escape to insanity

I was going through an e-mail address of mine that’s been lying abandoned for a while, just out of curiosity to see what’s accumulated since I abandoned it — there are inevitably people who didn’t update their address books.

I found this little chain-mail gem, offering some tips on filling up on gas, and then some uber-useful tips on how to help reduce the high cost per barrel that our wallets are all painfully aware of:

WHERE TO BUY USA GAS, THIS IS VERY IMPORTANT TO KNOW. READ ON.

Gas rationing in the 80’s worked even though we grumbled about it. It might even be good for us! The Saudis are boycotting American goods. We should return the favor.

An interesting thought is to boycott their GAS.

Every time you fill up the car, you can avoid putting more money into the coffers of Saudi Arabia. Just buy from gas companies that don’t import their oil from the Saudis.

Nothing is more frustrating than the feeling that every time I fill-up the tank, I am sending my money to people who are trying to kill me, my family, and my friends.

But wait. If we only buy gas from companies that don’t import, eventually… they’ll run out. And guess who they’ll have to buy from?

Conundrum.

Oh, yes, and the Saudis who are pumping oil are the ones who are trying to kill us. Yep. Those oil drillers and the company execs go American-hunting on their days off. They strap on an AK-47 and head off on the nearest Boeing 747 (which they all no doubt own personally — we Americans buy Corollas, those dirty Ay-rabs buy airliners, right?) like we go deer huntin’.

This how-to-boycott-gas thing has been making the rounds for years, and no one has figured out that these stupid schemes don’t work. People are too apathetic (and too busy) to bother with hunting down these mythical gas stations that apparently don’t deal with “those Arabs.”

Grr. I’m just fed up with the excuses used to justify this blatant racism.

Okay, rant over. Back to your regularly scheduled programming.

The company I work for is currently undergoing the difficult process of layoffs. Because of the downswing in the economy, and the nature of our primary product, it’s been rough times financially and the decision was made to cut back on the number of employees across the organization. As a result, the last two months have been some sort of surreal adaptation of Office Space in the real world.

The whole process has been a mess. They announced several months ago that they’d be laying off a few hundred people, but then proceeded to do almost nothing for weeks. Any communications were along the lines of “you’re probably pretty safe, but you may not want to decorate your cube much more than it already is.” A little over a week ago, a company-wide e-mail went out, stating that while they don’t have any updates, they’ll tell us more later. Thanks. That’s helpful. Should I dust off my resumé?

What I find most amusing about the whole thing is the ridiculous amount of corporate-speak that gets bandied about. It’s amazing to me just how bizarre some of these people make themselves sound when they come up with these terms and use them, as though no simpler and more straightforward alternatives were available.

This isn’t a period of layoffs, it’s a “workforce reduction program.” We’re reducing the workforce, see? By laying people off. Apparently the word “layoff” must scare people, but “workforce reduction” is perfectly safe. You’re not being laid off, you’re just being reduced – wait, isn’t that worse?

Fortunately, my team isn’t affected by the layoffs, but we may still have to work with those who are “impacted.” You’re not being dropped like a bad habit, you’re just impacted. Cheer up!

My favorite: “rightsizing.” So we’re apparently wrong-sized to begin with? What if we get rid of too many people? Then we’ll be wrong-sized again? Will we have to rightsize again at that point to undo the previous right-sizing, which turned out to be wrong-sizing anyway? I think it would be better if they’d just say it like they mean it: they’re trimming off the dead weight. Sorry, you perform no useful functions for us. Here’s your box, start packing your desk. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought in that extra little bauble to set on your shelf. Only one box for you.

Meh. I’m not even “impacted” by all this, so it doesn’t really matter. It’s just ridiculous to me how badly corporations tend to handle things like layoffs. When your CEO reports several million dollars in income, but then announces that the company is losing money and a few hundred people need to go, that’s not a great way to boost morale.

Knock knock!

Who’s there?

Not you anymore.

Heard this commercial on the radio this morning, for a local “specialty” store:

Come in for our 4/20 sale and get great deals on pipes and water tubes and lots of other smoking accessories… Don’t get ripped off, just get ripped.

Smoking accessories are for legal tobacco use only.

Who do they think they’re kidding? “Get ripped” with legal tobacco? Right.

Nice try, geniuses. “We don’t sell drug paraphernalia here, no sirrrrreee. Legal stuff only. Ignore the smell.”

Sigh.

Today at work, shortly before noon, I ventured away from my desk on a trek to the refrigerator to retrieve my mid-day sustenance. It was going to be delicious. On my way there, I noticed a box of candy sitting on the counter next to the sink. *gasp* Candy!!! Wooooo!

Oh. It's not free candy, unfortunately. Far from being a gift from some kind soul to those of us in need of a sugary boost, it was instead a fundraiser box. You know, some kid in some club somewhere needs to raise money, so it's decided that they need to peddle some sort of overpriced knick-knacks, or more often food like this. Except it's very rarely the kid doing any of the work — they hand the box to their parents, who trot off to work and deposit the box somewhere where grazers are sure to swoop in on the promise of delectable treats. Anyway… I digress. Here's the box in question.

Note the price: one dollar.

Then I noticed something. There in front of me was another miracle of modern technology and a monument to our gluttony: a vending machine stocked aplenty with miscellaneous treats. Chips, candy bars, even gum. Practically anything you could think of. Except candy unicorns. Those are hard to come by.

Now note the price there: most of that stuff is around 50, maybe 55 cents. Or $0.55 if you wish. Schfifty-five. About half the price of the candy bars in that other box. Okay, okay, I get it. Before anyone yells at me, I understand that it's a fundraiser — you're not supposed to worry about the price, it's going to a good cause. Supposedly.

I don't see any proof that this is in fact going to any “good cause.” Sure, the box says it's for someone's Little League team. But how am I to prove that? There's no Verisign banner, nothing like that. Of course, the person who put it out graciously provided a photo of a kid in a baseball uniform. Slick, but again… no proof. How am I to know that that's even their kid? I'm sure I can find a stock photo of a kid in a baseball uniform somewhere online. See, take a look at… um… my kid. His name is… um… Harry. Isn't he cute? He… um… has leukemia. And he's blind. And his puppy just died. Here, buy some candy!

Cynicism aside, I'm wondering if maybe this person should have put a bit more thought into their endeavour to spoil their kid and deprive them of the opportunity to go peddling their wares door-to-door in some shady neighborhood. When they chose a location for their highway robbery, they were no doubt looking for a high-traffic spot where people were sure to see the sugar and get suckered in. But… they put it right next to the vending machine.

I didn't get out a tape measure, but I'm pretty sure that's not much more than three, maybe four feet. That's it. Maybe not the brightest move? I dunno… if I'm really hungry for some candy, I'm not gonna grab my wallet. I'm going to rummage around in my pocket for whatever change I can scrounge up and plunk it into the vending machine for something cheap yet tasty. These parents might have been better off putting their fundraiser somewhere like… on a table in their department, where the hungry sugar-cravers will have to contend with the law of supply and demand. They have a demand, and the supply here is so much easier to get to.

Ahh, FedEx.

Not exactly the greatest experience thus far. I'll back up for those of you who aren't as familiar with the situation as I've been. I bid on and won a “platinum” (aka “silver”) Nintendo GameCube on eBay last Sunday, November the fourth. I promptly paid the seller, and she dropped it off at her local FedEx location on Wednesday the seventh. (Nevermind that it was supposed to be UPS Ground handling the damn thing. UPS are good people.) I've already bought the controllers and some games, I'm just waiting on the console itself.

By 6pm Wednesday I had a tracking number and was able to use FedEx's tracking page to see the general, uber-vague status of my shipment. I could see that around noon on Thursday, it had been “In FedEx possession” in Texas. Estimated delivery is stated as Tuesday November 13. I was hoping to have gotten it by Friday to have it hooked up for my party, but alas… 'twas not to be. Fine. Such is life.

Six hours later it was “Picked up” by FedEx at a different facility, still in Texas, in a town only 20 miles away. Another two hours, and it's listed as “Arrived at FedEx location.” Good, progress! Oh wait, still in that same town somehow. It took two hours to go from “picked up” to “arrived” at the same facility?

By midnight Thursday, going into Friday, it had finally “Left origin” and was supposedly on its way to me. Sweet nectar!

Well… they must have put it in a backpack and walked it north, because 19 and a half hours later it had only made it to Chicago. I'm pretty sure I could have launched it from a trebuchet and gotten it here quicker. Meh. Traffic must have been bad, right? Alright, so it's in Chicago. Almost here!! Oh wait… another six hours til it left the Chicago location, and four more after that to make it to the “local” office that's sort of near-ish to me.

Saturday, early afternoon, I get around to checking the status again. Amazingly, the package is now “on FedEx vehicle for delivery.” HOLY SWEETNESS, BATMAN! I could have it today! What time is it? *checks clock* It's 12:30pm, so it's been on a truck for… let's see… 9:30am… minus the… carry the one… three hours! It should be here any minute!

*cricket* *cricket* *rolling tumbleweed* *cricket*

Nada. I had to make a run to the grocery store, so I left a note with instructions to leave the package there if they showed up in the time I was gone. No more than an hour later, I was back, still no package. Alas, forgot some quick little things that I still needed, so to the local grocery store I went, back in under fifteen minutes.

Still nothing.

By 7:30pm Saturday, still nothing, and now the tracking results show a “delivery exception - customer not available.” Terrific. Of the 12 hours my GameCube was on their truck, they came during the one hour I was gone. Alright, I called FedEx to see if they could drop it at a local FedEx location (there's one very close to me) and I could pick it up myself. “Well sir, it looks like they're closed for the day.” Great. “But we'll attempt to deliver it again on Monday, or we can have it kept at the location and you can pick it up.” Alright… well… I'll let them try to deliver it.

Monday I call back to see if I can get them to deliver to my work address, or maybe still hold it at the store by me. “Oh, sorry, we can't change the address. And oh, sorry, we don't deliver on Mondays.” What? “We deliver on Saturdays, so Mondays are off.” Well… what the hell? Why was I told on Saturday that Monday would be the day? “Oh I'm so sorry you were told that sir.” Ok, can you give me a timeframe I can expect it to be delivered, so I can be home this time? “Well sir, our delivery drivers are independent contractors, so we don't have any control over them. Based on previous deliveries, I'd guess sometime between 4 and 8pm.”

So today's the day. I hope. Sometime in that four-hour window I'm hoping to hear my doorbell ring. We'll see if that happens.

And then Smash Brothers Melee will be rockin.

I was going to hold off on this until I could summon enough content to make an appropriately-sized list, but decided I didn't have the time or interest to go further than I already scraped together, so this is what you get. Don't like it? Tough on you.

Alright, enough of that intro stuff. No one really cares anyway, right? Right. So, without further ado, here's my list of top four stories in the Bible that I just plain don't understand. I'll operate under the premise you're not intimately familiar with each story, and try to provide some sort of synopsis.

Giving Away Your Unborn Kid

Plot synopsis: Woman named Hannah for some reason can't have a kid. (sorry… that should read “the LORD closed her womb.” Because, you know, it was His fault.) She prays to God for a kid and makes a promise if He comes through.

¹⁰ In her deep anguish Hannah prayed to the LORD, weeping bitterly. ¹¹ And she made a vow, saying, “LORD Almighty, if you will only look on your servant's misery and remember me, and not forget your servant but give her a son, then I will give him to the LORD for all the days of his life, and no razor will ever be used on his head.”

…

²⁷ I prayed for this child, and the LORD has granted me what I asked of him. ²⁸ So now I give him to the LORD. For his whole life he will be given over to the LORD.” And he worshiped the LORD there.

- I Samuel 1:10-11,27-28

I understand that she was upset because she couldn't have any kids. In that era, you were basically a failure if you hadn't churned out about a dozen kids by the time you were 14. Kinda rough time to be a woman, I guess. In any case, I can understand that she prayed to God for a child. What I don't get is her promise to turn him over to the church in return. That seems unfair to the kid, and he hasn't even been born yet.

“Welcome to the world! Oh by the way I hope you'll like the church, because you're going to be serving there for the rest of your life. Enjoy!” Something to that effect? Let me know if I'm getting warm here. I just can't get behind a story like this, when it's basically selling an unborn child into slavery. Sure, it's the church, it's for God, it's not really slavery, is it Tom?

Except it really is. The child, whose name turned out to be Samuel by the way, was sworn to be a servant of the church long before he had any choice in the matter. Does God really want a servant who didn't choose that life? I can't imagine that's the way it's supposed to be.

Lot's Wife

Plot synopsis: Abraham's nephew Lot has gone to live in a faraway city named Sodom. (of Sodom and Gomorrah fame) God comes to Abraham and tells him that He's planning on wiping these two cities off the map, because the people that live there are so evil he has no choice. Abraham manages to haggle with The Big Guy, and gets Him to agree not to do the whole fire and brimstone thing if there are just ten people (read: ten men) in the whole city who God finds righteous.

So… God does his audit, and go figure, no ten such people are found. So He sends angels to get Lot and his family out of the city before things start to heat up. The family is warned not to look back at the city once God has started to destroy it, and sent running into the hills.

¹⁷ As soon as they had brought them out, one of them said, “Flee for your lives! Don't look back, and don't stop anywhere in the plain! Flee to the mountains or you will be swept away!”

…

²³ By the time Lot reached Zoar, the sun had risen over the land. ²⁴ Then the LORD rained down burning sulfur on Sodom and Gomorrah—from the LORD out of the heavens. ²⁵ Thus he overthrew those cities and the entire plain, destroying all those living in the cities—and also the vegetation in the land. ²⁶ But Lot's wife looked back, and she became a pillar of salt.

- Genesis 19:17,23-26

So that's the story. What I don't understand is that last bit, verse 26. His wife was turned into a pillar of salt because she stopped to look back at the city burning. That seems a bit harsh, no?

I understand that God's command was to not look back, but… c'mon. She wanted to see fire and brimstone raining down from the sky annihilating the city. That's not something you get to see every day. Most sermons I've heard about this say she turned around because she wanted to go back to the cities and resume her life of sin, but… I don't know if I buy that entirely. If it were me, and there was literally fire pouring out of the sky onto the city behind me, I think I'd need to see that.

Just seems a bit over-the-top to make her into a salt statue for the local deer.

Bury My Father

Plot synopsis: Jesus is walking along, and like any good groupies, people come up alongside and profess their love for him and his teachings, and want to follow him wherever he goes. He tells them there are apparently some ground rules for getting into this particular club.

⁵⁹ He said to another man, “Follow me.” But he replied, “Lord, first let me go and bury my father.” ⁶⁰ Jesus said to him, “Let the dead bury their own dead, but you go and proclaim the kingdom of God.”

⁶¹ Still another said, “I will follow you, Lord; but first let me go back and say good-by to my family.” ⁶² Jesus replied, “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for service in the kingdom of God.”

- Luke 9:59-62

Wow. Where to begin with this one. These two guys come up and tell Jesus that they want to follow him, and he blatantly tells them, “Nope! Denied.” Why? Were they evil misfits unsuited for the rewards to be reaped by following him? No such thing. One wanted to go bury his late father, and one wanted to say goodbye to his family before embarking on a trip to Jesus-knew-where.

Apparently that's sufficient reason to be denied access to the fan club. My pastor claims this was symbolic for wanting to go back to their old lives and resume their old habits instead, or something to that effect. I think it's exactly what it says. I think these guys wanted to go tie up their old lives and finish things off first.

You know, the little things. Like burying your deceased father and saying au revoir to the rest of the fam. You know, who would want to do that? Be respectful to your earthly family? Noooooooooooo. Certainly that's not allowed.

Bald Man's Revenge

Plot synopsis: Elisha (he's a guy, contrary to the misleading name) is the protégé of über prophet Elijah. He's just received a double-scoop portion of whatever power Elijah had, since Elijah just got swept up into heaven on a flaming chariot. Way to make an exit! In any case, Elisha is walking back into town, when he has an encounter (cue dramatic music):

²³ From there Elisha went up to Bethel. As he was walking along the road, some boys came out of the town and jeered at him. “Get out of here, baldy!” they said. “Get out of here, baldy!” ²⁴ He turned around, looked at them and called down a curse on them in the name of the LORD. Then two bears came out of the woods and mauled forty-two of the boys. ²⁵ And he went on to Mount Carmel and from there returned to Samaria.

- II Kings 2:23-25

So let's get this straight. He just had this amazingly powerful encounter where he got a double-dip into the Almighty power, and then he's walking along and gets harassed by some kids. Now, I'm sure it was more than just some name-calling like they make it sound, but still. Unless they were stoning him, I can't see why he would need to curse them with bears. Bears? C'mon now. Why not killer bees or flying horses? That's scary stuff. So they called him 'baldy' and he had them killed. I can't imagine what this guy would have been like in middle school.

Maybe it's just me, but… sounds like someone could use some anger management classes. Preferably not the sort led by Jack Nicholson, but still. Might be a good investment, or a good court order.

Photo by tlianza. License: Creative Commons Attribution.

I ran out of headings.

Yeah, that's all the stories I had. Maybe it's a good thing I didn't go for the full seven, seeing as this turned out to be fairly lengthy. But… I just don't get these. I'm sure there were more stories I've read over the years that just made no sense whatsoever to me, but these were the ones that popped out specifically. Anyone want to share their immense wisdom with me and explain any of these to me?

While browsing the intarwebs, as I'm wont to do, I happened upon a strange advertisement to the side of the screen. Normally I would never have seen it (I ♥ Adblock Plus), but alas I had to use Internet Explorer temporarily. And so it was that I came across this delightful little gem.

This was the ad I saw. It's an ad looking for “local mystery shoppers” — supposedly, the idea is that you're paid to shop at particular stores so long as you report on how your experience was. You rat out the crappy clerks and “associates” and whatever other people are there to “assist” you in your shopping expedition, and you can keep whatever loot you've pilfered in the meantime. It's a simple enough scheme; lots of product-oriented businesses use it.

Except… what does this ad have to do with mystery shopping?

…yeah I couldn't figure it out either.

I suppose that could be a representation of what their mystery shoppers look like. Or… it could just be an attractive, highly-Photoshopped girl slapped up (no pun intended, I swear) on the image for no reason other than to get your eye to look at it. They must have spent some time oiling her up, too… look at the shine on her legs.

Let no one ever tell you sex doesn't sell. Cause… it does. I think. If people actually click that ad. I'm sure they do; people still click those stupid “swat the fly and win a prize!” banners, why should this be any different?

First, I apologize for the dearth of posts lately… I've been busy with work and such… and let's face it. I'm not exactly that exciting of a person to come up with something fascinating for you to read every day. Alright, now that that's settled, let's move on.

I had to go up to the public library today to drop off some books that were coming perilously close to being overdue – I haven't had as much free time to read as I used to. Because the person who designed the new library building is a moron, the parking lot is positioned about as far from the entrance as you can possibly make it without crossing into a new zip code. I don't know who looked at that design and said, “yeah, that looks good.”

I digress. Partly because I only had a few books to return, and mostly because I'm completely lazy, I opted for the book drop on the side of the building. It's a pretty standard outdoor book drop: metal hinged door mounted to the brick exterior. You drive up in your car (or bike, or whatever suits your fancy), pull down the door, drop your books/magazines/abandoned kittens in the gaping maw of the collector, and hightail it out of there before the coke-bottle-eyeglassed octogenarian drawing a paycheck from the library comes after you looking to exact a pound of flesh for the thirty minutes you were overdue. Like I said, pretty standard.

Except as I glanced at the door just prior to depositing my nearly overdue reading materials, I noticed something… odd.

I noticed a Braille plate at the bottom of the drop box door. Yeah, a Braille plate on the drive-through drop box. The drive-through box. The box you probably will never see (sorry, sorry) unless you plan on driving around to that side of the building.

Now, I understand that there are Braille dots on some odd things by default. There might be Braille dots on the keypad of the drive-up ATM, for example, simply because keypad buttons tend to come standard with some sort of Braille lettering. They just happened to be installed on an ATM that you drive up to. That doesn't apply in this situation, because this plate was quite clearly affixed after the rest of the box was put together. It was an aftermarket Braille plate, you might say.

Now, sorry, but what blind person is groping around the sides of the library going “Damnit, where is that book drop??” I'm not making fun of blind people here… I'm just pondering the likelihood of someone who's that visually impaired wandering around the outside of the library and accidentally stumbling upon the book drop.

“Huzzah! Now that I've accidentally found some large piece of metal, I shall grope it to see if I can discern its purpose in this world!

*gasp*

By the beard of Zeus, it has Braille!! I'm saved!”

I'm just sayin'.

So… I got an interesting voice mail today. First, I was confused because my phone didn't register a missed call, just a voice mail. In any case, I called to check what I had missed. Oh, the excitement!

I'm greeted by the voice of a woman who identified herself as Sarah something. Sarah something is the manager of some such department at a Best Western Hotel in a town a few miles from where I went to college. At first I was confused as to why this woman would be calling me.

As I listened on, her reason for calling became apparent. It's nice to get voice mails where the person actually explains why they called. Anyway… she started to explain that they were working on filling some recently vacated positions. She was looking through applications and found my name, apparently.

Let's back up a bit, shall we? Sometime last year, late August or early September, I had just moved away from my hometown, back to the town where I went to college. I had a townhouse there with a friend of mine, and was looking for a new job. While I was out trying to market my more career-oriented skills, I figured I'd slum it a bit and put in some low-level applications as backups. Just in case I didn't find a “good” job soon enough, I wanted some applications to fall back on: Wal-Mart, Blockbuster, etc. Since I'd worked at a Best Western for a couple seasons (summer/winter between college semesters) previously, it seemed like an obvious choice.

That was early September. Sep. Tem. Ber. Month Nine in a twelve-month year. This is now mid-June. Month Six. Including the month of September, that was ten months ago. Nine and a half if you figure that we're only halfway through June.

At what point is it just too late to call an applicant? Do they really think I'm just sitting around a year later, waiting for that call from Best Western? Do they really think that banquet set-up is such a posh job that I've been hoping they'd call, hoping I'd be offered the chance to slave away, breaking my back for minimum wage, part time? Please.

In any case, I've had two full-time career-oriented jobs. Two jobs that pay more than double what the Best Western bit would have offered, even after a raise or two.

Yeah. I had to laugh after hearing that voice mail. Calling me almost a year after I applied (in a last ditch effort, by the way)?

I think I'll call her back in April to let her know I'm currently unavailable.

To the woman in the green Honda Element on the bypass this morning:
Thanks for the angry glare. Traffic is rough in the morning, often slowing to a crawl for no apparent reason, and your harsh gestures help make it all worthwhile for all of us. It's just one of those things.

I know it was completely unreasonable for me to expect to change lanes. I'm almost ashamed of myself for needing to be in a lane that doesn't have a big yellow “Exit Only” sign above it. How dare I try to stay on the freeway instead of getting off at some exit downtown? The gall of some people, I tell you. So when I eased my Subaru into your lane, I can see how furious it must have made you to see another car embracing your section of the road. Those roads aren't made for more than one car, clearly. Maybe it's like Highlander for cars; there can be only one on the freeway at a time.

Pay no mind to my careful attention to where your car was at the time. Never mind that I carefully checked, several times, to make sure I wouldn't be cutting you off. That's completely irrelevant; I understand that no one may enter your lane ahead of you, and that you command a thirty-foot cushion of space in all directions around your car. See, that space between you and the white Buick ahead of you was just perfect for my little car, and I needed to be there. So thanks for the angry glare, and the sarcastic head movements. It shows you care.

To the guy in the black Mercury Grand Marquis on 35th:
Thanks for giving me the opportunity to listen to your music. Even though I was perfectly comfortable in my own car with my own stereo on, I'm grateful for your willingness to share your taste in music with those around you. I'm sure everyone within 50 feet of your car appreciates being given the chance to enjoy the delightful stylings of your favorite rap artist.

I particularly enjoyed the part where my car was shaking from the bass. Those custom subwoofers must have been expensive, and I appreciate every penny you spent on them. Were it not for your generosity, I wouldn't have been able to experience the wonders of losing my hearing for the duration of that stoplight, and each of the next four stoplights from there on. Thanks to your car, I received what almost felt like a full-body massage through my driver's seat, though that may have been my body attempting to run in expectation of an earthquake.

I hope you do well in your attempts to look “bad-ass.” I know the Grand Marquis is about as rough and tough of a car as they come, so you're well on your way to being a ghetto superstar. All you need now is a sticker across your back window with the name of your favorite rapper, maybe some of those fake bullet hole stickers, and some spinners. I'll let my grandmother and her friends know to upgrade their Grand Marquis in like fashion.