Movies That Made Us Cool*

(Alternate title: Movies That Made Us Cool #1, since I'm kinda hoping this is the first in a series of perhaps weekly posts. I need blogfodder!)

I watch a LOT of movies. Always have. When I was a kid with a VCR, I would sit and watch movies over and over again, so entertained that I didn't realize I was cultivating the mind of a master of Movie Line Trivia. Some of those movies I saw so many times that I think it may have warped shaped my young mind into the man you know today. Those movies of my youth, of many of our youths, are what made us so totally cool like we are now.

Today's movie is brought to you by one of the funniest movies I saw as a child. I say as a child, because this movie originally hit theaters in 1984. Now, being born in 1979 I would not have been old enough to see this at that time, but the ensuing popularity of the recently crowned winner of Format War I allowed me to check it out on VHS a couple years later.



Today's Movie That Made Us Cool is Ghostbusters. I was around six years old when I first saw it, and thanks in large part to my brother's twisted sense of humor, I was able to appreciate the grown-up comedy even then. Course, when I was six if someone said "SHIT!" on TV I laughed for hours. The line I still use most? Anytime someone points out an eminent catastrophic bad thing: "Important safety tip. Thanks, Egon."

I have many fond memories of Brandon and I watching that movie until we nearly wore the tape out. Hell, we probably did. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if he or my parents still had the VHS copy floating around somewhere.

Funny, this one. It just came out a couple weeks ago on Blu-Ray. I never did buy it or the sequel on DVD. I bought it on Blu-Ray, though, and I've watched it with my six-year-old daughter three times already. Looks like this Movie That Made Us Cool may make her cool, too:)





tweaker

Drought

Wow. Blow the dust off this thing, would you? It's amazing it still works...

I haven't spent the time I used to here. I used to actually take notes of things or send myself emails to remember stuff that was good blogging material. Now, it seems, like so many other things, that I have added one more thing I don't make time for.

I have been experiencing one of life's many transitions. Lately, I've begun to think of life as a series of comings-of-age, where every so often a change occurs that makes you reflect on how you "used to be," or "used to do things." This, for me, is one of those times.

I've been reflecting on how I dealt with things not long ago, like the stresses of work or family life, and realizing that some of my approaches were not the most productive. So, in a lot of ways, I've been trying knew things; new ways of dealing with stuff. It's not that the old ways were necessarily ineffective. But I am always looking for a better way.

Take now, for instance. A few months back, I decided that maybe I should read a book. Any of you who know me well know that is a major occurance - nigh cause for evaluation - for me. See, I don't read books. Sure, I read blogs, the occasional comic, or what have you, but books? Not me. Not ever. Has only happened once in my life. Yes, I bullshitted my way through every book report I ever wrote (and passed with flying colors on most of them, a testament to the true value of a public education in Mississippi).

Well, in true Tweaker fashion, that thought took months to cultivate into actual action, and likely never would have if my brother hadn't brought me a little present on his recent vacation to Texas with his family. Brandon is a reader. I don't mean a bit of a reader. I mean dude reads every written word he can get his hands on. Brandon friggin READS. So naturally, when I expressed some interest in a book, his gears started grinding, and I am now thoroughly entranced in My First Real Book.

I am reading The Moon is a Harsh Mistress by Robert Anson Heinlein. I have enjoyed every page I've passed, and eagerly awaited the page after it.

"So go scrub."
"Yes, sir, Captain. Uh, I don't need help to scrub my back... but Ill leave the door up so we can talk. Just for company, no invitation implied."
"Suit yourself. I've seen a woman."
"What a thrill that must have been for her."

That line right there got people at the public pool staring at me as I was laughing out loud.

I have actually caught myself wishing I could be home reading it more than once. Today was a prime example, as I collectively spent about 2.5 hrs. driving.) In fact, I'm having that urge now.

So I'm going to go read. Chapter Six won't read itself, you know.



tweaker

I just happen to have...

I'm on my way out of Best Buy yesterday, when I hear an announcment over the p.a. system that I've heard before: "Would the owner of a white Ford F-350 - license plate #****** - please come to the front of the store immediately." (I once caused said announcement at a restaurant where I saw a white Acura ease itself out of its parking spot and down the heavily sloped parking lot where it slammed into a rock wall.) "Damn," I said to The Wifey, "I'd hate to be the owner of that truck. Probably just got robbed or ran into or something."

I wish it had gotten robbed or ran into or something.

Curiosity got the best of me, so when I got close to our car, I saw the big white Ford. A man on his cell phone was at the window, two or three Best Buy employees were there, and the strip mall's security was driving up in rather a hurry. "Oh, shit," I thought to myself.

When I rounded the truck, my eyes and the eyes of The Wifey saw what was going on at the same time. Before I could speak, I hear, "IS THAT WHAT I THINK IT IS?!?!" from The Wifey.

Sawing logs in the back of the crew-cab truck was a darling, platinum-haired girl, all of four years old, who refused to wake up to the beating of doors and windows and the honking of horns at her door. She raised her sleepy head once to wave at the people, and rolled over and went back to sleep.

She was alone, and the windows were up. Doors locked. Truck off. Outdoor temp at time of incident around 96-98 Fahrenheit.

Fuck. Me. Running.

I parked my car, jumped out, and assessed the situation. The vehicle owner was nowhere to be found. 911 had been called (three times by three different people). No one could wake up the girl. "Can we not get in the truck?" I asked. The manager from Best Buy - a first-name-basis friend to many local police, fire, and EMT - said the 911 dispatcher ordered them NOT to break into the truck as police were on the way. I made my only mistake when I stopped to (internally) question the ignorant, cover-your-own-ass mindset that would lead a 911 dispatcher to make such a monumentally stupid-assed order. The security guard, a female with just short of the technique required to place a 4-D Maglite through tempered glass, was not interested in the order. Nor was the man who politely took her flashlight and completed the task.

That window broke loud, and the little girl woke right up. The man who did the breaking (clean-cut, decently dressed man) clearly decided that the possibility of consequences outweighed his need to stick around to find out how the story ends, because he started shaking, handed me the flashlight for some reason, got in his car and split.

Now everyone is looking at me. I waste no time as I reach through the hole in the window, clear off some glass, and hit the power lock. I ran around to the other side and threw open the door. I decided to let the little girl get pulled out by the motherly sweetheart of a lady who probably looked more appealing to a four-year-old than the long-haired guy that just smashed her window and scared her to Wake Up Time. I called for water and a towel or rag for a compress, and the folks from Best Buy got on it. A quick check for vitals, combined with the temperature in the truck (uncomfortably warm, not dangerously hot), revealed that the truck hadn't been parked long. She was a little sweaty and warm, but she was okay. She was happy to have some water, and she was scared a little (but smiling), but she was okay.

Praise all the Gods of men.

I stepped aside to consider the next phase of the situation. Here I am next to an F-350 with a freshly busted window, a bunch of strangers holding someone else's kid, and nary an LEO in sight nor siren within earshot. Okay. Defense Mode activated. I couldn't take a chance on some six-and-a-half-foot Bubba to come bouncing out of the store and start swinging/stabbing/shooting/doing very bad things to the crowd. Once the health of the little girl was cleared, the next thing I did was announce to the crowd: do NOT get in a screaming match with whatever man and/or woman comes out of that store. The police are on their way and will handle them. I stood back and watched for Bubba and the police, praying the latter would show first. I asked the little girl if she was there with her mommy or daddy. She said her mommy.

Some relief, but not much.

Turns out, SAFD was first. As soon as I heard sirens, I kept one eye toward the crowd and flagged down the approaching fire engine. They asked me if there was anything to know, and I told them what I saw. I watched as they assessed the condition of the girl, and collectively agreed that she didn't need anything past a drink of water. At this point, I'm actually starting to think that maybe the mother ran off or was taken when she got out of the truck. One of the firefighters was smart enough to ransack the glovebox and pull a name off the insurance card. He then dispatched an employee to go call for that name in the store. A few short moments later, I was quite surprised.

See, I was expecting some lowlife trailer-park methlab type to come out of the store screaming, "Where's my BAAYBEEE??!!" I was shocked to see a very distraught Suzy Soccermom approach the vehicle wondering just What Was Going On around her truck. Someone called out, "You left your kid in there!" She nearly had a nervous breakdown. No one tried to catch her when she nearly collapsed.

She was reunited with her kid just in time for Grandma to arrive on the scene. Oh yes, sports fans, seems that Mommy AND Grandma left the darling in the truck.

SAPD arrived about that time, and I could no longer be near those two morons without someone nearby to restrain me in case I go postal. So I took the opportunity to brief the responding officer. Kid's okay, mom just this minute showed up, no idea how window spontaneously shattered. He didn't care: he stepped out with his ASP Baton in hand, prepared to dispense some justice to a rogue Ford window.

FD waited for a bit while Mommy Dearest (pun intended) had her conversation with the officer - not a voice was raised, much to his credit - and then asked the officer if they needed him. He waved them off, they all got handshakes and thanks from us onlookers, and the big engine heaved forward and off. The crowd started to dissapate, but I stayed behind to talk to the officer. He cited her, and she'll be in front of a judge on Monday. The charge was Leaving a Child in a Vehicle. It's about as much as she'll get, since the child was not injured, but one can hope the judge has had a very bad day by the time her case is heard. I mean bad. Like I hope he just caught the guy that's been banging his wife or something.

****************************

What the fuck is wrong with people? You forget your keys. You forget your wallet or your phone. You do NOT forget your kid, I don't give two shits or a fuck what's going on. I don't think this act was malicious or even deliberate. The story she gave was that she just dropped her other kids off for a movie (same shopping center) and forgot that the youngest one was asleep in the carseat. They ran across the parking lot to Best Buy to pick up a fridge or something. Suzy Soccermom AND her mother will probably be haunted by this day for the rest of their lives. And just as well they should be.

But just in case you can't live with yourself, just make sure you get your whole head in front of the shotgun.



tweaker

P.S. - in an effort to make sure I never leave a scene like this again, I did two things. First, disregard some asshat on the other end of a phone line. I was there, she wasn't. Damn window was coming out, and I feel like a jackass for hesitating when I should have been fucking up some glass. Thankfully the other guy didn't. Second, I bought two of these, one for each vehicle:

clicky to biggify

This is a Life Hammer. They made it simple. It's a hammer with a seriously fine point on either end of the head for breaking automotive side glass. Anyone knows how to use a hammer. It's also got a handy seatbelt cutter built in to the bottom of the handle. God forbid I should ever happen upon this sort of thing again, but if I do, my mind is prepared and I have one helluva tool for the task. I will also be acquiring an additional 3-D Maglite for The Wifey's car.

Next time, I will not hesitate. Looks like mindset goes for more than just self-defense.

Have a Little Help, From My Friends

Ladies and Gentlemen of the blogosphere:

I will not bore you with details that are better left to be told by those involved. Some folks need help. Details here.

These people are not standing with their hands out. They have exhausted every possible resource, and are still shy of being able to secure a safe future for two lovely children. Let's help them out, before it's too late.

These are good people, and they've got some damn good recipes in there. I'm definitely buying. You should, too. Or there will be guilt.

Rally the troops. One of ours is in trouble.



tweaker

Shameless

Yep, that's right. I am a man quite nearly devoid of shame. There's a tiny little bit in there, mind you. There's just enough shame to keep me out of a Speedo in public (or in private, for that matter...*shudders*), but not enough to keep me away from a little self-promotion in the hopes of getting a Metric Butt-ton of "Yay, Me" action.

And of course, in true Tweaker fashion, I'm even late for this.

So here goes.

Yesterday, May 26, 2009, was my 30th Birthday.

Please feel free to dote on me with your loving comments:)



tweaker

WTF, Gunmakers?

An ad that my brother posted ultimately led me to a page on Ruger's website that covers the product recall on Ruger's LCP. There, I read:

We want to remind gun users that, for maximum safety when carrying any pistol with a loaded magazine in place, the chamber should be empty, and the slide should be closed. Any gun may fire if dropped or struck.

Reading that made me crazy. To me, it says that Ruger feels like they need to recall their LCP because of a positively identified problem that could lead to an unintentional discharge of the weapon if it was dropped, but it can happen to any gun.

Really? Then why is it an issue? Why waste the money to recall so many pistols and give away so many dollars worth of magazines to fix a problem that isn't really a problem, since it can happen to any gun?

*sigh*

Brandon's comment after mine on the linked post probably says what many of you are thinking. It's probably true, what with everyone and their brother being lawsuit-happy these days. But to be a major firearms manufacturer that is recalling a pistol specifically meant to be used for self-defense and say that the chamber needs to be empty is clearly and outwardly more interested in protecting their bottom line than the lives of the people that would carry those firearms to protect themselves.

I'm sure that ol' Billy "...no honest man needs more than 10 rounds in any gun..." Ruger would have been proud.



tweaker



P.S. - Directly from the manual for the Px4 Storm (which I carry every day for defense, loaded 17+1):

Unload a firearm before putting it in a vehicle (chamber empty, magazine empty). Hunters and target shooters should load their firearm only at their destination, and only when they are ready to shoot. If you carry a firearm for self-protection, leaving the chamber unloaded can reduce the chance of an unintentional discharge.

Maybe I need to switch to decaf...

*sad*

There's a few guys I look up to in the Gunnie corner of the blogosphere. One of those guys is George Hill of MadOgre.com.

George and his wife were expecting a little girl to round out a group of boys.

Sadly, the little gem didn't make it full term.

That's a crushing sadness that no family should ever have to endure. Please stop by and let George know that you're thinking about them. If'n you're the praying type, go ahead and drop one in for the Hill Family.



tweaker

@#*!% Car Dealers (pt. 2)

So Saturday morning finally arrives, and we get ourselves up early enough to get fed and get to the dealership at a decent hour. We grudgingly make our trip east to New Braunfels.

Upon arrival, everyone's all smiles again, and I hand off the keys to the Journey to Douchebag Salesman. He takes them off to someone else, and shows us to our temporary transport: a "dealer demo" (you remember, that thing they don't offer anymore? Lies=2) in the form of a Dodge Caliber.

As a sidenote, the Dodge Caliber is what Dodge replaced the Neon with. It's effectively a compact station wagon - no coupe or sedan - and it is Officially Made Of Fail. This car embodies everything that's wrong in Detroit. I hope they all sink.

Anyhoo, despite my request for a Not Econobox, we got in the econobox and headed up to San Marcos for some shopping. We had The Little Girl with us, so we needed to keep entertainment in mind, too. Unfortunately all that came to a grinding halt when, after less than two hours, I get a call from Douchebag Salesman. There's more bad news.

Seems that what the make-ready guys could not do, the detail guys could not do either. The garbage that's stuck to the car is stuck there pretty good, and the detail guys don't feel they can remove it without damaging the finished surface, so they are deferring to the body shop. Of course, I know damn well that no body shops are open on weekends, so I ask DBS (DoucheBag Salesman) when that's gonna be. Monday is the answer, and they'll probably keep it until Tuesday.

Son Of A Bitch.

So we abandon shopping in San Marcos to head back to the dealership. I politely tell DBS that I appreciate them trying to take care of the paint on the car, but that I am becoming increasingly displeased with the way this process is going so far. You see, I forgot to mention something in the earlier post. You remember that check that I dropped off earlier that they were supposed to hold? Well, they ran it two days after I dropped it off, and because the checks draw against an account we keep low, it bounced. We weren't even notified; we saw it on our account. We called the dealership understandably upset, and the most we got out of anyone was, "Oh, sorry about that. Did your bank charge a fee or somethin?"

So, after returning to hash out the next steps of the plan, I headed home in the piece of shit Caliber with the number for the General Manager of the dealership. Monday morning, he got a call from me. I was very polite with him as I explained the situation up to this point. He was noticably distraught, particularly with the fact that I was clearly being lied to by DBS. He said that he would personally oversee the condition of my Journey from here on in, and he would be having a conversation with DBS as soon as he could find him.

So Monday came and went, and Tuesday afternoon I get another call from DBS. He says that the Journey had been worked on, but the General Manager didn't feel it was up to standard, so he sent it back to the body shop for more TLC. It would be ready Wednesday. I was pissed, but I felt better when DBS told me that the General Manager tore him a new one:)

I finally get a call Wednesday, and we once again head to the dealer to hopefully drive our car home. It took me less that 30 seconds to climb onto a back tire, look at the roof, and immediately know that no one is working on the top of the car. Maybe they think I don't care about the roof because I can't see it; who knows. What I do know is that now I was outwardlhy pissed. I told DBS that the car was still not finished, and asked him if anyone ever bothered to check the roof. He was backpedalling and at the same time trying desparately to minimize the situation, which only fueled the ass-chewing that was now my turn to deliver. I asked him straight up if we would even be having this conversation if the car in question was a $90,000 Viper or a $50,000 Challenger SRT. I asked him if this level of quality (which I clearly pointed out to him on the roof of the Journey) would be acceptable on one of those cars. He said no. So I immediately asked why he was trying to pawn off shitty quality on a $20,000 Journey. He then tried to tell me that it didn't matter how much a customer spends.

Indeed.

He told me that he just didn't think he was going to be able to make me happy. I almost lost it on him. I asked if that was his answer at this point. I was done with DBS. Naturally, the General Manager was nowhere to be found, even though I had specifically requested audience with him earlier on the phone, so I wanted the highest guy on the food chain front and center. I got the friggin used car manager. Go figure.

He wanted to see what I was so upset about, so I took him to the car to show him. I explained the situation yet again, and he said that it should be taken care of. He said he'd keep it and make it right. He told me that it just didn't make good business sense not to. I almost felt a little bit better. So out comes DBS, and they wanted me to point out just what was wrong. I got pissed again. I told them that if I was going to have to point out every flaw in the body of the car for them to fix, that they were going to have to pay me a consultation fee. I told them that I wanted the paint to look like the paint on a brand new car, since I was buying a brand new car. I wanted it perfect, and that's what I expected to receive. Keep in mind, they'd already received payment in full; partially from our down payment, and the rest from our financial institution. I really felt like they were doing as little as possible to get by at this point. I also told them that I was totally unsatisfied with the Caliber, so I left Wednesday night in a rather well-equipped Grand Caravan.

As a sidenote, the Dodge Grand Caravan is made of win. This thing is huge inside, very comfortable, rides on air, has more than enough power, and is still small enough outside for even the most mechanically-challenged soccer mom to park in any parking spot. This car represents everything good about Detroit.

I called the General Manager again on Thursday to express my feelings, and before I even got into it, he told me that he was drawing up the paperwork to return my trade-in to me and call the whole thing off. I told him that was not what I wanted, and that furthermore the trade-in was no longer mine. The Journey was mine, and I wanted that. I just wanted what the hell I paid for. He said that, while he hated going through this, that at this point he felt like I was punishing the dealership for what he admitted was giving me horrible service. After all, I had caught DBS lying to me on three different occasions. He said he'd do anything to get the car right at this point, including paying someone else to do it if I wanted that.

I quickly made my move. See, there's a body shop very close to here that has a fantastic reputation because they do amazing work. They've worked on two of my vehicles, and on both occasions the cars came out looking literally brand new.

I told the General Manager to put it in writing that he'd pay for someone else to properly detail the car, and I would come pick it up and never grace the doors of his dealership again. He said that he would (provided that he didn't get hit with some $2,000 invoice, which I told him I wouldn't do). I told him that if my guys found the paint to be damaged beyond repair he'd be taking the car back, otherwise this fiasco was finally going to close. He said he'd have a letter drawn up and ready for me when I arrived that evening.

I dropped off the Caravan, got my letter, and got ready to leave. DBS came out to apologize again, and I told him that, after looking the car over myself, that it looked to me like they may have finally gotten it right. If they had done that in the first place, none of this would have happened, and if I hadn't been lied to, I would have never gotten this irate.

So here goes. Bluebonnet Chrysler-Dodge in New Braunfels, Texas gave me what is hands-down the single worst car buying experience I have ever had. I recommend travelling miles out of your way to any other dealer on Earth before I would even hint at stopping by Bluebonnet. I would not contribute a cup of warm piss were the place on fire. The arrogance that was once so prevalent in Detroit still lives on at some dealers, and this place seems to have gotten the lion's share of that attitude. So to hell with that dealer, and I look forward to being there when they are forced to close up shop to help them know exactly why they have no business. Just as Detroit ceased to listen to the voices of the those who bought the most cars and ignored every principle of customer service, Bluebonnet assumes that it doesn't matter what I think, because plenty of folks are still buying cars. Well, rest assured this, Bluebonnet. I will do everything in my power to prevent you from receiving so much as an inch of business from every single person who will listen to me.

I won't even have to lie to do it.

*********************************

What an experience. I've taken every online, telephone, and snail-mail survey that has approached me about the issue, and I've told each and every one just what it was like. Fortunately, my body shop reported to me that after very careful inspection, the car was fine other than the brand new rock chip just above the windshield (dammit!!!). They recommended factory touch-up paint for the repair as it contained the dealer's proprietary clear-coat already mixed it.

I bought it from the Dodge dealer down the street from my house:)



tweaker

@#*!% Car Dealers

So this post has been a long time coming.

A few weeks ago, I mentioned having purchased a shiny new automobile. For The Wifey, we have acquired one of these:



We don't have any pictures of ours yet, but they're coming.

We love this thing. It's a 2009 Dodge Journey. It's what's known as a 'crossover vehicle' - i.e. part SUV, part minivan - and it's the first 100% new car we've ever bought. Everything else has been a program or a demo or just flat used.

We looked at a few different cars before getting this one. Wifey wanted to drive a Jeep Wrangler Unlimited (4-door Wrangler), a Jeep Liberty, and a Journey. I wanted to look at a Toyota FJ Cruiser as well (can you say "Daddy's Next Truck?").

The FJ Cruiser is made of win and painted with awesome, but was set aside. The Wrangler Unlimited is worthless unless you get a 4x4 and actually use it. The Liberty was very cool. The one we wanted to drive had a fully retractable roof - think 1/2 convertible and 1/2 sunroof - but the damn thing sat too long on the lot and we couldn't get it started. It was then that it happened: another sales guy brought around a Journey to take us back to the building. That turned into a test drive.

The Journey is absolutely a pleasure to drive. It is large enough for our needs, is very comfortable, and has plenty of power as long as you get an SXT or an RT (both feature a big V6, where the base model is a four-banger). We found our next car.

So to home and teh internets we went. We looked at every Dodge dealer in South Texas (literally), and checked every SXT we saw. Finally, we agreed on a black one with just the right features, including a bitchin touchpanel radio headunit that doubles as a monitor for a backup camera.

So, off to the dealer we went. It's about a 45-minute one-way drive to the dealer, but it didn't take long once we got there, however, to realize that the car we were test-driving was the car that we were going to bring home (eventually...).

The deal wasn't too tough. Once we got down to being ready to walk out if they didn't come down to at least near the payment we wanted, they finally wised up and signed on. We also told them that our tax return was due to arrive any day now, but we wouldn't have the down payment until the tax return showed up. They said to leave a check that they'd hold and call them when we got our money.

However.

We were told by our (douchebag) salesman that since we were buying on President's Day that the make-ready department was closed, so we'd have to bring it back later where they would give the car a full clay treatment and really detail it. Fair enough. I drive out there one sunny Saturday morning with a check for the down payment, and I get told that the car would have to be detailed during the week since make-ready was closed on Saturdays (WTF??). I smelled something fishy, but I left.

Then I took a Friday off early to go get the car detailed. I asked how long, and Douchebag Salesman said 30-45 minutes - not enough time to detail a car in my experience, but okay - so I asked for a demo or something so I could get out of there and get lunch. They declined my request for a dealer demo since they don't offer demos anymore, so we had a seat in the waiting room where they at least had the decency to run Fox News instead of CNN. In about 45 minutes, my car was "ready."

Out the door we went to see our Journey which, at a glance, glistened flawlessly in the February sun. I gave it a quick once-over and assumed all was well, and we got in the car. As I put the car in reverse, The Wifey asks a question that would pull the wool back away from my eyes: "Did they clay the car?" I stopped the car and said, "Well I don't know!" I kinda wanted to just leave, but she suggested that I check the car more closely. So I did. And when I did I discovered what resembled little leftover pieces of Scotch tape thoroughly baked on to the surface of the car in several places, mostly on the hood and roof. There was also some sort of junk built up in the crevice between the back hatch and the roof.

Suffice to say that the car was not, in fact, detailed. Further inspection revealed that the interior had also received next to no attention, having only the floorboards vacuumed, and my daughter's footprints still on the back of the driver's seat. There were still leaves in the area behind the back seats.

So back into the dealer I went to find Douchbag Salesman, who gave me a puzzled look when I asked him what exactly the make-ready guys do to a car when they work on it. It is at this point that the true colors are revealed. He says they just kinda give it a quick cleaning and stuff. "That's not detailing. Did they clay the car?" I asked. "Well, they don't do that to every car," he replied. Getting frustrated, I said, "You told me they would clay mine. Did they?" In true sales-guy fashion, he diverts with, "Let's take a look at the car."

So out to the Journey we go, and I show him what's wrong with it. Looking at the Big Giant Fail that he got stuck with by his make-ready guys, he sinks a little and tells me they are going to have to clay the car.

No shit, Sherlock. Only one problem. It's damn-near closing time. I ask how long THAT is going to take, and the response is a couple hours and that I'd have to bring it back tomorrow, but that he'd have a rental or something for me.

Wait.

It's Friday, remember? Didn't he say earlier that they don't detail cars on Saturdays? Maybe he's pulling strings since they screwed up. Fair enough, there's an outlet mall north of town that I like to buy jeans/pants at, so I take him up on the offer and leave him with one suggestion: do NOT put me in some tiny little econobox for a rental. It had better be at least close to what I bought.


TO BE CONTINUED...



tweaker

No, Ma'am, You May Not

I do not like Wal-Mart. I don't go there unless I have no other option.

However, when you are in the Middle of Nowhere, sometimes you find yourself in the unique position of considering just such options. Like, needing a corkscrew when you have wine and no wine key.

So into the abyss I went, with my two fellow adventurers, off for supplies. I, for limes to complement my cervezas, and my fellows for a corkscrew. My fellows were in front, and I slightly behind carrying my laptop bag containing my laptop and its accouterments that I refused to leave in the van. The greeter, a middle-aged woman, smiled and greeted the others, and gave pause at me (still smiling) and asked me if she could hold my backpack. "I'd rather not, ma'am." One of my buddies said, "Maybe you could check it in at Customer Service?" I looked at him, and looked back at her in time for her to say, "We really don't allow backpacks in the store." I said, "There's a $2500 laptop in this bag. If you can put it under lock and key, and guaruntee its safety until I return for it, then you can have it."

The smile left her face, and she said, "Go ahead, sir."

*******************

Yes, I may have seemed harsh, but here's the deal. I have a pretty powerful laptop entrusted to me by my employer. Anything that happens to it while it's in my care is my responsibility. I don't have that kind of money to spend on replacing the laptop and all the stuff that comes along with it. So I will not be leaving it with a small lady at Wal-Mart who would assuradely be defenseless against a larger, stronger thief who would lay claim to it. And without a guaruntee from Wal-Mart for my computer's safe return, I think I have better odds of keeping it if I keep it with me.

Besides, there are more cameras in even the most podunk area Wally Worlds than there are in some casinos. They can watch me all they want. They can even ask me to leave the store, and I will walk away politely and without incident. But no, you may not hold my several-thousand-dollar backpack, thankyouverymuch.



tweaker