A Secret Thought

My deepest darkest secret has come to the front. I have been plagued with the idea for sometime, but never had the courage to confess for the fear of the overwhelming laughter I would face. The words finally trickled from my mouth in an almost inaudible unintelligible manner.

I want to be a hippie.

There, I said it for all the public to see and hear. I want to be a hippie.

I already have the tattered jeans. I have plenty of T-shirts to paint a peace sign on. I borrowed the CD “Hair” from the library for research purposes. I want to grow my hair long, shinning, streaming, flaxen, waxen. I want to learn how to play a wooden Indian flute and sell my CD’s at local fairs. I want to put flowers in my hair and go back to Frisco. I want to again dabble in poetry. I have taken to oil painting as a hobby and as soon as I can draw a straight line, I’ll make a decent living off it. I must admit that I’m not good at the pot smoking. The times I experimented, I just got an enormous case of the munchies. But I did inhale.

I missed that part of my youth, the true hippy era. During that time I was a true dyed in the wool, staunch conservative, war monging Republican. Those hippie pinko commies were the enemy and Ms. Fonda was the mother of them all. War protestors walked the same line as the Viet Cong.

Until recently war protests have been limited to debates amongst the talk show pundits, analysts and administration officials who have found themselves to be working the unemployment lines. No real protest songs from anyone in the entertainment arena. Fahrenheit 9/11 caused a stir for awhile. Now a new figure has risen to champion the cause. A mother of a fallen GI has dared to camp adjacent to the Presidential vacation site and demand answers about the war. The President in true form stammers. She is entitled to her wrong opinion. A frantic group of red, white, and blue patriots dismiss the lady as a subversive and that her protests work into the hands of the enemy insurgents. The echo of the justification for our involvement in Vietnam sounds loudly. “If we fight them over there, we won’t have to fight them at home”.

It would appear though that the enemy insurgency and their attacks are not new and really unrelated to the heightened protests. Terrorists are on the attack not only in Iraq, but well into other Arab nations and Europe. The constant in the equation is a determined relentless enemy who will remain undeterred in spite of all the democratic elections and constitutions.
So the argument is circuitous. We can’t protest the war for it will devalue the sacrifice paid by yet another generation . But if we don’t debate the true motives and justifications for our continued involvement in this war, the toll of American lives lost will increase. Once again, overloaded helicopters will be taking to the sky.

Being a hippy ain’t an easy life

Up Against The Wal

Once again Wal~Mart makes the news. One would think that a Company presenting its shareholders with a quarterly profit of almost $3 billion (that’s with a B) would want to maintain a low profile in the arena of public relations. Perhaps preserve an image of humility and just keep racking in the cash.

The world’s largest retailer has had its share of P.R.oblems in the past. Accounts of locking employees in the store overnight and not paying forced overtime have been dismissed with an insincere apology and a wave of the hand. Then there was a wave of sexual discrimination allegations. Illegal immigrants flourishing mop and bucket to sanitize the floors for the next day shoppers. Then again, maybe the predecessors of Mr. Walton have found the way to fill the corporate coffers much to the chagrin of the founding father.

But the behemoth has found a new puddle of mud to Wally in. In a demonstration of “shock and awe”, the Bozo’s of Bentonville have decided that it would be in the best interests of all concerned to bring a lawsuit against a former employee for reimbursement of medical benefits paid. Seems that the former employee had the misfortune of being involved in an auto accident that left her brain damaged. The former employee received an insurance settlement of $900,000 to resolve the matter. The corporate attorneys are looking to recoup over half of that to amount to include their fees and in addition, I repeat, in addition, a portion of the fees paid by the former employee to her attorney for services rendered in reaching the insurance settlement. Faced with future care and expenses which will more than likely extend throughout her life, the former employee can only rely on Medicaid to foot the bill. In other words. We, the taxpayer, foot the bill.

I am not advocating that one should drink from the same trough twice. Insurance carriers and the self insured may well be within their rights to seek reimbursement for claims paid when a hefty settlement comes to fruition. My problem is with the case which Wal~Mart picked to flex it’s muscles. The company flaunts its supposed compassion for employees and family in the TV ads. How the company cares for its own. If ever a case called for consideration and concern, this is the one. This time Goliath gets the upper hand.

I know that the few meager bucks I spend is inconsequential to the bottom line, but you’ll never catch me spending another cent in a Wal~Mart.

Confessions of a Dumpster Diver

Dumpster diving is nothing new. It is an ancient art form practiced throughout the ages much like sculpting, painting and digging ditches. A form of archeology restricted to the urban environment.

My introduction to the wonder of this leisurely pursuit, which in fact some have profaned by transforming it into a socialistic endeavor, began at the age of 8 in Chicago. Ash pits, the predecessor of the modern day dumpster, dotted the landscape of the alleys. These 4’x4’x4’ concrete boxes with a cast iron top hatch and a equally impressive iron door at the bottom, alley side, were ideally suited as fortification while engaging the enemy in a game of war. The ash pits were no longer used for ashes, but for household trash and even at that age, we soon learned that we were up to our armpits in treasures. Refundable soda bottles, bowling balls pitched in fits of frustration and rage, baby buggy wheels and roller skates to be used on carts and scooters and of course if we were super lucky an occasional girlie magazine.

In 1968 I met up with the ultimate dumpster diver, Ed . I was stationed at an Air Force base in Tennessee and Ed, a civilian, worked in the an engineering shop with me. In between job assignments Ed showed a passion for diving into the big commercial dumpsters behind the barracks. Military personnel have an aversion to lugging items from duty station to duty station, so they pitch some fantastic treasures. Radios, tape players, clothing, you name it; they chuck it. Ed wouldn’t just hang over the side, he would jump in. Things would fly up in the air. He was especially ecstatic when he would find a box of love letters to the girl back home discarded by a G.I. who was moving on and had no further use for them or found that his duffle bag was already loaded with more important items.

It is easier to forage through the modern day dumpster. Everything is pretty much in plain sight and easy reach. I once opened a dumpster to find a beautiful porcelain teapot decorated as a little house at the very top of the heap. More than likely the treasure was a gift from a mother-in-law and tossed by a soon to be a hauled over the coals husband. On another fortunate occasion I found a table lamp armed with a light bulb that worked. I had been searching high and low for this exact size, color and shape of lamp. And with the advent of bulk pickup, a cornucopia of riches await all who dare the adventure.

Of course, I still need a citified escort when I search for the treasures of the city. Although I have lived in the city, worked for the city, I still bear the stigma of being a tourist. I can’t answer that one prevalent question concerning my high school days.

Got Haas?

Remember Bill Haas? The ex school board member, ex candidate for mayor, ex just about everything except a voice in the wilderness. Bill is still alive and churning as I know for a fact since I am of the privileged class , a recipient of email, from Bill’s buddy list which includes editors of all journalistic ilk.

Yes, Bill is alive and well and Wal~Mart is a better place for it. Make note of the fact that Mr. Haas again has aspirations of throwing his hat into the political arena in “06 as a candidate for school board or United States Senator. Or maybe in ‘09 as the mayoral candidate.

Bill is a purist Quixotesque character with too many windmills to fight. He never made it to the top with Roberti and the clan when the then interim superintendent took over the school district in a blitzkrieg one never could have imagined. Unloving words were exchanged with Hiz Honor, Mr. Schomehl. All the while, Bill was telling us the deal was no good. But as usual the haves have and the rest of us are SOL.

Bill speaks his mind and for that he usually finds himself in hot water. At times, he takes on the subtle form of someone afflicted with a major case of moonstroke. Yet, he still gives witness to the truth relating to the school board and its decisions to make bad decisions. Perhaps the citizens of St Louis are not at the point where truth is the most important matter? Perhaps we still wish to concede to quagmire of political cronyism?

We are now faced with new faces in the school district. The latest plan is to pay the students cash to promote attendance. The pros say that mere attendance will result in a possibility of increased academic potential. The pessimists view it as a scheme to promote the drug cartels.

Give us a sign, Bill. What do you think?

I’d like to help you Bill, but I feel that the strategists of both parties would relish the thought of gnawing on the bones of the skeletons in my closet.

Waiting around

I am a server. A waiter if you prefer. I have been in the restaurant business off and on for over forty years. I have worked in fast food, casual dining, upscale casual, family, fine and banquet. I work at it, because I enjoy it for the most part. Like any job, there are good days and bad. I have given up many so called lucrative careers to remain in the hospitality/service industry. Some think of me as foolish, while others understand the importance of me being me.
Outright, I am going to please 90% of my guests. I call them “my guests” because I treat them as I would any guest in my home. That is my basic philosophy. Another 8% may become displeased with some aspect of the experience, but I will make every effort to satisfy them and put a smile on their face before they leave. The remaining 2% is a different story. You wouldn’t make their visit enjoyable no matter how hard you try. In fact they’re are, what we call, professional “moochers” who know how to work the system for free meals and other comps by calling into question the service or quality of food. They soon wear out their welcome at one restaurant and move on to another.

I’ll admit that you are not going to receive quality service on every visit. Restaurant management is a tough road to travel and sometimes personnel are hired for a body count rather than experience. A gum smacking teenager or even an older individual who has a blotchy work history just might ruin your lunch or dinner. They don't know the menu or the wine list. They don't even know the day of the week much less the soup offered. But there are other factors which can wreak havoc even if you have the most sophisticated experienced server at your disposal.

It is difficult for me to relate to a theory that each table in a restaurant will be assigned one server. It just doesn’t hold to any great economic sense. In any restaurant that I have ever worked a server will be assigned to a section with three to four tables and depending upon the time of day that assignment could reach anywhere from six to thirty-two. A good server will know how to manage the flow and work the tables accordingly. However, while attempting to manage the flow, the server often finds one table will take it upon themselves to disrupt the flow by thinking that they are the only ones in the house. What if your server is given a table of eight or ten guests in addition to all the other guests? Before the complete order is taken, everyone needs refills of water? Quality of service will suffer, but not for the lack of effort by your server. Yes, you go to restaurant for service, but remember there are others in the house also. Sit back, relax and let the server guide you.

Remember that after the server takes your order, it’s the kitchens responsibility to prepare the order. Your server has no control over the kitchen when it crashes. Don’t blame it on the server, let management bear the double barreled brunt of your shotgun. It’s their job to ensure the efficient operation of the establishment.

Ever consider what happens when the host/hostess decides to seat three or four tables at one time in one section? Of course not.

These are just a few issues. Please don’t feel that I am trying to absolve all of our sins, for surely we in the industry make mistakes. But please don’t feel that you can hold me in some form of contempt, because I don’t hold a prestigious job by your standards. I breathe the same air you do. My regular guests enjoy the service I provide. Then again, my regulars are just common ordinary folk who aren’t concerned about my lineage.
Anyone in the industry have something to add?