Category Archives: Humor

August 11, 2015

Thanks Dial!

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

I bought me a bottle of Dial brand shower gel. What an investment! Why Dial? It was on sale, and whatever shower gel is on sale when I go to the drug store has a leg up in being purchased. So much so that I buy 4 or 5 shower gels ahead of needing them just to get that sale price, but this isn’t about me being frugal or fiscally responsible, or anything like that. No. It’s about Dial. Dial has probably been sitting in a cupboard for a few months waiting for its chance, and it has arrived. So I reach into said cupboard, and pull out a very impressive looking bottle with a solution so blue I could only describe it as perfect. What’s on this impressive looking label I wonder? It says ‘sub zero’ and has a picture of a freezy kind of raindrop, but then in bigger, bolder letters it says ‘FRESH REACTION’. If you know me, you know I’m all about fresh reactions. In fact, I’ll bet I stood there in the store and looked at the different scents, and instead of smelling them, I judged them on the perfection of their colour, combined with the wow factor of their mission statements, and I don’t remember what the other ones said, but I can picture myself holding up this shower gel and thinking ‘hell yeah I want to cause some FRESH REACTIONs’, and then wasted no time in cashing out my purchases for the day.

Wanna know what else it says? ‘Micro-Infused Scent Technology’. What is that? Sounds impressive! The explanation below states ‘Specifically formulated to energize your senses and leave you feeling refreshed’. Cool! I’m buying this! Then it says ‘Non-Drying Formula’. What the hell is that forward thinking awesomeness??? Below it explains ‘Engineered with the right balance of moisturizers’. That’s fantastic. I don’t like to moisturize, and this will do it for me. Not only that, but it won’t OVER moisturize which I hate…. it is engineered with the right balance!! This is going to be the best $3 I ever spent. Then there are 2 more bullet points, but I realize they are just French versions of the first two. Slight downer, but I’m still pretty excited to get this thing home.

So today, just now in fact, I grab the bottle because it’s next in the queue, and I notice there are USAGE INSTRUCTIONS!! Oh, I better read these. Don’t want to fuck it up. This is just the best.
1. Squeeze out (of course, right?? I mean you would need to apply the gel, and you can’t do that if it’s in the bottle)
2. Lather up (ie you cannot just gel yourself up and become a ball of slime, that just won’t do. This unique product actually becomes soap sudsy if you move it around)
3. Rinse off (key final step, because how often do we forget, and just go to work with shower get STILL covering our bodies)

I think I do sarcasm well, but in case I don’t (or in case you’re in one of those countries that doesn’t understand that), I’m totally fucking kidding. In fact I find the audacity of Dial thinking I wouldn’t be able to figure out how to take a shower, upsetting and offensive. Honestly Dial, how desperate are you to find content for the front of your bottle, that you would actually try to instruct us how to use soap? Did your legal team make you do this? Were there too many instances of shower gel misuse? Was the customer service department flooded with calls from consumers who couldn’t navigate their way through using shower gel? It reminds me of those Disaronno commercials where that idiot bartender teaches you to make a Disaronno and Coke….’First you add the Disoronno……….’ I can figure out how to make a 2 ingredient drink asshole!!!!

But then, I’m of two minds about it. Maybe I should be thanking Dial. It is the responsible thing, right? I mean other than the super disgruntled like myself, who would really get offended by something like this? I know what you’re thinking…..just take a shower, man. You’re right. I’m just being difficult. I have a 2-year-old. Maybe he’d appreciate prominently displayed instructions. He’s never used shower gel before. People need reminders sometimes. We forget basic shit like the super obvious rules of the road, common courtesy, how to hold a knife, blah blah blah. I think it’s just time for me to clear my mind, and clean my body. Dial, I forgive you for being aggressively obvious, because you did give me some packaging thrills before that. I suppose if this Micro-Infused Scent Technology works the way you say it does, then you’re alright in my book.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , , | posted in Humor, Rants, Stories, Uncategorized

July 6, 2015

Billy Ocean Confessional

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

I got an iTunes GC recently. I’m a music junkie. This is absolutely the best thing to get me always. My nephew knows this and he’s not even 2 years old yet. He slipped it into my Father’s Day card. So I did a bit of iTunes surfing to see if there was anything I wanted. There’s always something I want, but I have to prioritize my wants, because I can’t buy everything at once. Unless there’s some new album that just came out that I’ve been dying to pick up, then it’s anybody’s guess what I might download. I decided my first item should be a Billy Ocean greatest hits album. This decision provides more questions than answers. I told my wife, and she said “You’re so weird.”

Of all the things life can throw your way, what could have possibly transpired in my life that lead me to purchase a Billy Ocean album?

If I could get the money back that I spent on music, I’d have a serious head start on retirement. Music brings me joy, so its money well spent. I wondered about the Billy Ocean decision. It’s been on my mind for a while. Is it time? Could I get away with just ‘Caribbean Queen’ and maybe one or two others, without picking up the whole album? The album was only $10. 4 songs cost more than $5, so I might as well go all in. Plus I didn’t know he had a ‘Long and Winding Road’ cover from the Beatles, and I wondered if it was good.

Would people think I was ‘weird’ for having this? Like if it came up on random play in the car and there were other people in the car, would I skip it, and just secretly enjoy it when nobody was around? I decided while dancing in the kitchen with my earphones on that ‘who gives a shit what people think about Billy Ocean, or about me for that matter?’ Getting older sucks, but as my ‘I don’t give a shit’ factor increases exponentially, I start to think that it has its benefits.

Is it that ever since I was 10 years old I’ve secretly always wanted to have the suave confidence to tell a woman to ‘get out of my dreams and into my car’? Who wouldn’t want to pull a line like that? Do people still even use pick up lines? I haven’t heard any in a while. Maybe this is something lost on the newer generation. I think it’s been unfairly categorized as sleazy. I would argue that if I care enough about you to be that creative, then it’s a thoughtful gesture. Right? Oh well, it was the 80’s, and if it doesn’t fly now, it must have then.

Billy Ocean was way cooler than Lionel Ritchie if you ask me. I would be way more embarrassed to have a Lionel Ritchie greatest hits album (who am I kidding? I have that too….. I have everything).

I’m 40 now. I used to listen to Public Enemy and N.W.A. I still do like that stuff, but old friends might be surprised to know just how much Fleetwood Mac, Eagles, Steve Winwood and Bee Gees I listen to these days. I used to think that stuff sucked. Now I quite enjoy it, not to the exclusion of underground Hip Hop or anything, I just like it ALL. Billy Ocean too. It is not the most embarrassing thing in my collection. You know what?? It’s not embarrassing at all. What’s embarrassing is that I just swallowed a fish oil pill sideways and had to go in and ask my wife if I’m going to be OK. I’m finishing this blog despite my throat injury, because ‘when the going gets tough, the tough get going.’

I think I just had to talk myself through it here. It’s not high school. Nobody cares what kind of music I listen to. I only think that people care, but the older we get, the more people are just happy to listen to whatever bullshit happens to be on the radio. That’s sad to me, but you know what??? “There’ll be sad songs to make you cry….. love songs often do….they can touch the heart of someone new…..saying I love you…..” Haha. I forced that in. Sue me.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Humor, Rants, Stories, Uncategorized

May 28, 2015

Please Don’t “Say Cheese”

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

People love taking their pictures. Since digital cameras and more recently, high quality phone cameras, it’s been happening a lot more. What’s interesting to me is that the pictures themselves have been de-valued since it’s no longer such a hassle to get them. Take a shitty photo? No problem. Take 17 more until you get it right. Even the most stubborn purist would have to admit that digital photography has made things way more convenient. A lot of times you can close your eyes and tell how old the ‘photographer’ is by the level of investment they have in setting up the shot, and the people in it. With younger people it’s snap snap snap snap snap. The older people remember having a roll of film with 24 photos on it, and the cost and time of having that film developed, and the harrowing disappointment of that family photo NOT turning out, and that memory lost FOREVER!!!! You could almost expect 4 or 5 of those pictures to not ‘turn out’, but if it was more than that, you would definitely feel like you wasted your money developing that film. That’s why whenever you took a picture of more than one person, you would always ask them to say ‘cheese’ right before you took the photo, to ensure everyone had their best smile, and just maybe that would be one for the photo album. (The what?? say younger people).

I didn’t know what ‘cheese’ meant, I have to admit. I never thought much about it, I just did what I was told. Probably from the time I could talk. My two-year old son says cheese when I ask him to. I’m sure he doesn’t know why either, but he doesn’t question it, he just does it. Same with me, I just did it. Only recently did I actually get in front of a mirror and say cheese to see what would happen. Yup, sure enough, it made my face contort into a ‘smile like’ position. Whoever first thought of that was a genius. Especially in those times where it really mattered that all look good during a photo.

Here was the problem for me. I have 2 smiles. A genuine smile, and a ‘cheese’ smile. I don’t smile just for the sake of it. I wish I did. I know there are people like that, and they’re my favourite people in the world. They smile because they’re happy, or it’s just their go-to face for various situations. My go-to face is not a happy face. It’s not because I’m not happy, or because I feel like I have something different to prove. Trust me, I’d love to be a smiley guy. I have dimples. When asked to say ‘cheese’ ahead of a photograph, I typically give a fake smile. The world might not know the difference, but my mom knows, and so do I. I tried not smiling, or ‘smiling with my eyes’ for pictures, and that sometimes works, but most people look their best with a smile on their face, and I would say I’m no different.

How do you make me smile?

You have to make me laugh. Easy, right?

I’m a funny guy. I know you’re not supposed to say stuff like that about yourself, but I’m 40. I’ve been told by other people very regularly for many years. I’m funny, get over it. Not just funny, but when I’m on, I’m really funny. It’s a schtick I’ve worked on since childhood. It’s how I tried to fit in. Sometimes the dimples weren’t enough. I worked on it for so many years, that I don’t have to try anymore. I instinctively almost always know what the funny thing is to say in just about every situation. Ironically at my age, the best thing I can do is not say it, but that doesn’t mean I don’t think it, EVERY SINGLE TIME.

Wait a minute, if I’m such a funny guy, I should be smiling all the time, right? That’s where it gets tricky. I’ve heard (or said) it all before with very few exceptions. I need something fresh and unique, or to be taken by surprise. A lot of times, the things that make me laugh hysterically are said by people who didn’t necessarily mean to be funny. It just happens that way. It would be a lot to ask of someone snapping a picture to have some witty banter just for me, because I’m the guy in the picture who won’t say cheese. It would also be a lot to ask for 75% of the population to have a sweet clue on how to operate a camera before getting a bunch of people together for a photo opportunity, and having us hold the pose for 30 seconds (aka 5 eternities) while they figured out if the flash was on or not, so………….

I’ve come up with a solution. It works for me every time, and if you don’t find it completely disgusting, you’re welcome to use it.

I’ve spent years brainstorming with friends, a list of words that could be quickly said in exchange for a genuine smile. The rule is that it’s got to be 2 words, said quickly as one. The first word is the name of an animal. Stick to something cute enough that it could be a stuffed animal. The second word is typically slang for genitalia. This is partially for shock value. Picture people posing for a picture, and then shout

HORSE-PUSSY

That was the first one we ever thought of. We realized that if the first word was 2 syllables, and the second word was one that it had greater impact. Plus we’re Canadian, so the most enduring one, and less offensive than the first (just in case grandma is in the picture), is

BEAVER-DICK

It never fails. Even when they’re expecting it, they still laugh. Or maybe it’s just my particular group of friends that have a weakness for that. I can’t say for sure if it’s in fact ‘universally appealing’ or not. I encourage you to make up your own. Try to stick to the syllable rules though. Even though ELEPHANT-BALLS is hilarious to me, it doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely. The animal can’t be too fierce either. TIGER-NUTS doesn’t tickle the same way say PANDA-NUTS would. Also, respect your elders. Someone in their 80’s probably prefers Dick over Cock, unless it’s BUNNY-COCK which is so deliciously absurd that I’m sure it gets a pass from the silver-haired crowd. Wait until you’ve used all the obvious ones before you get into BUTTERFLY-SCROTUM, and remember that it’s too many syllables to use for an actual photo.

If it didn’t gross you out, I hope this helps with your group photos going forward. Feel free to leave me your own creations in my comment section.

2 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Humor, Rants, Uncategorized

April 17, 2015

Bad Things Come To Those Who Hate

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

There’s been a lot of talk about haters over the last 15-20 years. You almost can’t listen to urban or pop music without hearing about it. Haters. I can’t believe it’s even a word. Sure, it’s human nature to hate. Take me for example. I hate bad drivers. I hate any sort of spilled liquid. I hate myself for eating my son’s Easter chocolate without him knowing, and that’s just what I can think of in a 30 second brainstorm. I hate fairly consistently. Am I a hater though? Does passionately disliking a LOT of stuff fit me into a conveniently labelled package so that people can easily reference me with a one word description that doesn’t even begin to tell my story? I don’t think it should. I’d HATE to think that it would. I don’t want to be described as a hater. Everybody hates something, but nobody hates everything. I don’t even think there’s such a thing. Let’s explore.

Where did the notion of haters come from? To hear young people tell it, it’s almost like every person in the world knows a handful of people who exist only to hate them (or hate on them as it’s often described). How self-absorbed would you have to be to believe that’s the case? Like anybody that might have a differing opinion, or for whatever reason just happen to be in the way of you getting what you want is nothing but an anger fueled malcontent? Perpetually? Like the act of hating on you is so gratifying, that it could actually be enough to fulfill another human being? I don’t know. I kind of think that’s not true.

As I type, I pause several times to reflect upon my own life. Do I have haters in my life?? I don’t think so. I don’t think I ever did. Are there people I disagree with? You bet. Are there people I don’t get along with? Probably, but I don’t force myself to spend time with them. Is there anybody in my past that went out of their way to dislike me or really give me a hard time? Not that I can think of, but maybe. I’ve been accused by members of the less optimistic population of existing in a world full of lollipops and cotton candy with chocolate rivers and friendly puppy dogs, and ice cream, so it’s possible that I’m giving human beings the benefit of the doubt when I shouldn’t. I really think if anyone hated me up until now, they probably had a legitimate reason. Not everything that comes out of my mouth glistens with agree-ability or political correctness. That said, I just don’t think that anyone has purposely held anger toward me, or sabotaged me just for the sake of doing it. I think people are making it up.

A word of advice to people who think they have haters in their life……. You are far too wrapped up in your false perception of your importance to the rest of the world. When looking at you from an airplane, you are far less significant than an ant. I’m not trying to make you feel bad, I’m just suggesting that I don’t think there are other humans that dedicate their lives to making yours miserable. It could be true, but it probably isn’t. If you are dismissing the reasons behind conflicts that you are experiencing, and just writing off the situation as ‘everybody hatin’ on me’, you’ll probably never look inward to see if there’s something about yourself that you can alter to help alleviate some of these situations.

And if I’m wrong, and haters actually DO exist….

A word of advice to the haters….. What the fuck man???? I didn’t even think you existed. You really serve no other purpose than making someone else’s life shitty? That’s no kind of life. Go back to school or something. Learn something new. Start doing awesome stuff, and stop the hatin’. Don’t be so miserable.

“Blowing out another’s candle will not make yours shine brighter” – Unknown (since it’s unknown, I should’ve just taken credit for it).
“You cannot strengthen the weak by weakening the strong” – Abraham Lincoln.
“Hating people is like burning down your own house just to kill a rat” – Harry Emerson Fosdick

Stop it haters!!! Knock that shit off!!

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Humor, Rants, Uncategorized

March 13, 2015

And The Paranoia Begins…..

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

I went out for a beer last night with a friend of mine. One of those friends who you share old stories with, and then near the end of the night when you start doing the math, you realized that most of the things you talked about happened more than half your life ago which makes you feel old and weird. Nevertheless, these little beer nights seem few and far between for whatever reason, and the last thing I wanted was for either of us to get killed, but I’ll get to that later.

We’re at a bar that I’ve been to a few times before. One of the best beer selections I’ve seen, and they keep the pricing very reasonable considering the rarity of some of the beers they have. Great beer, low price is a fantastic business model if you ask me. I’ll give them all the money I can spare. The food wasn’t as good as I’d remembered, but you can’t have it all. The waitress was cute, and did a good job answering our questions. We had a nice spot right near the front of the restaurant beside a window. Life was good, and we were having a good time catching up, when the paranoia sets in.

A guy in his mid 50s comes in with a sandwich board looking sign over his shoulders that says “What Is Love?” He stands right near the front door, which is basically right near us. I’m waiting to see what sort of disturbance he’s going to cause. We were in downtown Toronto, which is really safe by large urban metropolis standards, but there are still quite a few weirdos out there, and on a scale of 1 to 10 in terms of weird parts of town, this bar was located between 8.5 and 9. At first I thought maybe this guy was homeless, but with the sign and all, he’s clearly got a bee in his bonnet. Perhaps he’s protesting something. Or maybe he’s selling flowers. He took the sign off his shoulders to take a little rest. I didn’t see any flowers under there. Have you ever had someone sell you flowers in a restaurant? Not on a Wednesday. He seemed like he was waiting for someone, but he didn’t grab a table (it was seat yourself). Then he went outside for a second. Not for a cigarette, just to do it. Then he came back in and stood. Near our table no less. All of which caused my friend and I to have the following conversation which I sort of remember sounding like this…….

Me: Do you see this guy?
Him: Yeah. What is Love?
Me: Baby don’t hurt me….don’t hurt me….no more….(you won’t get that unless you’re between 38 and 43, so let’s move on)
Him: What do you think?
Me: I think we’re gonna get stabbed. This is the beginning of Fisher King all over again.
Him: Yeah, you might be onto something. Although he doesn’t look too crazy. More like a recluse.
Me: I know. Those are the ones. The ones that look really crazy get arrested more often because people see it coming. This guy? What is Love? Nobody will see it coming, and then on the news the police will be all mystified. The neighbors will be like ‘he was so quiet’.
Him: Should we get our next round somewhere else?
Me: I don’t know. Let’s wait it out for a bit. I’ve still got half a beer left. It’s really good. Do you want a sip?
Him: Sure. Why is he carrying the sign around? Was there a march we didn’t know about? What is he protesting?
Me: He’s protesting happiness man…. He’s gonna off everybody in here that looks happy, and he’s gonna start with us.
(Waitress approaches…..by now the guy has taken a seat, but he’s facing us, and he’s opened a laptop)
Me: Oh, hey…..
Waitress: Do you guys want another beer?
Him: Uhh we’re just debating that right now. We’re kind of concerned that the guy behind you with the sign is going to open fire on the entire restaurant. What’s with that sign?
Waitress: I know, right? He’s been in here before, I think he’s waiting for somebody.
Me: I feel like there’s a button on that computer that is going to blow up this entire street if he presses it, and he’s just deciding whether to or not.
Waitress: I’m pretty sure he’s harmless.
Me: Lower your voice, he might be the type that could hear a pin drop from a mile away. We might be one ill-advised comment away from getting it…… In the meantime, bring us 2 more.
Waitress: OK. (Leaves)
Him: So, what are we going to do if the shit goes down? At least we’re close to the exit.
Me: Keep your bottle within reach.
Him: Maybe we should change the subject.

So the story ends like this…… This fairly attractive black lady comes in and she has to be 15 years younger than him. She gives him a full on kiss on the mouth, picks up the sign even, and walks with him toward the back of the bar where there was more privacy. I debated whether to include her race because it doesn’t matter, but I do think it adds to the ‘that was the very last thing I was expecting’ vibe of the story. She seemed as normal as can be. There were guys in their 20’s in this bar whose dates weren’t nearly as attractive, but she came for this strange older dude with a sandwich board strapped to him. I always think I’ve seen it all. When the waitress came around I asked what they were drinking. Him tea, and her tequila neat. I should have bought them a round just to hear their story. I’ll bet it’s fascinating.

I don’t know how this whole thing reads for someone who doesn’t know me. I really wasn’t overly concerned, but was more just having jokes with my buddy. That said, there’s always some element of truth. I was staying mentally prepared just in case this guy was a psycho, because you NEVER know. On the opposite end of my learnings, the theme of not judging a book by its cover was present here as it always seems to be in life.

3 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , , | posted in Humor, Stories, Uncategorized

March 5, 2015

#Hashtaggery

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

This post is a #nowinsituation. Young people are going to disagree, and old people aren’t going to #knowwhatthefuckimtalkingabout. I’m a #hater perhaps. Maybe it’s the #wine, maybe I’m just #frustratedbeyondbelief, but probably it’s the fact that I’m #gettingolder, and the world in my humble opinion is #gettingdumber, but I’m finding that #imgettingirritatedwiththeinternet. It’s a #lovehaterelationship though. I depend on it. I waste hours on it. So in a way I’m in #nopositiontocriticize. I do write a blog though #thoughtsandrantsinjoggingpants, so right or wrong, if I don’t #lashoutagainstpeople from time to time, then #whatgoodami?

Dear internet friends, enemies, and #frenemies…… I hate your #fuckinghashtags!

First I feel I need to explain #hashtags. According to my #researchsources wikipedia and urban dictionary, #hashtags are a #socialmediatool to group certain ideas together so they’re easier to search for. #newsflash…. Nobody gives a shit what you’re saying on #facebooktwitterorotherwise to actually search for it later. People are just #doingthistodoit, which I find #superprepubescentofyouall. Especially the 30-50 crowd. #giveitabreaklosers. I promise nobody is trying to find your status updates with a #hashtagsearch.

The other thing which is #waymoreannoying is using the #hashtag as some sort of weird #punchlineindicator. That is to invent a #hashtag to drop at the end of your status update to somehow #punctuate what you’re saying. Are you like #11yearsold??? No. You’re 40. Stop it. Here’s an example I made up. “Just got into a fender bender, and off to the collision center! #happynobodywashurt #shouldntgodrivingbeforecoffee #theregoesmyinsurancepremiums” etc. I guess it seems cute to some. I disagree. Decidedly not cute, just say what you want to say in plain English. Stop trying to #impressyourkids. The thing is, when young people do it, I’m half expecting it. They’ll look back and #realizehowdumbtheywerelikewealldoeventually, but the people my age should know better.

I suppose if a company wants you to use a #hashtag so you can enter some sort of #weirdcontest, then it makes a bit of sense. I just don’t like the gratuitous use of it by people who #dontevenknowwhatitreallyisandthinkthisisjustonebighashtagparty. Hopefully just by reading this post, you’ve been suitably annoyed by trying to read all the #hashtags in it, and I’m super pissed off that my word count is only sitting at 325 right now because every #hashtag is only one word, no matter how many I crammed in there. Spell check is going to be a #nightmareshitshow too.

I guess I’ve been #crankyenoughforonenight. #offtobed

4 Comments   |  tags: , , , , , | posted in Humor, Rants, Uncategorized

December 10, 2014

Holiday Retail Pet Peeves Part 3

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

Loyal Readers…

I’m sorry I haven’t written in over a month. I could make excuses. Maybe I’ll just cut right into the topic.

I just re-read parts 1 & 2 to make sure I don’t repeat myself. Here’s links to the first 2 in case you feel like some light reading.

Holiday Retail Pet Peeves

Holiday Retail Pet Peeves Part 2

I’ve spent a lot of time in Retail which has provided me with almost nothing, other than these lists. It gets a little crazy around December with all the Christmas shopping. People get a little annoying. I’m a trained soldier in dealing with said people, but my patience wears thin from time to time as well. I am human of course.

– If you are a human being that is unhappy with a product, you are probably spitting mad, and looking for a verbal confrontation. That’s probably the only thing in your mind that’s going to make the disappointment and anger subside. So who better to take your day out on, then some poor teenager who makes minimum wage to work (possibly seasonally) at the store you purchased the product from. Sometimes the product you buy will direct you back to the store for your customer service issues. Other times, you might have a number on the box that you can call to talk directly to the manufacturer……which you will ignore, and come into the store anyways, demanding satisfaction from whichever unfortunate teenager happens to be standing near the entrance to the store. Don’t phone ahead to find out what the proper protocol is. Just show up, and then if the situation isn’t resolved, make sure you tell everyone how far you drove, and how much your time is worth. People, listen….. Stop treating store employees like they’re the ones that manufactured the product you are unhappy with. They didn’t. Unless you’re lucky enough to see the same person that helped you, they probably didn’t even sell you the item. The retail employee has ZERO control over the longevity and effectiveness of the product that you are using. They have ZERO control over the exchange policy that they are PAID (very little) to enforce. I know you want to yell. I know you want that vain in your forehead to pop out with anger. Everybody from the product designer, to the manufacturer, to the warehouse, to the store level employees probably really wanted you to be happy with this product. They aren’t trying to swindle you, and if they are, it’s certainly not happening at store level. I know you thought that when you spend X amount of money, that the world would open itself up to you in the form of this product, and everything would be the way it should be. That wasn’t the case for you this time. Not the fault of the part-time employee whose lunch break isn’t even long enough to run to the food court and back. Stop the abuse.

– My new favourite shopping dynamic is dealing with the mother/daughter combo in which the daughter is a young adult, and the mother who no longer provides for her daughter is trying to remain relevant by brainwashing her daughter into believing that she is the fountain of wisdom, and nobody else’s opinion could possibly be meaningful. It’s subtle but hilarious. The daughter has no idea it’s happening. The mother is probably doing it instinctively, rather than intentionally. Once you figure out what’s happening, it’s hilarious to watch. The mother talks constantly, like she’s an expert on all things, and trying to influence the daughter’s choices. As the sales person, you are being almost physically shielded from the daughter by the mother, who feels she will lose credibility if an ACTUAL expert chips in with his two cents. So as the salesperson you have no choice but to hang back, and hope that either the daughter asks for your opinion, or the mother asks you where something is. If you get asked for your opinion by the daughter, you are allowed to give it, but it will be met with a frown from the mother, and daughter will then be steered back into the opposite direction. If it results in a sale, it’s a win for everyone. I’ve just never drilled down enough to explain this phenomenon until recently, but the more I see it happening, the more I understand that it stems from a great deal of insecurity from the mother’s part. This isn’t about shopping in my store. It’s bigger than that. It’s fun to be a fly on the wall and watch it. That said, it qualifies as a pet peeve, because the mother is usually rude to me, and chances are I know all the answers to the questions that you won’t give me a chance to address. Sometimes it’s more about the customer service experience, and that one is way more about personal relationships than it is about retail.

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October 28, 2014

Don’t ‘Shut The Front Door’

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

I’m going to swear a bit more than normal here. Maybe my mom and her friends shouldn’t read this one. I’ve had a couple of sappy blogs in a row now, and if you’ve followed my patterns, you know it is to be followed with something completely ignorant. I wouldn’t be me otherwise.

The topic of course is swearing. There are people who glorify swearing. I don’t think that’s me, although it’s not too far off the mark. There are people who don’t condone swearing. That’s me a very small percentage of the time. You can’t swear elegantly if you can’t pick your spots. I will say this though. I don’t condone substitute swearing. What’s that you ask? It’s when somebody says Fuzz, Frig, Fudge, when they really mean FUCK! (The exclamation mark was meant for the word, not for the whole sentence in case you’re one of those readers who reads aloud to themselves. Meant to be read in normal voice until the word Fuck, and then you take it up 2 notches). The latest and greatest of substitutions that absolutely drive me crazy is ‘Shut the Front Door!’ This (I’m assuming) is a fun, and supposedly appropriate way of saying ‘Shut the Fuck Up! (Except really only useful with the incredulous voice of disbelief, like you told me you won the lottery and I said a high-pitched, almost question like ‘Shut the Fuck Up!!!! Not useful in the Shut the Fuck Up scenario where I actually want you to Shut the Fuck Up). This is a great way to be funny on TV as far as I can tell, but if you’re not on TV, I have no patience for your ‘Shut the Front Door!’

Why do I like swearing? Isn’t it for people who can’t express themselves with a proper vocabulary? In some cases yes. I would say it adds emphasis that cannot be otherwise added. Well placed and well spaced enough, it can be the perfect addition to a passionate discussion. It’s a feel good thing too right? When you’re frustrated, who doesn’t like a good hard fuck?? (Get your head out of the gutter, I didn’t mean it like that…..but I didn’t delete it either). I just love pulling out my potty mouth to describe unsavoury situations. If done right, it makes things funnier. If done wrong, well at least I got to let out some frustration while my audience judges my choices.

Who could possibly argue that a good ‘Fuck You’ is the perfect thing to say to the victim of your road rage. ‘You’re a bad driver’ just doesn’t cut it. ‘You fucking suck!!!’ hits the nail right on the head. We’re just mammals. Fuck is just a word. Why deny yourselves? It feels fucking spectacular sometimes to just let loose.

I know there’s a time and a place, and I’m not claiming to be the foremost expert on that. My son just turned 2. As much as I badly want him to learn the English language properly, it’s only a matter of time before he picks up something terrible from the old man. I try not to swear around him, but it’s just natural self-expression, and it gets the best of me at times. I feel comfortable around him. I let my guard down sometimes.

What I really wanted to say here is not to use substitutions. It’s far more offensive to me than actual swearing. It just means that in your heart, you wanted to let something out, and you didn’t trust me as your listener. It’s a dishonest form of communication. If your soul had a ‘shut the fuck up’ in it, and all that came out was a ‘shut the front door’, then you didn’t let me in. I don’t respect it. I want the truth from you. I want you to let the crazy out, and not be self-conscious about what people think about it. Those aggressive little stress relievers will lengthen your life too. I’m sure of it.

I know a lot of people find swearing gratuitous. If you think you can offload your aggression without doing it, then you’re a better communicator than me. I would suggest that most people can’t, and the silly little substitutions are just a way of telling me that you wanted to do it, but were too worried about what people would think of you. I hope one day you can break free from your shackles and join the rest of us in saying ‘FUCK THIS SHIT, I WANNA BE FUCKING FREE!!!’ Save your uptightness for something more important.

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October 1, 2014

Dear Ndugu

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

You either get the reference or you don’t. There was a movie called ‘About Schmidt’ that starred Jack Nicholson, in which he played a retired/widowed man who goes on a journey to visit his daughter, and attend her wedding. As per usual, Jack plays this character brilliantly. Without getting into the nuts and bolts of the plot and spoiling it for whoever hasn’t seen it, Schmidt has an orphan in Africa that he sends money to. He occasionally sends a letter to this orphan chronicling his life over the last few weeks, how it’s falling apart, and other 1st world problems. It always starts in that classic Jack voice saying ‘Dear Ndugu’ which gets a laugh every time. It’s mostly the editing, and how they drop it in that makes it funny, so if you don’t get it, don’t worry, you had to be there.

Is this a movie review? No. Just a lead in. Something that’s been on my mind lately is that I happen to support a child in Africa as well. (We’ll use the name Ndugu to protect the innocent.) I never talked about it much. If I were to bring it up, it would seem like I was fishing for compliments. I feel a little strange about it to be honest. The main reason I did it is because when I worked downtown, I walked past people who worked for this organization pretty much every day. It seemed like a good campaign, and I respected the people out there every day trying to get people to sign up, but at the end of the day, I just wanted a coffee, not another commitment. I walked past them for a year. I never stopped to talk. I just kept it moving and avoided eye contact. They were always smiling and upbeat. They took rejection very well. One day I succumbed to their charms. I stopped and listened. They started telling me about all the horrible shit happening in certain parts of the world. This is information that I typically avoid, because it makes me feel shitty, and there’s not much I can do to change it. This guy asked how much my coffee cost me. Then he did the whole, ‘for less than a cup of coffee a day……’ routine. I knew what it was. It was my turn to pay the tax. I don’t think I had done enough for others up to this point. I’d always wanted to, but there was always a reason (good or bad) why I didn’t. Here I was. In a fortunate enough position that I could probably afford it. What was I buying when I pulled out my Visa? I was buying a feeling. A feeling that I had done something good. It wasn’t as much about medication or clean water (although I hoped my cup of coffee a day would buy lots of that for somebody), but like a lot of people whether they like to admit it or not, I was paying money to lessen the guilt that I feel for being fortunate in life.

Fast forward to a few weeks ago. My wife comes into the room with an envelope from the organization that handles this arrangement. She asks if I’m ever going to open any of these envelopes. I usually don’t. I give the money so I don’t have to think about it. I don’t want to know about some other part of the world that needs help, or read the heartbreaking statistics of the area in South Sudan where the child I support is, or that they really encourage us to write letters to the children we support, and how much that means to them. Am I not stressed out enough by my own life?

She opens the envelope. Sigh!

Did you know? Girls in the South Sudan are twice as likely to die in pregnancy or childbirth as they are to finish primary school? 45% of people do not have clean drinking water? Many children die of preventable diseases like diarrhea!! Awful.

The envelope also contains a postcard. Another reminder that I should just be a man and write a letter. It’s not that I couldn’t, or don’t have the time, but it signifies a further emotional committment that I don’t know if I want to make. My wife reminds me that I “write a blog for god’s sake, so it’s not like you don’t know how to write!” How hard can it be? My dad used to write me postcards all the time. Everywhere he went, he’d buy a postcard and write to me. Probably just so I could see a picture of where he was at. They were short and sweet. He did this, he saw that, doing this tomorrow, see you soon, Love Dad. I could do that! What would I say though? That a kid suffering through poverty would want to hear? Should I talk about how excited I got when I found this awesome Belgian beer at the Liquor store that I’ve been searching for ages for? Should I talk about the awesome meals I’ve had recently? How living in an air-conditioned building, and driving a car are awesome? They don’t want to hear that!!!

How about how just about every moment in my life that I complain about, would potentially be one of the most amazing moments in their life?

Then like a ton of bricks, it hit me. It brought me perspective that I hope I am able to carry with me every day for the rest of my life. It’s helped me at home, at work, and everywhere in between. I realized that my life IS amazing. I remind myself of this when I start complaining about dumb things. Am I starving? Do I have clean water? Yes? Then perhaps this lineup I’m standing in isn’t so bad, right?? I’ve been preaching this to anyone that will (or has to) listen. What did you complain about today? Something inconvenienced you? Would Ndugu think it was inconvenient? No?? Then you probably shouldn’t either. Strangely, this is making me a happier person. I do feel guilty that I now constantly have to reference Ndugu to remind me how none of my problems are really all that problematic at the end of the day. Not compared to what Ndugu goes through. Every moment of my life that I’m fortunate to have is an absolute blessing.

Ndugu has provided perspective for me. I will thank Ndugu with a postcard that reads like this……..

Dear Ndugu,

Greetings from Canada! I hope this letter finds you well. I want you to know that your life, both triumphs and struggles, are an inspiration to us here. We are wishing you the best, and cheering you on in all of your pursuits. You will be in our thoughts and prayers always.
Be good 🙂

Love,
Your Canadian Family!!

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September 14, 2014

Half My Life

By Thoughts and Rants in Jogging Pants

So I meant to write this post about a week and a half ago. I didn’t, and who knows why? Is it because I was too busy crying my eyes out? Throwing up? Lying on the floor in the fetal position with a snot bubble on the end of my nose that didn’t know whether to go in or out? Drinking coffee liquor? Taking a tomato juice bath? Probably all of the above.

What would have me in such a foul, non-bloggy mood? Some smart-ass decided to update his status on Facebook to indicate that he was off to University 20 years ago that day. Who cares, right? Except that I too would have been starting my post-secondary education that day as well. 20 years ago. I was 19. Do the math. I’ve been pushing 40 for a while. Only gently. Now, I’m pushing it like a bully in a room full of dorks. I’m OK with that for the time being, but the fact that I went to college 20 years ago is unacceptable for some reason. I’m not saying that it feels like yesterday. It doesn’t. It feels like 12 or 13 years ago. Not 20.

Let’s analyze just how ridiculous it is that going to College was half my life ago. I’m the same guy, right? Not even close. Not for the better either. The main difference is that everything hurts. Physically I mean, not emotionally. For no reason at all. I am in pain a fairly high percentage of the time. Nothing requiring a get well card. Just that nagging kind of pain that I know won’t ‘get well’ ever. By the way, for all of you who are over 40 and in more pain than me…. this isn’t a contest, so don’t fill up my comments section talking about your aches and pains…… That sounded selfish and mean. OK, tell me about your aches and pains.

I’m kind of crusty and frowny these days. I was NEVER like that! Why would I be? All I had was dumb shit to think and worry about. It was awesome! The simplicity of it all. I would go out for a beer with a buddy, and that was the most important thing I did all day. I walked with a spring in my step. Now I think I limp slightly, depending on the day. I can’t overstate that I think some of this has to do with the fact that I’m in pain. It probably makes me crusty and frowny more than anything.

I’m a husband, father and working professional now. I was maybe a boyfriend, possibly a part-time employee, and a crappy disinterested student then. I’m not saying that was better, but it was much much easier.

My neck is like waaay bigger now. Most of me probably falls into that category too, but the difference in neck size is astounding. My face too. My whole head really. I only suspected this before now, but recently I bought a ‘New Era’ baseball hat, you know, like the kids wear (oh and I say that now with a straight face), and they’re fitted, so you have to keep trying them on until they fit. My head is big, and that’s all there is to it. I hope you don’t have to sit behind me at the movies. So it only makes sense that I would have a big goddamn neck for it to sit on. I wish my ego, or earning potential, or generosity of spirit was bigger. It had to be my neck.

I’m sure I was way funnier back then too. I should have started this blog then. I don’t think blogs existed then, but I wish I kept a journal or something. I was funny. I don’t know that I’m any less funny now, but I am way less interested in whether people laugh or not. That used to mean the world to me.

I do miss those days. I sometimes long for my 19-year-old energy and enthusiasm. The good news (if I’m to make this blog entry one that ends on a warm and fuzzy note) is that I had a blast! It’s like that rollercoaster that you went on, and you loved it, but you have to line up 45 minutes to ride it again, so you say screw it. It was an excellent ride. I enjoyed every minute of it. I am enjoying where the journey has taken me, and I don’t have any recurring nightmares about how I should have done things differently. So if I’m to turn 40 in the not too distant future, I won’t do so with any sort of sadness, but rather a ‘holy shit, I can’t believe how amazing this last 40 years were, and how lucky I’ve been.’ The next 40 I’m sure will be even more amazing. They will hurt. Not emotionally, but physically.

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