I Owe

Friday, 16 March 2012

I stopped at Northern Brewer on my way home from work today.

Two friends emailed me an e-flyer from the brew supply proprietor advertising their 15% off beer kits sale. So, I figured my friends were concerned that I wasn’t producing enough beer.

I carried two beer kits up to the counter. The man behind the counter rang up my sale, and I stupidly didn’t say, “Don’t forget to give me the 15% off.” I know that sounds silly, but I always remind cashiers to give me a discount price or use the coupon I just handed them. When I was younger, I just assumed cashiers knew to use coupons or special offers that were being advertised. Turns out, they often forget. I think they get so used to the routine of doing things, that they don’t stop to think about the additional step of applying the discount.

I am, however, simultaneously aware of the fact that handing someone a coupon, then reminding them to use it can come across as a tad condescending. So I’ve been a bit more clandestine about it lately: while making the purchase, I try to mentally calculate the total and then, when the cashier reveals the exact total, I decide if it seems plausible or not.

But today I was distractedly talking to the cashier about some yeast I have at home. This caused the dual problem of him forgetting to give me the 15% off, and me forgetting to note if the price seemed correct.

When he handed me the receipt, I noticed there was no discount listed. So I asked if he gave me the discount. He didn’t. He said he’d have to refund the sale and ring it again.

But then he swiped my card for a second time, and his computer locked the sale because they have this safety procedure in place that prevents the same card from being used twice within ten minutes. This is a great idea because, as everyone knows, only criminals use credit cards twice in ten minutes at the same store. Duh!

Anyway, this very competent employee kindly asked if I had another card to use. No, I didn’t. So then he politely asked if I wouldn’t mind “hanging out” for a few minutes. In return, he offered me 20% off on everything (not just the kits).

So I did. There are worse things in life than having to hang out at a brew supply store for 5 minutes.

Saturday, 17 March 2012

Tonight Owen and I lugged out the old telescope. Or, rather, I lugged it out and hooked it up to the tripod and the scanner and removed the cover and inserted the best lens and scanned the night sky and focused the eyepiece while Owen stood nearby and asked a novemdecillion questions.

Jupiter was out in full glory this evening. Despite living in a light flooded city that was partying to the hilt paying tribute to some Irish bloke, we managed to zoom in on the gas giant and check out its colorful banding. We also spied three of the Galilean satellites. Of course, they don’t show up as anything more than points of light and – due to their busy dance around Jupiter – I did not know which three they were; but it’s still cool to be able to see them. I view them as nature’s way of saying “fuck you” to the Pope. But to Owen, I just said, “Did you know humans didn’t even know those satellites existed until 400 years ago?”

Regardless, I was pleased to see that Owen seems capable of enjoying sky viewing now. In past years, he seemed incapable of looking through a telescope without touching it (a definite non-no!), and even if I held his hands behind his back, he couldn’t seem to look straight down into the eyepiece. This is important because any parallax greatly obscures the view.

We also checked out Venus, which is probably the most boring planet you could hope to look at through a telescope (no red color, no satellites, no rings). Owen thought it was funny that, even though Jupiter and Venus appeared so close, our own planet actually orbits in between them.

Sunday, 18 March 2012

Local bar and grill Shamrock’s had a helluva brouhaha going on yesterday. A large tent erected in their parking lot on Friday (and barely visible from our windows) testified to the coming St. Patty’s Day revelries. Yesterday featured cars parked up and down every street in the neighborhood, and people with green spray-painted hair and gaudy necklaces walking the sidewalks. The live music kicked off sometime in the afternoon and continued until 11:00PM.

This morning, while I was outside making improvements on the yard, two people walked by with trash bags.

“Good morning,” they said, “how are you doing today?”

I said I was fine, but I wasn’t very friendly about it. They continued picking up trash and then the guy asked if the noise bothered me last night.

Yes, of course it bothered me. I don’t want to hear anything, ever, unless I choose to hear it. In fact, I wish I had eyelids on my ears so I could close my ears whenever I wanted. No – wait – I wish I could only hear if I had special “hearing aids” in my ears that I could remove at will, such as anytime there’s a commercial on or whenever I go to bed.

But, in an effort to try something new,  I didn’t want to come off as a complete jackass. So I just said, “It was fine once the music stopped at 11:00.”

Then I thanked him and the lady that was accompanying him for picking up the trash.

I thought about going inside and playing a U2 CD, but I didn’t feel like any noise.

Monday, 19 March 2012

Today, my wife and daughter met up with me for lunch. We decided to eat at El Rodeo, due more to its convenience than anything else. I had lunch there once before – with a group of co-workers about three years ago – and I recalled it being pretty decent.

Well, that memory was wrong.

Feeling a little adventurous, my wife and I both requested iced tea. The waiter brought the beverage to us, then quickly whisked away. Jennifer noted that the iced tea was weak – so weak, in fact, that it just tasted like flavored water. Mine was the same way. When the waiter came over to take our order, this conversation ensued:

JENNIFER: This iced tea tastes really weak.

WAITER: Okay.

JENNIFER: I don’t want it.

WAITER: Okay.

JENNIFER: Well I’m not gonna pay for it.

ME: Yeah, mine doesn’t taste right either. Is there maybe a problem with the dispenser?

WAITER: Okay. Well can I take your order?

We ordered and, as the quasi-competent waiter was walking away, I said, “And bring us a couple waters, too.”

Wow,  compared to the incident at Northern Brewer (see above), this waiter should get a different job. I mean, he could have said sorry. And he could have offered to try again, since, yes, sometimes the dispenser line needs to be cleared. Or, if that wasn’t the case, he could have suggested substitutes. Instead, his incompetence put me in a bad frame of mind for the rest of the meal. He also lost out on giving me a higher bill which, in theory, should’ve yielded him a higher tip.

Our food came soon after, and neither my wife nor I could distinguish between the burrito and the enchilada. And I don’t think they use cheese in their meals. My guess is they use Velveeta, which looks like melted plastic and tastes worse than soap (and, yes – I DO know what soap tastes like). The food tasted so bad, my wife had to bolt to the bathroom where she hung out for a few minutes in case anything was ready to come back up. She told me she was ready to say to anyone who entered the bathroom: “No, I’m not bulimic, the food is just that bad.”

Also – when we first sat down at the table, there were four settings of silverware. The hostess removed two of them, leaving us with only two settings (because 4 – 2 = 2). This meant that, while eating, Jennifer had to get up and steal a set of silverware from a nearby table because there were three of us, goddammit. And yes, the total number of people at our table was exactly three, not – as the hostess said upon our arrival – two and a half.

Anyway, when I got up to pay, I asked the hostess if there was a discount from my employer (because tons of places in town have a discount for my place of work). She laughed and said she didn’t know.

You know what else they didn’t know? How to get our repeat business.

Anyway, I saved on the tip.