Traveling (Lord Have) Mercies

In my line of work I do a lot of traveling, most of which finds me in our nation’s capital, Washington, DC.  Now normally, I have no problems traveling through this fine city (usually because when we arrive in DC, I am the passenger and not the driver), but this last trip into the city was indeed, a trip!  Where do I begin?  Luckily, I had a trusty sidekick with me for this particular jaunt (more on him later) or I may have very well lost it and left my car parked in the middle of Massachusetts Avenue.  Okay, on to the story . . . the travel from South Carolina to the City of DC was very uneventful.  My trusty sidekick and I discussed a plethora of topics and the time went by swiftly.  It was when we actually hit DC that the proverbial stuff hit the fan.  First, the GPS system that we were using was either drunk or just plain suicidal because she (yes, I know that it is not a real person who speaks to you through the GPS, but for all intents and purposes for this article I am going to place the feminine pronoun on it; kept attempting to make us go the wrong way on a one way street!  Luckily for my friend and me, my new glasses do work, and I could see that following this advice was not the way to go.  Also, she would tell us things like “take a right on the third street after the round-about.” I live in South Carolina.  We don’t have “round-abouts.” We have curvy roads!  And then she couldn’t count because once you took the third right (both my friend and I counted) she always had to recalculate…and she was the one who told us to go that way initially. UGGH! 

As we drove aimlessly through the city with cars continuously honking behind us and people darting in front of the Ford Focus while I was still moving forward, I noticed that there was more swearing and cussing going on than that to which I am usually accustomed.  Upon further investigation, I realized that all the swearing and cussing was coming from my car and even more shockingly -- from me.  I have never cussed so much as I did on this particular trip to DC.  Add to this that my bladder was now screaming because of the humungous soda I drank and you can see why I was not a happy camper!  Now for the citizens of DC, I have but one question to ask and that is this, “Why the devil, do you people dart out in front of cars that have the right of way?”  Really people? Seriously?  I came so close to hitting at least three people on my travels through DC, two on the road who walked in front of my car, and the third one in the car beside me (remember I told you that I would speak more about him later and I did not forget).

As I am attempting to listen to GyPSy (that’s the name I give to all GPS’s) I also have the personification of a back seat driver who in this case is not sitting behind me, but beside me.  And in his infinite wisdom he decides to tell me things that are obvious such as, “the light is green,” “there’s a stop sign”, and my favorite “You have to learn how to laugh more.”  As he continues to talk he begins to sound more and more like the parrot Iago, in Disney’s Aladdin and it grates on my nerves.  Now, at this point I am already on edge and can see everything that he is pointing out (remember, I also mentioned that I have new glasses) so his repeatedly telling me these things is making me want to reach out and punch him in his throat, but I don’t for two reasons:  Reason one, the dude is one of my best friends and he really can’t help but take over in these types of stressful situations.  His job, like mine, is to deal with craziness that may crop up from day to day and he is used to handling these types of things.  The second reason that I did not strike him is because I realized that I am the exact same way as a passenger and I too want to take over in stressful situations.  I just didn’t realize how annoying it is to the person driving until this last jaunt into DC.

I don’t know how, but eventually we finally found our way out of the city and made it to the hotel.  Once we got there, I didn’t want to do anything except call the wife and let her know that I had arrived safely, eat the leftover food that I had from lunch, take a hot shower and climb into bed, and luckily for me I did just that and slept soundly…until around 3:00 a.m. when some more excitement occurred, but that dear reader is yet another story.  See you next time, and remember always look for the funny.

PS, for those of you who are awaiting an answer as to if I received some of my cool points back from the last episode, alas the answer is no, but I am trying everyday to get some back.

Music for the soul, child!

So, I’m driving yet again at a fevered pitch to get my daughters to school on time and as it usually goes, I’m only half-listening to what drivel is on the radio.  I am an avid fan of the Tom Joyner Morning Show, and listen to it every morning as I make my rounds.  My 11 year old daughter feels that this is "uncool" and would rather listen to the more “hip hop” stations in our area.

On this particular day I am actually early and making good time.  I’m listening to J. Anthony Brown and Sybil Wilkes argue over something asinine and my 11 year old is not stressing about being late for a change.   Both my 11 and 7 year old daughters are singing on the radio and I’m feeling pretty good.  All is right with the world.  As I approach the traffic light that has turned yellow, I actually slow down (as opposed to gunning the accelerator to get through it as I usually do).  Next to me, my daughters continue singing.  At first, I really do not pay any attention to what is being sung, but the words that I hear pique my interest. “Push harder” I hear my eldest daughter singing in her lovely soprano voice (thank God she has a singing voice like her mom rather than yours truly).  Now, as the words finally get to me and I understand what I just heard, I stop to make sure that I am not putting too much emphasis on the words because I have been accused of having a dirty mind (and I confess that I am somewhat guilty of this).  Then I hear my daughter sing the next part of the song, “And when we’re done, I don’t wanna feel my legs; and when we’re done, I just wanna feel your hands all over me baby.”  Oh, no ma’am!  I immediately change the station and my 7 year old starts saying, “Dad, turn it back.”  My 11 year old is aghast and actually says to me (in that way that only a snooty 11 year old can) “They finally play something that I want to hear and you change the station!”  My 7 year old is screaming, “Why did you change it?”  So, I put on my daddy hat and say, “because this song is inappropriate and you don’t need to listen to this song.”  End of discussion...or so I thought.

Now, since my 11 year old has started going to middle school, I am starting to see the smart alecky traits that I exhibited in middle and high School (and some would argue that I still exhibit these traits).  “Dad,” she asks, “Did you turn the station because she’s talking about dancing?”  Now I know full well that my daughter knows exactly what this song is about and is goading me into telling her what the song is really about.  I don’t have a problem speaking frankly with my children, but I did not want to get into a conversation about sex with my 7 year old in the car.  So after a few seconds, I come up with what I think is the perfect daddy response.  “You know good and darn well that this song is not talking about dancing.”  Thankfully, the 7 year old was no longer interested in the conversation and did not ask me (as she usually does), “so what is this song about?”   After my response my oldest daughter laughs and then asks me about the songs that I listened to when dinosaurs ruled the earth and we played these oversized large disc-things called records.  I told her, in my most haughtiest of voices, that our songs had meaning and that we didn’t listen to such trash.

Now remember I told you all earlier that my daughter has turned into more of a smart aleck lately.  Well the next part of this story proves it.  A few weeks later, I am listening to a song that I used to listen to back in the day entitled “Secret Lovers.”  Now, I am not paying any attention to my two daughters at this time, I’m in the zone!  I’m driving and singing at the top of my lungs (albeit off key, but my kids are use to this by now).  Suddenly, I see my daughter’s eyes brighten and her lips curl into a slight grin.  “Dad,” she asks innocently, “What is this song about?”  Oh little girl!  She had me.  I had, just a few weeks earlier, explained to her about how virtuous our music was and how back in the day the songs were about dancing and frolicking and not about sex at all.  Her quick mind took in this song and she knew she had a way to get back at me for the lecture that she had to endure previously.  How do I explain to her that I was really enjoying a song that basically espouses the virtue of cheating in a monogamous relationship?  So I resorted to what usually works for me when I am having a disagreement with her mother…I turned into a child myself and said, “This song still isn’t as bad as the one you were singing the other day.”  The only thing that could have made this response seem more juvenile is if I had stuck my tongue out after I said it.  Now, really people, seriously, as an adult I could have waxed on eloquently about how she was indeed right and that this song, at the very core, was no better than the one that she was singing.  I could have turned this into an expressive dialogue in which two opposing forces meet in the middle and understand each other a little better.  But the dad in me was not going to let my 11 year old daughter win.  So I resorted to the classic line that my dad always used with me that I swore that I would never use when I had children of my own, “I’m grown and you’re not.”  Case closed!  My daughter just looked at me and shrugged.  As I pulled up her school to drop her off, I saw a smile curl around her lips.  She had won this round and she knew it.  Parents take note…if you ever find yourself stooping to the level of your child by quipping childish retorts, such as “I’m grown and you’re not” this is almost akin to saying “I know you are but what am I?”  Neither one of these responses makes you seem like a responsible adult and your children know that once they take you down this road, you have completely lost the argument.  I’m now attempting to collect my “cool points” back because they have been lost in this last altercation.  I’ll let you know in my next post if I got them back.  In the mean time dear reader, always take time to look for the funny.

Airport Follies

Picture it! Atlanta, September 10, 2011. A lone, bald, fat, black man is running to his connecting flight and only has 38 minutes in which to do it.  No, the man running is not Cee Lo Green, but in fact, that lone, bald, fat, black man is me, and this is my true story.  Now, for those of you who have ever traveled to the Atlanta Airport you know that you have to take a train from one concourse to the next (especially if you are on a tight schedule as I was on this particular day). 

I arrived in concourse B and had to catch my connecting flight in concourse E; E-24 to be exact.  I am running and darting in and out of the human traffic as quickly as my fat, short, stumpy legs can carry me and 21 minutes after departing the plane on which I embarked in Savannah, I finally reach my destination.  I run to the gate with my ticket out and ask the nice young woman, who is working the gate, if I have made it in time.  She looks at me (I'm all sweaty, out of breath, and on the verge of needing an oxygen mask) and gives me the answer for which I was hoping, "yes sir, you made it." As I go to hand her the ticket, she immediately yells at me...NO!  I stop in my tracks because the way my luck was going on this day, I figured that she had some bad news to tell me. She immediately informs me that I have walked on forbidden territory... The special blue carpet that is designated for first class and premium Delta flyers.  At this point, I am in total shock. Really lady? Seriously!  You are going to stop me, the last customer on the plane, from walking on the blue carpet because I am not a sky miles priority customer? At first, I thought that she was joking, but apparently, I did not move quickly enough because a big burly guy walked over and gave me a mean look. 

Now, those of you who know me on a personal level know that I really do have a smart mouth (I blame this on my New York upbringing) and could have gone off on this young woman for days...But those of you who know me also know that I know when to pack it up and take the loss.  This was indeed one of those times.  Now ladies and gentlemen, I quickly vacated the carpet and went on the plane in the direction that I was told to do so, but this whole situation got me to thinking...what thrill does one get from walking on the carpet? After all, it is not a magic carpet that flies one from one concourse to the next.  Nor is it an attractive carpet.  In fact, the carpet upon which I trudged that day, was haggard and worn, with bare patches clearly visible.  I guess some people just need to feel important.  Now this should be the end of the story, but I'm really nosy.  I need to know what perks one gets from strutting across this carpet. 

Flash forward to September 13, 2011.  On my way back to the Savannah Airpot via Atlanta, I decided to put my college minor (journalism) to use and get the story.  I ask Sheila, a Delta employee, what is the purpose for this sky miles carpet?  She hesitates for only one moment and quickly states "It's to make our return customers feel good."  Well, I'm a return customer and I wasn't feeling all that good (but that could have been from all of that creme brulee cheesecake that I had eaten at lunch earlier).  She was in a good mood so I asked another question, "Why do you all (Delta employees) get bent out of shape when a person who is deemed unworthy attempts to walk on the carpet" (I'm sure I paraphrased this question, but you get the jist).  She tells me "because you haven't earned the right."  Oh, Sheila!  What can I say to this but thank you for your extreme honesty Sheila. 

Now to paraphrase Beyonce, I have a big ego, but if I need a frayed, ugly, thread-bare carpet to make me feel special then I think I have other issues.  If you want to make me feel special, genuflect when I walk past; throw rose petals at me feet; ensure that I have my own private bathroom at any airport in which I fly.  I can think of many other perks that can make me feel special and in fact, if I were to write a list of the top one thousand things that others can do to make me feel special, walking on that hideous carpet would not make my list.  Perhaps a red carpet at the Kodak Theater and an Oscar one day could make me feel special, but not the Delta skymiles carpet.  Sorry Delta but I'll just stick to the 2 bags of peanuts and the half a glass of sprite.

Really People? Seriously? An introduction.

So today I get a frantic phone call at 5:18 p.m. from the wife who is stressing and wants me to pick up the kids from their various daily end points.  I really had a lot of work left to do at work, but knowing that she too has a strenuous job, I figure, what the hey, I will pick the kids up (quickly) and head back to work when she tags me out.  Things are going really well.  I have picked up daughter number one, and am now heading to pick up daughter number two.  As I will only be but a few scant minutes, I leave the car running and rush to pick up my middle child.  As I step out of the car, my pre-teen, who feels that she too must be seen at this moment, (she has left this pick-up spot for greener pastures as she is now in middle school and has decided to visit her old haunts) slams the door, falters a bit and falls into the car, pushing it ever so slightly and then I hear the worst sound ever... the ever-so-slight "click." My keys are now officially locked in the car and I cannot move.  I immediately look around and attempt to figure out what I can do as not only did I park illegally, but now I am preventing other harried parents who are in a rush to pick up their kids from this primo spot.  I finally decide to call the wife and beg that she please stop by and bring my spare key. (Oh and by the way can you pick up our lone male child too?)  As I am waiting, an equally agitated parent drives into the lot and sees me and my daughters standing around my ford staring at it as if it were about to grant us our fondest wishes.  She decides to wedge her Toyota Four Runner into the spot next to me, narrowly hitting my vehicle in the process.  She hurries inside and as she walks in gives us a look of disdain.  I must admit at this time, I am feeling really bad. I'm stuck; I can't move, and I just got "mean mugged" by a woman young enough to be my daughter.  Well inevitably she comes out with her child and gets in her massive vehicle.  As she attempts to pull out, she realizes that she really can't pull out without hitting my precious 1994 Ford Taurus.  She looks at me for a good 30 seconds as if to say "do you not see me attempting to vacate these premises you knave?"  I stare back with my "lady do you really think that my children and I are this daft to just stand out here in the heat and watch a car run if we could move?"  Finally, the light bulb over her head goes off and she realizes that she is indeed in a precarious pickle.  As she attempts to move her vehicle back and forth, she shoots daggers at me and mouths a few choice words best reserved for bars, football games, and my last family reunion.  Finally after 5 minutes she realizes that her only recourse is to back up ever so slowly so as not to knock over the mailbox (it is a felony to tamper with it you know).  Finally she escapes, but she just can't resist giving me one final glare.  Really people? Seriously?  Is it my fault that this woman was so clueless about her surroundings that she did not notice that we were stuck and had no reason to just stand around a hot parking lot looking at a 1994 Ford Taurus as if it were fresh off the assembly line?  And really, would you stand around to watch even a brand new 2012 Ford Taurus come off of the assembly line?  The great thing that I learned today is that sometimes, no matter how much of a hurry in life you may be, life has a way of slowing you down.  Take my advice, enjoy life; slow down and don't ever be too busy to laugh!