So I was trying to mow the lawn between monsoons today, and the mower wasn’t even up to its usual level of incompetence, so after fixing the first issue and still suffering the slings and arrows of disappointment, I decided I should go to the store and get some parts, and by “parts” I mean “beer.”
After nearly getting my fingers squashed by the trunk lid on my car, I decided I need new lift supports. I’m a DIYer, and I’ve BTDT a few times in the past, so I checked my local preferred auto parts store and found they cost $30. Each. I need two. Ouch. I do prefer to Shop Locally, but really, is Advance Auto or Auto Zone or NAPA, or even our Midwest everything discount department chain store Meijer really “local”? I think not. So I went to everybody’s usual fallback option, Amazon, and found I can buy a pair for less than $25 ($30 with shipping). Good deal. I placed an order on Saturday and started tracking it. Come Wednesday they hadn’t even been shipped yet. Still sitting in the warehouse? What the hey?
A long article, lots of photos, very interesting. I see many places I want to visit in June. (I see no mention of Deathe, however.) From the Detroit Free Press.
The time is nigh for doing more regular updates to my blog. What follows is some fictionalized non-fiction reminiscences from my past lives. I’ve divided these things into the categories of Rants and Memoir. Most can be both.
Also, check my SHORTS (page) now for entirely new short stories of Tales of Life in Deathe.
In the early days, Cavendish Junior College was a big, happy family. Everyone was local, friendly, easygoing. Enthusiastic. Your basic Yoopers. At contract negotiation time, the leader of our little maintenance field group would be summoned into the Personnel Director’s office. (Yes, they used to call that department “Personnel” in those unenlightened days. Forgive them, they didn’t know any better. Now, in these more enlightened days, we call it Human Resources, to better distinguish the responsibilities from Energy Resources, Land Resources, Animal Resources, whatever. Apparently “personnel” was a vague word without meaning.)
So. Many, many years ago, we the field crew of the maintenance department of Cavendish Junior College (not its real name) were promised cell phones. We’d been carrying pagers for many years, which no one liked, so we were all looking forward to carrying cell phones. After all, when a pager goes off twenty times a day and you’re in the middle of five jobs and two calls and all you can do is scream impotently to the heavens, then you have to drop everything and search for a phone so you can call the office back– and by then you might have cooled off and been civil.
Rather than do something good and worthwhile, SOP here is to lay down a coat of tar, then cover it with a layer of pea-stone gravel. That’s it. Done. Walk away. Go get a beer. In the olden days I think the road crews used to bring out “steam rollers” and roll the gravel out and down into the tar. Not anymore. Now they just go away and subcontract the work to us, the citizens, to tamp down and level out the gravel with our tires. What, so I’m working for the county now? And providing my own equipment? For no pay? Just the risk of a cracked windshield and chipped paint? I’m not even getting the benefit of free undercoating from the tar. I should call National Labor Relations Board.