop putting out product. We will stop putting up displays. We will stop the conversation with the significant other who is on the verge of breaking up with us ... just to help you out. Seriously.
Nothing feels better that when a customer comes back, and thanks you for a recommendation. We like to validate our existence, and our nice administrative superiors like it when we give customers a reason to keep shopping with us. However, there are usually more of you than there are of us. Remember the Undisclosed Law of Sociodynamics:
"The amount of help you want/need is directly proportional to the total sum of customers plus the square of customers who already want/need help."
Just give us some time, and we will provide you with our attention.
Today's Example: Mein Gott in Himmel, where do I start? How about the first subject, a middle-aged man/woman who interrupted an answer to another customer. He/she simply bellowed, "Hey, guy. Cassettes?" in an accusatory manner. To which the employee responded by pointing to them, less than ten feet directly in front of him/her.
(And here I'll pause for sub-lesson 5.1: Don't call me "guy." Or "buddy." I'm will scream "uhm nuhm shemum" and rip out your still beating heart, a la Temple of Doom. "Dude" is okay, "sir" is preferred. Or you could look at the "-J." printed across my lanyard, and call me that. This goes cross-gender, as well. If you call any of my female associates "chick" or "babe", you deserve the unspeakable horrors she will visit upon your sorry, sorry ass. End of sub-lesson.)
Then there was the young man/woman who was in line. The person before him/her was returning an item. One of those long, complicated reasons for returning; but, he/she was an occasional customer, and had a valid point. After a while, the waiting customer started interrogating the first customer about taking so much time, driving him/her out of the store in annoyance. If there were such a thing as justified defenestration, that waiting customer would be the justification.
The final subject is the general "person shopping in a hurry." Slow the hell down. You should always allot more time than you need to shop. When you don't, you get angry, frustrated, and start bending Lesson #5. Then you break it, and give the nice retail employee a verbal assault.
Bad idea.
You really don't want me to retaliate, because then the nice police officers will need to go on a mall-wide scavenger hunt for the various parts of your body.
Relax. Slow down. Be considerate. As much as your inflated sense of self may seem to justify your pointless existence, you really aren't more important than the other ten people trying to ask me a question.
And if you're shopping on a tight schedule? You are a stupidhead.
***
Today is Thanksgiving. If all goes right, I'm sitting in my apartment. I've had a good meal, I'm drinking mead, and I have the splendid company of my girlfriend.
Tomorrow is Black Friday, the biggest shopping day of the year. I will be in a retail store somewhere in this country. I will have consumed too many energy drinks, and I will be in a very good mood. If you follow these five simple lessons, there's a good chance my caffeine-induced happiness will transfer over to you.
If you feel the need to disregard these lessons, you do so at risk to your body and your kin's sanity. After all, I've provided far more imaginative ways to end your life than is mentally healthy ... and it's a big store with endless possibilities.
Happy holiday shopping!
Wilkommen! Sprechen Sie auf Deutsch?
Does my limited German vocabulary impress you. Nein, I thought not. Let's just do some disclaiming.
All violence within these lessons are for demonstrative purposes only. Nervous ticks developed from reading these lessons may be signs of a more serious problem. Talk to your doctor about Psykotium. Finally, if you really want the full experience while reading these lessons, listen to a monkey trying to play a broken cello while on caffeine and speed.
Good. Let us proceed...
Lesson #4: Don't take advantage of the retailers
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
Ever notice how the massive corporate (read: soulless) retail/rental/entertainment outlets generally make you feel alternately like sucker / valued customer / potential criminal? That's because they can use any measure necessary to guarantee that their stock isn't stolen. Why? Because you'll still come back to get that $lower price on a new piece of entertainment. (Remember the theme that I keep harping on as if I were a cherubim: Better prices come at a cost, usually in terms of personality/service)
Meanwhile, at the small to mid-size stores, we prefer personality and service. We'll bend the occasional policy, recommend stuff that you might also enjoy, and even help you find a place that carries what we might not. More often than not, we'll give you the benefit of the doubt.
To use a cliche, if we give you a foot, don't try to make it a mile. This can be in many different ways:
Any of those things are, simply put, trying to take advantage of our hospitality. And guess what? We don't forget, and we point you out to co-workers.
Remember, you aren't the only one whom your actions affect.
Today's Example: As tempting as it is to re-iterate the the previous example, I should use a new one. Or two. Two would be good.
The first involves the old-fashioned haggle. Most businesses have a type of coupon that they use when a customer goes through a freakish/frustrating transaction/experience. It sometimes is the same as the coupons that the business gives to frequent customers, people to reserve items, or the like. (By the way, don't try and cause a scene just so we'll pacify you with a coupon. Once you say that, we realize that you're not a put-out customer, just an asshole.)
The subject got such a coupon, which takes "$X off any regularly-priced item of at least $XX.99." The subject had just received it that visit. He/She then tried to purchase an item that was not only on sale, but on sale for less than the coupon minimum. When the diligent employees pointed this out, he/she insisted that they try to ring it through anyway.
Here's a tip: don't ask an employee to "try it, anyway," when it's obviously against policy. The employees have no desire to get written up/fired, just because you're friggin' cheap.
The secondary example involves a group of "customers." One of them, wheelchair-bound, realized that his/her chair set off the anti-theft censors in stores. The employees, being of the "nice" variety, just waved this subject in/out, no big deal. He/She used this to have his/her friends put product in the chair. It not only improves mobility, now it also allows you to shoplift!
Guess what? After one or two visits that coincided with theft, including visual confirmation of said actions, the employees not only don't wave the group off, they harass the group and get downright petulant with them, driving them out of the store.
When you try to take advantage of us, we will rescind any and every form of service. It's our right. Don't make us use it.
Next Lesson: Guess what? You are NOT the only customer! -gasp!-
Fourth in a six-part series
Two down, three up, and an ace in hole. If you fathom the meaning of those words, let me know.
Now where did those disclaimers go? Ah, yes.
All violence within these lessons are for demonstrative purposes only. If your spleen ruptures while reading this essay, you may want to adjust your resolution. Eat more chicken. Finally, if you really want the full experience while reading these lessons, listen to a monkey trying to play a broken cello while on caffeine and speed.
Good. Let us proceed...
Lesson #3: You buy, I work ... Don't try to switch roles.
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
What do I mean by this one? Simple. I am on one side of the counter. On my side of the counter is a dizzying world, a veritable Venn diagram of hours, interpersonal politics, company policy, wages, promotions, product, condescension, and loads of inane questions. Now, on your side of the counter is a much different world. In that world, the objective is much simpler: to exchange currency for an item that will create positive reaction.
Sure, your world may contain elements that I know nothing about. And therein lies the point of Lesson #3 ... I'm not trying to tell you how to run your life, DON'T TRY TO TELL ME HOW TO RUN MY BUSINESS!! (Sorry about the caps, but it's a phrase necessary to speak in an outdoor voice, i.e., loud)
In the words of Strong Bad, the simple fact is that you don't know crap about crap (when it comes to where you shop), and I don't need you to tell me how to do it. Every suggestion you think is helpful probably goes against company procedure. And your admonitions/predictions serve no purpose but to piss off employees and placate your smug ass. See previous lessons for the retribution that happens when petty self-righteousness occurs...
Honestly, half the employees don't know things that go on in corporate, and sometimes I'm pretty sure corporate has no bloody inkling of what's happening on the floor. Even with that limited knowledge, we only bitch to a point. We only fire it off when it's constructive and might help the company (ideally). Granted, sometimes retail employees just bitch and rant, and sometimes the HQ are completely out of touch. But, usually, there is some level of symbiosis. Usually.
Today's Example: A new store in a rental chain is opening. In said store, our subject signs up for a new account. Later that month, he/she stops by to rent under said account. This company is slightly different, in that it doesn't treat its potential customers as potential criminals. When he/she realizes that all he/she needs to do to rent on his/her account is speak his/her name, the subject becomes flabbergasted.
Next thing you know, he/she is paranoid and nervous, ranting about the rampant ID theft that is plaguing the nation. How can this establishment not require 20 forms of ID, two passwords, and a secret handshake to make sure that nobody rents on someone else's account?! "Don't you watch the news?" this person asks, wide-eyed.
It is here that the store's manager informs the subject that he/she can put a "See ID" note on the account, and all is well. At this point, he/she could agree and do just that. Or, the subject could decide that he/she buys far too deeply into the media's fear culture, and take his/her business elsewhere (where being treated like a potential criminal is comforting).
But, this is an illustrative example, so he/she chose the third option. The subject explained (at length) to the manager that such a business was going to go belly-up. He/She cited vague anecdotes to back up his/her grand assertions, and left with a "Good luck, because I doubt that your business will be around for very long."(Because, as you might guess, a company with 1) decades of experience and 2) a proven/profitable business strategy cannot hope to survive the paranoid delusions of some random crap-for-brains)
Don't tell me why my business will fail. Just exercise your freedom to shop elsewhere, and let me serve consumers who have a clue.
Next Lesson: If I don't treat you like a criminal, don't act like one.
Third in a six-part series
The sun rises on another Monday, and Monday hits me with a kidney punch. Monday is a cruel mistress.
But enough about my love life. On to the disclaimers.
All violence within these lessons is for demonstrative purposes only. There's no faking the funk on a nasty dunk. These lessons have been tested and perfected in a controlled environment. Finally, if you really want the full experience while reading these lessons, put Moby's "That's When I Reach for My Revolver" in your player.
Good. Let us proceed...
Lesson #2: No, that is not in stock... or even in print.
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
Remember how I mentioned, many days ago (all two of them), that the customer should be able to ask any question, within reason? Well, welcome to the lesson that tells you to avoid the gray area between the reasonable and the un-. So, really, maybe the lesson title should be Stop asking me a slew of stupid freakin' time-consuming questions! That might get it across better.
Then again, maybe not. You are free to ask stupid questions. Hey, I have days where my brain goes numb. Usually they occur when there's a deadline, or when inane customers make me jam the pens into my ear ... just to ease the pain ... .
Anyway. It's not the dumb or thoughtless questions that will anger the workers and throw a dead monkey into the gears of retail. It's the questions that you don't want answered. Oh, maybe you do want it answered, in theory ... but your subconscious has already answered it for you. Any deviation from that desired answer results in the strange necessity to prove us wrong. Which, in turn, leads to us sawing off your foot in order to jam it down your throat.
This goes hand-in-hand with the first lesson. This time, it's not a matter of shooting the messenger, it's trying the tell the messenger he/she is wrong. It's like the people of the Exodus telling Moses that he must have gotten one or two of the Commandments wrong. We aren't the authority, ladies and gentlemen, we're just the intermediary.
Lesson No. 2 gets broken more than you might imagine. It happens when someone tells us that a game is already out (No, it doesn't even have a release date, and no, your cousin doesn't have it). It happens when we sell out of a hot new release (Weren't you the one who got annoyed when we mentioned reserving it?). It happens when customers ask for some no-name title that they saw on some local cable station when they were visiting their distant cousins five years ago, AND they only want it on VHS.
(A psychotic shudder slowly passes up my spine ...)
If you think we are mistaken, feel free to question us. But when we provide supporting examples to reinforce our assertion, don't think that your unbroken record of "never" being wrong is going to trump logic. If all else fails, we can all pitch in for a lobotomy. Maybe if you (surgically) forget that you're an arrogant asshole, the world will become that much better.
Today's Example: The subject for this lesson stopped into a retail store. After a number of minutes spent in fruitless search, he/she asked the employee for a certain movie title. The employee inquired as to the genre of this movie, since he/she had never heard of it. Ever. After an indignant pause, the subject informed the employee that this great, wonderful, popular movie was a horror title, and he/she had seen it years ago, and it was great.
When the employee dutifully searched the database for said movie, he/she came across the title ... which was long out of print (in either DVD/VHS). After the customer's angry denial, the employee checked again. Again, he/she found that it was not something that was available for order, and it was definitely not in stock.
To this revelation the customer threw up his/her hands, and started yelling in disbelief. How could such a store even call itself a movie place if it didn't have this obscure title on tape! After a few minutes of verbal degradation, the subject left the store, only to rant to anyone who might come within earshot. It's at this point that the employee started to believe in the Retail Fairy, in the vain hope that he/she might find a sawed-off shotgun beneath the counter.
(Then again, this customer doesn't come off nearly so stupid as the man who violently argued that, yes, there was a sequel to Patton. Meanwhile, the customer behind him is remembering Patton, especially the part where the title character dies. This waiting customer looks at the retail associate, and non-verbally expresses sympathy for the hapless worker.)
(Thank God for that customer.)
Next Lesson: You buy, I work. Don't try to switch roles.
Second in a six-part series
Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to day two and lesson one.
All right, enough math for one day. On to the disclaimers.
All violence within these lessons are for demonstrative purposes only. No monkeys were harmed in the writing of these essays, only people. These lessons should not be read by those who may be sensitive to caffeine. Finally, if you really want the full experience while reading these lessons, put Moby's "That's When I Reach for My Revolver" in your player.
Good. Let us proceed ...
Lesson #1: Don't shoot the messenger
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
Yesterday, I brought up cliche that needed to be buried like the corpse it is. Why not start the first lesson with a different overused phrase? When you come into a store, don't shoot the bloody messenger.
If you're shopping at a store that has locations in more than one city, it's a pretty solid bet that "insignificant" things (like pricing, flexibility, procedures) are set. No amount of bitching at the part-time help will make things suddenly go your way.
(Hell, sometimes bitching at the manager in such a store won't change things. That's a downside to franchise: you may get consistency, but you won't get flexibility)
Oh, and if you're calling/stopping by to smugly inform an employee of said retail outlet that you know of a lower price at a bigger, more soulless chain... fine. Though you are exercising your capitalistic freedom of choice (sacrificing service and knowledge for a $3 price difference), stop yourself before you start accusing/interrogating the aforementioned help.
While your self-righteousness may feel good, remember: I have eight D-size batteries behind the counter, and I used to play baseball. The petty satisfaction you receive from belittling a retail employee (with a college degree) is NOTHING compared to the satisfaction he/she will feel from seeing your overweight and unconscious body hit the floor.
Just trying to warn you, people. The holidays are supposed to be festive, not an orgy of transferring your stress onto nameless employees, whose suffering gets you off.
Today's Example: Today's subject called a retail store where he/she had reserved two very popular upcoming DVDs. During her ample free time, he/she spotted a commercial advertising one of those DVDs. It was from a major (read: soulless) national chain, and the DVD would be $3 less than the copy he/she reserved. At this point, our subject decided that a $3 savings was worth more than the:
a) guaranteed copy that he/she would have, even if we sold out,
b) call reminding him/her of the release of the DVD, and
c) $3 coupon off any other non-sale item.
Hey, I understand. A quick $3 is a Red Bull and a Snickers, and no service can compare to that. As a result, the subject requested cancellation of the one reservation, and his/her down payment to be transferred onto the other. Perfect and good, had he/she stopped right there.
Of course, he/she did not. After all, this is supposed to be an illustrative example, right? After that $3 savings was secure, the subject then launched into an interrogation of the employee who'd helped him/her out. Accusations such as "why don't you give people who reserve the best price?" (actually, we give them a dollar off our lowest sale price) and assertions such as "well, there's no point to reserving then" (note the services provided above) provided minutes of stimulating conversation, all during an in-store rush.
So, ladies and gentlemen, the next time you get that tingly feeling of superiority/anger, keep it to yourself. You are free to conduct your business elsewhere. Just don't shoot the messenger on your way out. Remember the Ninth Beatitude:
"Blessed are the retail workers during the holiday season, for they shall wreak bloody vengeance upon the stupid and short-tempered."
Next Lesson: You want what?! And on tape?!
First in a six-part series.
Greetings, and welcome to your local version of a retail entertainment outlet. Perhaps you're renting a movie, buying a CD, or looking at the latest games. In any case, I will be your Customer Service Representative, part-time designation. I'm here to help you.
Now, please don't make me kill you.
By J. Michael Bestul
210 west Writer [send email]
Ladies and gentlemen, 'tis the season for commerce and consumerism. That's an inescapable reality. If you want the spiritual end of the holiday season, look Charles Schultz. He did it better than I ever will be able to. No, you clicked on this essay because you are a customer. We all are, at this time of year. It brings us together in a seething mob of wallets and transactions, all creeds and color blending behind the pale green of the paper and coin that state, "In God We Trust."
(See, I try for Schultz, and I come closer to a bitter, post-modern Lovecraft.)
But I digress. As I said, we are all customers. And, according to my observations, most of us suck at it. I am here to remedy that. After one too many uber-idiocy days at work (and one IS too many), I've decided to provide five easy lessons to the drove of mindless people who shop in retail and rental stores.
Before we begin though, there are two main things to get out of the way. First, I need to dispel the myth that pervades the customer culture. Everybody's heard it. You know, "The customer is always right"?
You're not. And no amount of quoting cliche is going to stop me from jamming "Totally Hits Christmas" down your throat when you finally make me snap. So listen up: When you ask us to break street date, when you try to haggle prices, when you verbally assault us, you are not right. Deal with it.
That's just the beginning. Over the course of the next five days, I will provide one lesson per day. Included will be an illustrative example or two, taken from the personal experiences of myself and my roommate. Also included will be a healthy dose of rage; don't take it personally. Just take it as an indicator of the state of mind most retail employees are in when confronted by the common-variety crap-for-brains.
Second, I need to set some ground rules. One is that these lessons are geared toward small- to mid-size franchise stores (as opposed to the massive soulless ones), but can be applied anywhere. If you're taking your business to massive (inter)national outlets, you are willingly sacrificing service for marginally lower prices. Write that one down. It'll pop up a lot during these lessons.
In addition, if I'm going to dish out criticism and abuse to the stupid customers, it's imperative that I don't overlook the things that customers should be able to hold retail workers accountable for. There are three things that a customer should expect:
Service: When you enter a store, even if you don't get smiles and hugs, you should at least get service without a grumble. If you need help or have questions (within reason), we should provide assistance in any way possible. Seriously, I do mean "within reason." Don't ask us about returning items that you bought, USED, and realized that it wasn't maybe the thing you wanted. Making a purchase is a risk. Do your homework.
Communication: You should be able to inform/inquire of a retail employee in the area of their expertise. This does not mean you should have the right to tear us a new one. There's a difference between confirming a release date, and telling us our info is wrong and we suck because you saw something on a message board. There's a difference between questioning a price on a product, and getting indignant about it. I don't care if you can get it for a dollar less across the mall, don't rub my nose in it. I have a long metal pole that's meant to close the gate; however, it can be used for impromptu and imprecise brain-removal surgery.
Choice: You have a choice. Let me stress that again: you have a choice. You are free to walk out of my store at any point in time, and use you spending power elsewhere. If it gets you off that Best Soulless Mart offers lower prices and less human interaction, great. Go. Don't hang around to belittle the retail workers in the mall. Remember the long metal pole... and I've been watching a lot of documentaries on mummification lately.
There we go. Let the ranting begin...
Tommorrow's Lesson: Don't shoot the messenger.
Dan Nied realizes that, despite the hell that is being without a job, it's actually ... a good thing...
It’s been a month and a half since I’ve held a job and I’m realizing that this is the part where it gets pretty good.
I mean, After I got laid off in September I went through the depression of being a worthless pox on society. But then I realized that, dammit, I’m not gonna be unemployed forever, I had better make the most of it. Life gives you lemons, you get off your ass (or on it, in this case) and make that lemonade.
Sure, there isn’t much to do during the day when all my friends go to work, but, then again, I get up at 2 every afternoon so I only have a few hours to kill before other people are around to play with. That time is easily spent reading the sports section, checking out ESPN.com, showering, doing some unmentionable things and looking at job listings.
The money I’m saving is really unbelievable.I feel like Scrooge giving out Christmas bonuses. Six weeks into making no money I have spent only $300 of my severance package. I go through a tank a gas every three weeks. I had enough money to order four DVDs and still feel good about my financial situation (The DVDs, in case you were wondering were "Out of Sight", "A Few Good Men", "Blues Traveler Live from Red Rocks" and, my favorite, the "Teen Wolf/Teen Wolf Too" Double feature. Needless to say, I am jacked.)
Plus, My unemploymet just kicked in so I will be getting $250 per week for actually watching those DVDs. It almost pays for itself.
I’ve started a few new projects, mainly a sitcom script about my college friends (Juvenile? Contrived? Sure is, but hey, where’s YOUR sitcom script?)
Now my whole future is up in the air and it is a great feeling. Am I gonna move to California? New Mexico? New York? Central Pennsylvania? Maybe. Is my sitcom gonna get me signed by an agent? You never know. Do I have control of my future right now? Most definitely.
Sure, as I said there was a time, about two weeks into this non-adventure where everything came crashing down. My confidence was shot, I worried about car payments and I thought I was a failure. (My unemployment, just so you know, wasn’t due to poor performance but more because a mismanaged newspaper chain decided to turn my paper into a shopper, stripping the entire editorial staff. Even though they never gave the paper the means to survive a saturated market. No, I’m not bitter.)
But anyway, yeah things got to me early on. I have been out of college for a year and my first job taught me a hard lesson in reality. My cocksure suit of armor was dented. I was unsure about life and my profession. Did I still want to be a journalist? Was it worth the shit money and long hours just to be able to call myself a professional writer? It got so bad that I went to see "Radio" by myself and actually cried. (Not my proudest moment, but we all need a good cry now and again. I just happened to pick the sappiest movie possible. Why couldn’t it have been Beaches or Mystic Pizza? Then I could at least hold my head up high.)
But my depression faded and now I’m not burned out, as I most certainly would have been by this time had I still held my job. I was making $420 per week and putting in about 60 hours covering 10 high schools and about 60 prep teams by myself. I was dealing with angry mothers who didn’t realize that sometimes a golf score slips through the cracks. I was on life support, being kept alive by that one great story: the undefeated team, the gifted athlete with a Big 10 scholarship, the handicapped kid who ignores his inability and manages to play third string tackle. By now my resolve would have cracked and I probably would have slit my wrists with a butterknife.
But the butterknives are all in the drawer and, again, I feel like God’s gift to the written word. I am excited to cover a high school football game as a freelancer. I get pumped up by good quotes. My fire is back. And a paper just asked me to interview for a job.
All in all, being laid off may have been the greatest thing that has ever happened to me.
Mike Ray thought he had found a nice theme restaurant in western Pennsylvania. And it was... until the band showed up.
Greetings yinz! I'm writing to you from the great Keystone state of Pennsylvania. For yous guys that ain't from these parts, you require an explanation. Although I feel that these are things your mum should have taught you.
Today's vocabulary lesson: If you are not from western Pennsylvania you may be unaware of the above mentioned words, so I will translate:
Yinz = you collectively speaking, you as a group
Example: Yinz wanna grab a beer?
English translation: Do you guys want to grab a beer?
Yous guys = you guys (synonym for yinz)
Example: Yous guys wanna grab a beer?
English Translation: Do you guys want to grab a beer?
Mum = mom
Example: My mum didn't raise no fool.
English Translation: My mom did not raise a fool.
Now that we have completed Western Pennsylvania English 101, let's move
on with my rant.
It brings me great displeasure to write to yinz. I had an extremely long workday of 12 hours. The worst part is I had a 9 a.m. meeting. Who works at those hours?
Moving on ... I decided that I could use a drink and a smoke to help unwind after a long day of work. But I'm in the great state of keystone. What does this mean? It means dumb fucking liquor laws. Gas stations and convenience stores do not sell beer. Only "Beer distributors" sell beer and some bars sell 6 packs to go. For liquor you need to find a liquor store. Oh and today is Veterans Day so they are all closed. What the fuck kind of state is this? They
honor veterans on Veteran's Day and they can't even celebrate with a libation!
Absurd, but I can live with this.
So on my way back to the 8 that's not quite Super, I decide to stop at the restaurant/pub the Elephant & Castle. For those of you that have never been, this is yet another great "concept restaurant". The E&C is set up like a traditional English pub complete with Guinness, shepherds pie, dark wood and all the fixings.
It is also a 12-room inn. You can stay at the Inn part for prices starting at around $44.95 a night. We will discuss the reasons that I'm not staying at the inn another time. Lets just say they have to do with me losing $50 in cash and giving a crackhead a ride to the ghetto. Although I did have the opportunity to buy a new car stereo.
So I arrive at the E&C only to discover that tonight a band is playing. I wait in a line of four people and when the host acknowledges my existence, she informs me that there will be a $2 cover charge. I was thinking "what the fuck?" This is another bad concept restaurant / pub / inn what are they doing charging a cover. What are they doing having a band? There is no fucking stage. They have converted the waiting area into a makeshift stage area. Oh this is the recipe for success. How is this part of the concept?
I choose to eat at franchises because I expect the same thing every time I go from every single fucking store in the chain. You don't go to one Best Buy and see them selling lawn mowers at one and CDs at another. They all sell electronics, not fucking lawn mowers.
The hostess who, judging from her size, had sampled everything on the menu at least twice a day since the start of her employment, informed me that I could sit in the bar area and that I could purchase appetizers only, but they were half off.
Without a better option in sight, I paid the cover and enter the restaurant/pub/inn/nightclub/concert hall.
I selected a table that was semi-clean, placed my coat and hat on the chair and went to the bar to order. I was greeted after an annoying wait by an under-cheerful college age girl. I ordered a Jack on the rocks and asked for a menu. She returned with a rocks glass heavy on rocks and light on Jack. Lets just say that I have had stronger drinks made from those little bottles on a fucking airplane.
I ordered some non-English pub food -- Tex Mex Roll ups. I should have known better. Then I sat back and smoked and sipped my drink, trying to make it last until my microwave overpriced half-priced unappetizing appetizer comes out.
Luckily the forward-thinking management has booked a band to play in the waiting area for my entertainment. For the entire 10 minutes that it took the pub chef to microwave my rollups the band performed everyone's favorite song -- sound check.
You know, it goes like this: "check 1, 2, check 1, 2 chhheck ... 1, 1, 1, 2 ... check ... check ... freedom is just another ... check 1, 2, 1, 2 check."
The lead singer was really getting into the sound check. She was definitely of the musical pervasions. She stood at about 5 foot 6 inches, wearing an outfit that could not have fit her when the music she was attempting to perform was new. If I had to guess this broad rolled up in an '88 Monte Carlo SS with leaking T tops, a missing muffler and a car seat in the back. She was a leftover rocker from the 80's that could not afford ample amounts of coke to positively impact her wait. Her outfit was all black and overstuffed. She wore black
leather ankle high boots and fishnet stockings, although one may debate if the stocking were fishnet, or just black ones that were pushed to their physical limits.
All right, they were like cargo nets trying to hold a load that they were not rated to hold. The mounds of flesh that begged for freedom but were restrained by the simple fabric we call nylon. I'm sure that if her stockings made it to the end of the night, upon their removal her thighs would look like waffle fries.
When she went to the bar and ordered a drink and leaned against the bar I could see that the rip had started at the upper thigh/asscheek area. Oh yeah, her black micro mini was that short. The top was equally as tight and the mini jacket was even tighter.
Lets move on to the hair...black & damaged. The back looked as if it had been trimmed with a piece of glass from a broken beer bottle. I don't think that a 55-gallon drum of Vidal Sassoon's Hot Oil Treatment could have helped that hair. It's unfortunate to say that the guy playing the bass had better hair.
Finally my food came out. I scarfed down the shit, grabbed another rock on the jacks and asked for my tab.
I could not stop thinking that only in western Pennsylvania could people fuck up a concept restaurant franchise.
Editor's note: Mike Ray's opinions of Pennsylvania don't necessarily reflect the views of 210 West or its staff. Hell, some of us even live there. Plus, we're getting married there next year. Are you coming? Bring a gift. A cookware set is always nice.
Jeff Hindenach would like to carefully point out that California is not the wasteland of the beautiful, rich and stupid that we all seem to think it is.
By Jeff Hindenach
210 west News Editor [send email]
Fuck you, Jeb Bush, you and all your lackies out there who think the
U.S. would be a better place without California.
For those not familiar with the jab Gov. Bush made at California, more
specifically San Francisco, here's a replay from the wires:
"It looks like the people of San Francisco are an endangered species,
which may not be a bad thing," Bush said during the meeting Wednesday.
"That's probably good news for the country."
People in the room broke into laughter.
"Did I just say that out loud?" the governor asked.
The discussion was about environmental protection. Regardless, this is
the bad rap that California constantly gets from ignorant people across the
country who find it necessary to stereotype California because of its
few brain-dead surfers and an open-minded mentality. The country thinks all
Californians are stupid when in fact, in my short time here, I have
discovered that Californians are some of the smartest people in the
country.
Some examples:
But there are also stereotypes of California that drive me nuts and
should be cleared up:
California is one of the most amazing places to live. From its progressiveness to its intelligence to its culture, it is always teaching me more about life and about myself. And all the stereotypes you know about California, well, throw those out the window. I had the same stereotypes coming into my moving here, and every single one has been proven wrong.
So Jeb Bush, before you go bashing California again, take a minute to remember all the benefits that come from California, all the things in your life that are better because of California, and all the things you can learn from California, and carefully remove your foot from your mouth.
It started innocently enough, books on tape and the occasional breakfast. But for Mike Ray, Cracker Barrel became an obsession and an embarrassment. But here, like a real man, he confronts his demons.
By Mike Ray,
210 West contributing writer
Recently I have developed a bad habit. This habit is directly related to my travels. Worst of all, I feel that if I keep engaging in such behavior it may lead to future health problems. I'm actually embarrassed about this bad habit.
Tonight I could not pass up the temptation of the behavior that may lead to my demise.
It's no small wonder that I have been driven to engage in such damning behavior. This thing is a sin of the commoners, the lemmings of the world. And I have fallen victim to it.
I must confess this sin, this risky behavior, and this shameful display of lack of self-control, is none other than eating at Cracker Barrel.
Who would have thought that I would fall victim to such a bad concept restaurant? Sure, it started out small. I would stop in to get one of those books on tape I love. It seemed harmless. The books on tape are such a great value. You pay for the book up front and then pay $3 a week rental fee. When you return the book, they refund the cost and only charge you the $3 a week and it maxes out at $18.
Then I started to buy water. It was no big deal, only water. Then on occasion, I would buy a root beer -- Stewart's (you know, the good kind). Once I even bought a bag of Charlie Chips (only for nostalgic reasons...or so I thought).
Then if I would go during off-hours when it was not busy I would have breakfast. Hey, it's only breakfast. I mean the smoke house breakfast with fresh thick country bacon is so good. The whole time I would sit there and think "God this place is so tacky. How can people eat this shit? Just hand me a can of Crisco and a spoon. Why? Why?"
Next, I started to have lunch. No big deal, only lunch. Well what the fuck? Every thing started spinning out of control. Lunch turned to dinner and now I find myself eating the turkey special on regular basis. What's next? Meatloaf? Oh, God, no, not the fucking meatloaf.
Is there any hope?
At this rate, I'll be dead in a few decades.
But you have to admit, the place has true cheese appeal. The fire place. Those made in Taiwan nostalgic fucking nick knack knock offs. Please God save my soul before it's too late.
I have dabbled with bad concept restaurants before. We have all eaten at a "Hard Rock Cafe" or a "Planet Hollywood" even a "Bubba Gumps" or two. But, I have passed that point. I have gone too far.
At least I have my anonymity. I eat at a new Cracker Barrel every few days. Sometimes I wolf my food down so fast, hoping no one spots me. At first I paid only in cash, to not leave a paper trail. Well, those days are long forgotten.
Today I'm in West Virginia. To these people Cracker Barrel is Morton's of Chicago. I found myself browsing around the trap known as the "olde country store." What the fuck could I possibly buy there? Upon leaving I asked the clerk if they sold the music that they play at the restaurant at the store.
Thankfully, she said no.
So now I sit back and thank the good Lord for the little things. At least he made the Cracker Barrel walking distance from the Super 8...and from the gas station / liquor store. Now I sit back with a glass of Tennessee goodness in one hand and a smoking Dominican between my lips and ask God to give me the strength to stop the insane dangerous addiction to the Cracker Barrel. May the righteous lord of forgiveness have mercy on me.
Those who fail the lesson of history are doomed to repeat it
--George Santayana
An anniversary passed last week, a 20-year milestone. Two, actually.
They passed unnoticed and unrecognized, which is a shame, because they both contain lessons we should heed.
By Vince Guerrieri
210 west Managing Editor [send email]
Within about two days two decades ago, the United States endured the worst act of terrorism at the time and started to remove the monkey of Vietnam from our back.
Then as now, things in the Middle East were, um, interesting. A pro-American regime in Iran had been supplanted by a fundamentalist dictatorship led by the Ayatollah Khomeni. At that point, Iran was fighting with Iraq, making Iraq our friend by default.
Lebanon was in the middle of a particularly bloody civil war that turned Beirut, a city that used to be one of the most beautiful in the world, into the Dresden of the Middle East. Yasser Arafat was about 15 years away from the Nobel Peace Prize and the respectability it conferred. His Palestinian Liberation Organization was using Lebanon as a staging area for terrorist offensives into Israel, leading to Israeli invasion and weakening the pro-American government and opening it to civil war between Christians, Muslims, Jews and basically anyone else there with a grudge and a gun.
Ronald Reagan was in the second year of his first term as president, and had deployed the Marines to Beirut after a suicide bomber drove an explosives-laden truck into the embassy, killing 63 people. The Marines were deployed to keep the peace, because that’s what Marines do. At least, that’s what they did in the early years of the 20th century and American imperialism, being sent to Haiti, the Philippines and Central America.
But by 1983, the gild was off the lily of U.S. military. We had made the world safe for democracy in two World Wars, but were locked in a stalemate against the Soviet Union. The Cold War flared up twice in Asia, but Korea ended with an uneasy truce, and Vietnam ended with an American pullout and eventual communist takeover.
Around 6:20 a.m. on Oct. 23, 1983, a Sunday morning, about 300 Marines were in the barracks, most asleep. A stolen Mercedes-Benz truck circled the parking lot before crashing through the barbed wire and through the embassy wall. The truck contained a ton of explosives, enough to level the four-story building.
More than 80 Marines got out of the rubble alive, but 241 were killed. At the time, it was the bloodiest day for the Marines since Iwo Jima, and the largest act of terrorism against the United States.
Meanwhile, in South America, Grenada – described by President Reagan as having 110,000 people on an island about the size of Washington D.C. – was without a government. A pro-Communist regime had collapsed after making diplomatic overtures to the United States, and about 1,000 Americans were in Grenada, then under the rule of a pro-Castro military junta.
On Oct. 25, Reagan sent in the Marines, some diverted from Lebanon, to get the Americans – most medical students – home. Nineteen U.S. soldiers were killed, but a pro-American government was installed, with elections the following year.
It was the first victory by American military forces in more than a generation, and overshadowed the American withdrawal from Lebanon in March 1984. Emboldened, America launched operations into Libya and Panama, which Mike Royko compared to Joe Louis’s “Bum of the Month Club,” when the heavyweight would fight local people and win, and everyone would feel better.
In 1991, American forces launched into Kuwait to liberate them from Iraqi occupation. Iraq was repelled in a ground war lasting less than three days, prompting then-President George H.W. Bush to say that the monkey of Vietnam was off our back.
By then, Lebanon’s civil war was on its way to resolution. An uneasy peace was brokered. Three years later, Bill Clinton brought representatives of Israel and the Palestinian Liberation Organization together to negotiate peace in the Middle East. Communism had been vanquished, and the federal government was moving into surplus – Reagan’s peace dividend. It looked like a Pax Americana was upon us.
Since then, we’ve seen a presidential election the likes of which hasn’t been experienced since the days after the Civil War. The 241 Marines killed in the barracks bombing is less than one-tenth of the number of Americans killed on Sept. 11, 2001. Since then, American forces have invaded Afghanistan because the Taliban, the regime controlling the country, gave aid and comfort to Osama bin Laden, the mastermind behind 9/11. After that, we invaded Iraq because…well, I’ll get back to you on that one.
So what lesson are we to take away from the Beirut bombing and the invasion of Grenada? Maybe Beirut sent the message to our enemies that we’ll back down when faced with heavy casualties. Maybe Grenada made us realize that we like our conflicts quick and painless
Maybe it taught us that Middle East politics were more complicated than we’d thought.
Or maybe Beirut taught us that terrorism was the way that the wars of the world would be fought. Maybe we just didn’t learn it for a while.
Zach Baker can't escape the draw of sarcastic comments and smart-ass replies. Is he doomed?
By Zack Baker
210 west Writer [send email]
Sometimes sarcasm can be your best friend.
Or at least it feels that way. I am not sure when it kicked in, but at some point in my life I decided that sarcasm was funny, and I adapted to it.
So now the question is, how do I stop?
Trying to snap out of deadpan humor is not easy. Just ask my copy editing class, where I have made more deadpan jokes than a bad CBS sitcom.
But I think that my reliance on sarcasm and cynicism have become a bit of a problem. No matter how funny we think we are (and how unfunny the rest of the world think we are) there comes a time for analysis.
Sarcasm is an addiction. Once you make one remark, you are suddenly drawn to make more, to the point where you can’t stop.
I’d hate to be at my wedding, have the preacher ask me if I am here to take my vows and responding with something like, “No I’m here to buy a fish sandwich.”
At some point, you have to decide if you want to be a bad comedian, or want to be a productive member of society.
I recently told myself that I needed to see if I could get through my copy editing class without a sarcastic remark.
A classmate walked in with a turtleneck, and before I could stop myself I muttered, “Skiing accident?”
10 seconds.
And it wasn’t even a good joke.
Yeah, that hurt.
I’m not funny enough to be a comedian, so I guess my new goal in life, or my curse, may be to go around cracking bad, sarcastic jokes until the day I move on.
If I was good at it, it’d be one thing.
But I’m just not good at it.
So now I am not sure what to do.
I guess I’ll tell a joke.
So you may be asking why this is a problem.
The first thing that I have learned is that the clown never gets the girl.
Sure, they may laugh at your jokes, smile and say hi, but in the end, they want to be with someone they can take seriously.
Or at least, that’s been my experience.
Bob Hope never ended up with woman in the end.
And he was good at comedy.
I am finding that when I want a woman to take me seriously, I still can’t escape the sarcasm inside of me.
I’d like to tell a girl that I care, that it is important to me to see her smile.
That taking her out one night would be a great joy, and that I would try my best to make her happy.
But all that comes out is awkwardness, because when you have been sarcastic for so long, seriousness and sensitivity makes you uncomfortable.
So, unless I want to be alone when I grow up, a sarcastic personality probably isn’t the way to go.
See, now I feel inclined to make a joke.
The second thing I have learned is that it’s not appropriate to be funny (or attempting humor) on all occasions.
A wedding, a funeral, church.
A wedding is when it hits you. You can make everyone laugh, but then come the slow dances, and you find yourself as popular as a Kennedy at a Republican convention.
Is ending sarcasm the answer to loneliness?
Probably not.
But I have a feeling it couldn’t hurt.
Zach Baker is still holding out hope that Lebron James will be the man to save the Cavs -- and Cleveland pride.
By Zack Baker
210 west Writer [send email]
One week does not a career make.
But as the Monkees (ugh) once sang, “I’m a Believer.”
For two consecutive evenings, I stayed up watching the Cavaliers, or as
they may be called for the next few years, “Lebron’s team.”
After this, I have come up with a few conclusions:
The point is this. The Cavaliers will get really good, really fast. The
only thing that will derail James is an injury, which as a Cleveland fan, I
am expecting at any moment.
It’s not supposed to be like this for us, and every fan knows it.
I called up my best friend during the first Cavs game, and we were
laughing hysterically the entire conversation: “How did this happen?”
Cleveland has never really had a bona fide superstar in my lifetime.
Albert Belle could have been, but his temper and sometimes inconsistent
defense prevented it.
Roberto Alomar was the best player I have ever seen in a Cleveland
uniform (in any sport), but he seemed disdainful of the spotlight, and took a
low profile upon his arrival. (I still screamed in rage when the Indians
traded him. I will never forgive Indians management for it.)
Shawn Kemp could have been a superstar had he stayed away from Taco
Bell.
Andre Rison … oh never mind.
Added to the hype of Lebron is the fact that he is from Akron, making
him a virtual hometown hero. James could be to the Cleveland sports scene
this decade what Bruce Springsteen was to rock and roll in the 1970s.
A lot of pressure for an 18-year old, no?
There are men and women who at the age of 30 couldn’t handle such
pressure.
For Cleveland’s sake, for Lebron’s sake, I hope he can.
Forgive me for dreaming of championship banners in a packed Gund Arena.
I’m a believer.