Archive for April, 2021

Something Is Amiss

Hello. If you can see this, please help. Something is amiss. The calendar says April 2021. I believe I’m stuck in a strange alternative universe. This world is very much like the real one I remember. You almost wouldn’t notice it—but for one thing: There are fewer hours in the day.

  • In the beforetime, there were enough days in a week to do things weekly, like dusting, sweeping, laundry, cutting the grass, washing the car.
  • There were more weekends in a month for things like cleaning gutters and weeding the garden.
  • I tell you, and I swear it is true, there used to be time to repaint a room simply to make it a different color.
  • I used to read books. It was possible, in the real world, to read an entire book in a day. In this strange place, I’m lucky if I can manage a few pages before I succumb to sleep.
  • I used to listen to music. As an activity.
  • I played video games. All the way to the end of the game.
  • I used to scrapbook. I used to make jewelry. I used to do needlepoint!
  • There was time before to drive to a place for the sole purpose of taking photographs of that place.
  • There was time to follow the Steelers, Penguins, Pirates, and every minute of March Madness.
  • I even used to play sports—two or three times a week—and we’d go out for dinner and drinks afterwards. The evenings in this world simply aren’t long enough for that, and there aren’t as many of them. (Does 2 a.m. even exist in this universe?)
  • I used to do my nails. I used to put on make-up. I used to have time for using a blow dryer and a curling iron. There absolutely used to be more minutes in-between getting a shower and getting in the car to go someplace.
  • I used to work jobs that required 10 hours a day, on average. Now I work from home—where time is not wasted in a commute or the inanities of ego and power—and yet there simply are not enough hours in the day. My novel remains unfinished. I am struggling even to complete this blog post.

Am I alone in this time-short universe? Is anyone else stuck in this realm? Give me a sign.

Please, there is no time to lose! This morning, I noticed that my driver’s license has morphed. It shows that I am nearing 60, when, only yesterday, I was in my 20s.

April 21, 2021 at 10:58 am Leave a comment

My Criminal Past

One time, in grade school—Catholic grade school—I forgot to have my Mom sign my homework.

I did the homework, and my Mom was aware I did the homework. I simply forgot to have her sign it. I do not really understand why this was such a big deal—having a signature on a piece of completed homework—but, the next morning, when the nun said, “Place your signed papers on the desk,” I panicked.

I was 6.

Every other kid in the class placed a piece of paper on his/her desk. The nun moved around the classroom, hovering over each set of tiny shoulders to witness The Signature. I’m guessing we were seated alphabetically; I’m not sure about that, but she started at the other end of the room—and that gave me time to think.

All I had in the world was a sheet of Math problems and a #2 pencil. I stared at my supplies. Then I got an idea. An awful idea. I got a wonderful, awful idea. I slid that paper in close and, quickly, furtively, I did the deed:  I signed my mother’s name.

In case you’re not sure, 6-year-olds have the penmanship of a first-grader and have not yet learned cursive.

I remember that moment. I remember it clearly. I thought to myself, “It will be more believable if I only use her first name.”

Such brilliance under pressure. Such suavité.

And so I forged my mother’s name, K-a-y, in pencil, in first-grader letters. Then I sat back, and I enjoyed a (very short-lived) respite from the terror that had gripped me since class began.

Then, the nun was there; she was behind me, a bit to the left, looking over my shoulder. I was nervous, but I played it cool, waiting for her to move on.

She did not move on.

Folks. It has been 50 years-plus since that particular moment in my life, and I tell you, I have never been more frightened that I can recall.

The punishment was swift, creative, and horrifying. I had to do an agonizing Show and Tell for my classmates. Then I had to leave the classroom, walk the long, dark, empty hall and visit other classrooms. As instructed, I knocked politely; once given permission to enter, I walked to the front of the room, told the teacher what I had done, and asked if I could please stand there and tell her class about my evil deed.

That bit is kind of a blur, but I recall that my voice wavered and my body shook. By the time I returned to the seat in my own classroom, I was solemn, humiliated, and a little dizzy. I may have had an out-of-body experience.

Whew. {shudder}

It was a tough lesson but a lesson learned well. From that day forward, I have avoided public speaking like the plague.  

But, with some practice, I got quite good at forging my mother’s signature.  

Here’s another tale from Catholic grade school.

April 14, 2021 at 3:58 pm 1 comment

Feedback

Yesterday, I spent a big chunk of the day at the ER. I am fine; everyone is fine; everything turned out fine, but I hadn’t time to set something down to thaw for dinner. So, last night, after a physically and emotionally draining day, I decided to treat myself to the comfy decadence of eating Chinese food in front of the TV. Since moving, a few years ago, I do not have a go-to Chinese place that delivers, so I googled and found only delivery services.

Note: I know delivery services aren’t ideal for local restaurants. Last night was about what was ideal for me.

I tried DoorDash some years back. The food never arrived. Turns out that the restaurant (listed on the DoorDash website) did not exist. When I attempted to talk to customer service (fearing a scam), the person hung up on me. So, this time, I tried GrubHub.

Yikes.

GrubHub charges (1) a delivery fee and (2) a service fee and (3) a required tip. The tip, as I was to discover later—much, much later—is how you bribe one of their employees to pick up your order.

A peeve I would not keep as a pet:  I prefer to tip as a reward for good service, not as ransom.

I don’t mind tipping. Like anyone who has waited tables (which I believe should be a prerequisite for patronizing any eatery), I’m generally a good tipper. I thought offering nearly 30% of the food bill, on top of a service fee and a delivery fee, was a decent contribution. In GrubHub math, my tip was noted as only 18% because they calculate the percentage as part of the entire charge, including their own delivery fee and service fee. I call shenanigans. And I understand, now, why my order wasn’t popular with drivers (who probably are not the ones making enough money to buy Super Bowl ads).

I could have walked to that restaurant and back (and gone for seconds) before the order arrived. The food sat so long it was as if I had ordered leftovers. And, while leftover Chinese food is quite a good ‘fridge find after a late night out, it is no fun at all when you are tired and hungry and sober.

GrubHub, which, I assume, uses the tagline “spend less, enjoy more” ironically, changed my dinner from one of anticipation and indulgence to an evening of frustration and regret. I am embarrassed to admit that I spent nearly $30 dollars for an egg roll and a serving of General Tso’s, which tasted like Frank’s Red Hot and included a single, scrawny piece of broccoli that looked as sad as I felt when I finally got my order.

To be fair, GrubHub did do one thing well:  They were super-quick to ask me for feedback.

April 10, 2021 at 1:37 pm Leave a comment