I Wonder ...

I know I should be blogging more often.

I know that I'm on my last pack of cigarettes, by daughter's family is visiting tomorrow to celebrate Thanksgiving early since my wife has to work at the pharmacy that day, and that my college football team is currently getting beaten by Penn State.

Besides that, I just wonder.

I wonder how the Internal Revenue Service has 650 tax returns filed on dead people by one person, and gives out $19 million dollars in refunds to the same address without noticing?  Perhaps, if he would have only submitted 649, he could have gone unnoticed.

I wonder why it is important that a person (who hasn't had a hit record in 40 years) has it reported that she's dropping weight?  Huffpost finds it necessary to keep us updated on Marie Osmond, long after anyone really cares about Marie Osmond.  Obviously, someone there really likes the song "Paper Roses."   

I wonder why Coral Gardens, Florida has repealed a 50 year law stating that you couldn't park your pick-up truck in your driveway?  Actually, I wonder more about why that law ever was on the books?  I guess someone liked to look at pick-ups and couldn't see them as well in driveways as they could next to the curb.

I wonder why Baby Boomers tend to zero in on health problems at ages 50 and 65?  What's wrong with 49?  I've always been a fan of 90, but don't have much faith that I'll ever see it.  If I zero in on a problem now, I might miss being able to enjoy it later in life.  My wife's been a problem for years, but I've never zeroed in on her.  Well, maybe when we first got married.  Perhaps, I should start aiming again.  Damn, now I sound like a dirty old man.  Forget that thought.  I have.

I wonder how I missed that it was Target Practice Week for locomotive engineers.  After the one hit the Veterans float this week, one in Egypt just hit a school bus and forty-nine were killed.  Remind me to stay away from train tracks until the holiday ends.

I wonder why people are worried about the million dollar homes in New Jersey that are still in the dark?  If a person can afford a million dollar home, don't you think they could afford a generator or two?  I wonder more about those that can't afford a generator?  Are they all taken care of yet, or are all the power crews looking for the best deal on generators for the cheapskates in the million dollar homes?

I wonder how a Toronto Blue Jays baseball player can secure a $16 million dollar deal with the team and he has yet to return from a drug suspension?  For 1/16th of that, I'd be the team uniform washer, and they wouldn't even have to wait on me to be free of drugs.  I just have to remember, "Whites with whites and wash all colored clothes in cold water."  For a million bucks, I could learn that by heart!

I wonder how Congress can be wondering why there are fewer veterans serving in Congress than since before World War II?  It's easy!  One, more and more soldiers are dead before they become veterans! And two, how do you run a campaign on an enlisted man's paycheck?  These politicians really do live in a world of their own!

I wonder how Hostess went bankrupt?  Twinkies have been around for decades.  Now, they're no longer a part of Americana.  I went out at 3 a.m. this morning to see if I could find any.  Had to settle on Hostess Zingers and Cupcakes.  Not the same, but plan on giving them for Christmas gifts this year.  I know people will be disappointed they won't be getting their annual box of Twinkies from me, but it's the blame of the folks from Hostess, not me.

I wonder about scientists that study the brains of rappers and say they find a "relaxed executive" function there?  I've often wondered what made scientists think they'd find anything in the brains of rappers, or if they even had any to begin with?

And, I wonder if the world really is going to end before Christmas gets here?  I wonder if those, not lucky enough to get Hostess Zingers, will be upset if I tell them, "I didn't buy Christmas because the world was ending and I wanted to party before it did?"   

And, lastly, I wonder why I wonder?  

I guess that's what happens when you've nothing to write!

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

Sleep! Sleep! Wherefore art thou?

Last night, I didn't go to bed.

Okay, so some of you will be shocked by someone not going to bed at night.  Please, don't be.  I find writing at night to be free of telephone interruptions and unnecessary conversations.  Everything is quiet, the world is at rest, and my mind can wander where it needs to in the realm of my strange journeys into the unknown.  In other words, I can continue on my book without having to say, "Yes, dear."

My wife arose early to get to her opening shift at the pharmacy.  I needed a break anyway, so we conversed politely and discussed the Indiana University basketball game Friday night, and the day's upcoming football offerings.  Yes, my wife has developed into more of a sports fan than I ever have been.  I'll watch my I.U. games in basketball and football, but that's about it.  She watches those, as well as her favorite, Alabama, also in the same sports.  Plus, she enjoys watching the University of Kentucky play, hopefully, just to see them lose.  (And, you all think I'm the sadistic one!)

So, she leaves for work and after a couple of hours, I hit the hay around 9 a.m.

At 12 noon, the phone rings!  Of course, by the time I reach for it, the other party had already hung up.  I check and find they've left no messages.  Okay, let me turn over and get back to sleep.

I believe I'd just drifted off when all hell broke loose!

Suddenly, the house starts shaking!  No, not just a little bit.  I'm talking walls moving and pictures falling.  The roof was pounding like someone was running on it, aluminum storm doors rattled as if they were being physically shaken, and a case of cd's slid off their perch and hit the floor!  This continued for about 15 seconds, and then silence.

Of course, I got up to check things out.  We've just had the privilege of acquiring new neighbors, and my first thoughts were "Meth Lab explosion!"

I ran into the living room to see my two cats sitting with their ears in the "alert mode" and saying, "Hey Rich, what the hell's going on!"  

Telling them I'd be right back I ran out the door and spied my neighbor's house sitting as normal.  In fact, the entire neighborhood was the same as I'd left it three hours prior.  (No, no one had built a high rise since I'd been sleeping!)  

After checking the news on the web (and answering a few comments on the hubs and blogs), and finding nothing, and talking to one of my other neighbors for a few minutes (only to prove I hadn't lost it as many would expect), I decided to go back to bed.

Ring! Ring!  (That's written sound effects for a telephone.)

It was my grandson telling me my daughter and her family had arrived back in South Alabama to live, again.  They travel the U.S. for different jobs and never find one that will suit them.  (I think that's my daughter's way of saying, "We got run out of town again, Dad!")  (Just joking.)

I end the conversation and think, "Now, I can get some sleep!"

That's when I hear the truck.  There is a truck backing into my yard, right by my bedroom window!  "You gotta be kidding me!"  Nope, I'm ready to say the hell with it, and this motor that sounds like an electrical generator starts up.  That does it!

I get up, walk to the living room, and find the cats sitting with their ears in the alert position again!  "What's going on, Rich?  What's that noise?  Tell us, please tell us!"   I again confirmed I'd let them know when I got back inside.

As I walk out my door, there's this individual revving up the motor in the back of a trailer, between my house and my new neighbors.  At first, he smiles.  Then, he see's I'm not smiling.  I almost believe I saw fear in his eyes.

"Do you just back into a person's yard and start disturbing the owners without even knocking?" I asked, almost calmly, but not quite.

Turns out, he's only going to be about a half hour as he installs a fence separating their back yard from mine.  "Good!  That way I won't have to look at them!"

Ten minutes later, my wife comes home.  Instantly, she's filled in on the day's activities.  Having questions I couldn't answer, I go back to the web and find this:

4.3 Magnitude Earthquake Hits Kentucky

"A 4.3-magnitude earthquake struck eight miles west of Whitesburg, Ky., early Saturday afternoon, the U.S. Geological Survey reported.

The epicenter of the shallow, light earthquake was 0.7 miles deep under the Appalachian Mountains town of Blackey, near the Virginia border, the agency said.

There were no immediate reports of damage in the eastern Kentucky area."

When we had kids in the house, we kid proofed the house the best we could.  When we lived in Alabama, we hurricane proofed the house the best we could.  When we moved to Kentucky, we tornado proofed the house the best we could.

Now, all I have to do is figure out how to Earthquake proof it!

Aw, the hell with it!  The world's ending next month anyway!

I'm going to bed and get some sleep so I don't miss it!

CIA Director Digs Afternoon Delight!

Wikipedia Commons

CIA Director David Petraeus resigns his post because of an extra marital affair.

Let me say that again!

CIA Director David Petraeus resigns his post because of an extra marital affair.

Here's a man, in charge of one of the strongest intelligence organizations in the world, and he steps down because of an extra marital affair.

Who knew?!?!

Wouldn't it seem somewhat strange that the CIA Director could keep an extra marital affair secret?  


The CIA is one of the primary agencies in charge of our nation's security.  And, this organization didn't know that its director was having a little "afternoon delight" on the side!  

Where's the sanity?!?!

It's not like your neighbor going over to your other neighbor's house with an empty cup looking for some sugar substitute!  This man is the head of the CIA.  He's supposed to have people know where he is every minute of the day.  

"Yes, Mr. President, I'm well aware that you need to talk to Director Petraeus.  I'm not telling you that he's not available, sir.  I'm simply saying that he's vanished!  He said he was going to lunch and it would probably be a couple of hours before he got back.  Yes, sir, I know we're in the middle of a crises, sir!  I understand you want to know what's going on in Libya right now.  You might try calling his cell phone.  Oh, you have and it says it's either been shut off or is out of the area.  Have you tried the Motel 6 down off of Water Street, sir?   No, I don't know what he would be doing there, but if he's gone for more than four hours, we're supposed to call a doctor for a house call."

So, did they know and just not say anything, or was Director Petraeus so slick that no one would ever know?  

Did he feel as though he could slide in and out of security, properly covered by a shield of passive protection, reach his primary target, satisfy both combatants to the fullest, and then return as if nothing had happened?  

Or, was he simply thinking with the wrong part of his body?

“I pledge allegiance to the swag,
of the director of the CIA.
One cheater, under sheets, quite visible
with Viagra and secrets for all.”

“God Bless America!”

Disaster Response And You

So, the week is nearly over and I haven't posted once.

It's not that I haven't thought about it.  And, "No" I haven't lost interest.  There's just been so many negatives floating around this week that one has to question to make fun of them, or just let them go by and hopefully be forgotten.

Sorry, for those of you that enjoy it, the sarcasm and jokes will return in the future.

I'm lucky that I wasn't in an area affected by Hurricane Sandy.  Millions have suffered devastating losses in either loss of daily items taken for granted, property, or even worse, human life.  For many, it means starting life all over again.  For all, it means a moment to stand back and reflect.

I hold much empathy for those suffering.  I don't wish to seem cruel in any manner.  Yet, there's a thought deep inside that plagues me.  I've tried to cast it aside, but it keeps appearing over and over.

"How many of those demanding assistance from others have ever given assistance to others?"

The last decade has brought much devastation as the weather seems to be getting some sort of revenge on the way man has treated the world.  There have been terrible hurricanes on the Gulf Coast, and tornadoes throughout the Midwest.  Cities have been destroyed, lives changed and lost, and many have had their lives changed forever.

How much help did they receive from those now demanding assistance?

Now, the argument to this will be, "But look at the sheer numbers involved and the importance of the area.  New York is important to so many."

Let me ask, "To a farmer that has just had his home destroyed, his animals lost, and his crops ravaged by a tornado, what importance does New York City make?"  If this farmer isn't important to the citizens of the East Coast, why should the East Coast victims be important to the farmer?

See, it's not a matter of the numbers.  Human beings are human beings.  Everyone will be in need sometime in their life.  Who will be there for them if the importance is gauged by dollars and population, instead of simply that there's a human being in need?

We are attuned to finding excuses not to help, or, to simply turn our heads to those in need.  Our society has become so callous that we find solace in denial, and reality TV.  "It happened, it's over, let THEM deal with it, I've got my own life to live" seems to be the way that the majority think and respond.  Yet, when they are in need, questions arise as to why they seem forgotten.

My character in all my previous blogs is simply that, a character created.  He is a character that responds to the absurdities around him and embellishes them with sarcasm and hostility (to some extent) because they are truly going on.  He expresses what many feel, but fail to say.

"This is me talking now, no character."

Yes, the people along the East Coast need our help.  There is no doubt.  Many of us will give what they can.  Yet, there are those that have already put it aside because it doesn't directly affect them.

As a society, we need to change!  We need to see things through to the end and ensure each person will have the best chance at survival and getting their lives back together as possible.  But, not just for the folks in the metro areas.  This needs to carry down to the smallest renter in the mobile home park that just got hit by a tornado, flood, or other natural disaster.  Their lives are just as important as anyone else's.

If one doesn't think this so, then please, when you're in need, don't expect others to come to your rescue.  They may continue to believe the same as you and forget about your situation.  

Instead, look at the big picture of each of us taking a few moments to help each other.  Do you realize that if everyone on the East Coast were to give a dime when another catastrophe took place in some small burg in Nowhere, U.S.A. that it could completely rebuild the homes lost and restore hope to those in need?  A small dime would be all it would take.

Or, is it easier to turn on Honey Boo Boo and forget?

Think about it.  The answer lies deep within.

Living In A Dream?

My wife classifies me as a bear when I wake.  
I can't figure out why!
stockfreeimages.com

I had a dream last night.  That may not be odd for you, but I never remember my dreams.  Dreams are only dreams to me, that have no recollection of dreaming.  

Why did I even type that?  Genius?  (Damn, I am dreaming!)

My dream put me into a home setting.  Not mine, but someone else's.  I have no idea whose.  In fact, I have no recollection of anyone else being in this dream that wasn't somewhat faceless.

No, it wasn't as though a bunch of people were running around with no faces, duh.  It's like all were blurred because they really weren't that important.  I have no idea why they weren't important.  Everyone's important, right?  If people weren't important they'd have no existence.  They'd be only formalities in the surreal life of the unknown.

More Genius?  (I'm feeling as though I'm still dreaming!)

I'm in this home setting (as I've previously stated) and for some reason, I'm wearing a pair of cuffed blue jeans that haven't been in style for years.  This makes me believe that perhaps this dream might have been setting in the back of my mind for many years and just now arrived to the memory status.  Either that, or it was the acid flashback that I've been waiting on for decades to appear.

I notice there is a spider on the floor.  (That's in my dream, let's go back to that since it's the primary topic of this writing.  You don't mind, do you?)  This spider is fairly large...say 3 inches in diameter.  It's thick black body is horizontally striped with the brightest of yellow.  

I squish it with the sole of my boot.   It's not that I'm afraid of spiders, I just know that all spiders are venomous.  Only a few are dangerous to man, but, having never seen this type of spider, I decide squishing is better than the alternative of finding out it is one of danger.  However, as soon as I do the dirty deed, another one jumps out of the cuff of my jeans.

Surprise, surprise!

I don't squish this one immediately.  Instead, I reach down and pull down the cuff.  It's filled with these spiders.  I keep grabbing them and flipping them on the floor to meet the same fate as the first.  Yet, more and more appear.  Not only that, but the other cuff on my other leg (Yes, I have two legs.  If I wanted to make this a smutty piece, I'd talk about a third, but that is not my goal.  I'm not dreaming that type of dream.  Maybe tonight, but not now.)  is also having more of these yellow and black spiders crawling out of it.  

They are almost to the swarming state.  They pop out and I squish.  Over and over this happens.  I start pulling them out with my fingers and notice they have almost no body weight.  I'm doing it so quickly, they have no time to sing their fangs in me.  Yet, it continues over and over and over and over.....

And then I awake.

In real life, I'm not afraid of spiders.  Actually, I'm really not afraid of many things.  Heights, perhaps, but only if I don't have a parachute on.  Skydiving never bothered me.  Standing on the second floor of the Smithsonian Space and Flight Museum did.  Why?  No parachute.

I'm not saying I play with spiders.  I really don't know anyone that does.  None of my neighbors would ever say, "Come on over!  We just got some new spiders to play with!"  

Would yours?

I recognize that spiders eat other bugs I don't like.  Flies and gnats in particular.  Flies and gnats only breed more flies and gnats.  I see no purpose there.  God made all of the creatures on the Earth and gave them purpose.  He screwed up when it came to flies and gnats.  After realizing that, he made spiders to eat them.  I guess that took care of the problem.  

Many reading this may be afraid of spiders.  In the United States, you have reason to fear only the Brown Recluse and the Black Widow.  They can cause much damage.  Australia, Asia, Africa and South America have many more varieties to be wary of.  But, for the most part, spiders are no more dangerous than a pesky house fly or gnat.  

This has absolutely nothing to do with my dream.  I tend to ramble.

Before going to bed last night, I received some disturbing news from a friend, that also decided it was a good time to remind me of some of the frustrations I've been dealing with.  It was all in good intention, I'm sure. Yet, for one trying to forget and find a little semblance of sanity in the crazed world in which we live, it obviously stayed on my subconscious and followed me to bed.  

Aren't friends wonderful?

It's my guess the spiders were in reference to the problems I've been facing and I find a way to squish them from my mind to survive.  The outpouring was simply a reminder that more and more problems were to come that would have to be dealt with in a similar manner.  It may have demonstrated that I have the strength to deal with whatever comes my way and not to stop trying.

I really didn't need a dream to tell me that.  My wife does it in real life.

If I believed in having multiple wives, they could be the spiders.  I can envision little wives heads on black and yellow striped bodies with eight hairy legs swarming out of my pant legs saying all types of wife things.  To squish them with my boot would be murder.  I could be classified as a psycho killer and have to shave my head and wear an orange jumpsuit the rest of my life while I sat in a prison cell repenting for squishing spiders with wives heads.   

Why Can't I Dream Like A Normal Man?
stockfreeimages.com

In twenty years, I could push my walker with wheels in front of a parole board telling them how sorry I was to have squished the spiders with wives heads.  Of course, the parole board would probably be made up of little spiders with black bodies and yellow stripes and the heads of parole board members.  They, of course, would see my remorse was fake, and would keep me pushing a book cart along the many rows of cells in front of my walker with wheels.  The prisoners that would ask me for a book would also probably be little spiders with black bodies with yellow stripes inside of tiny little orange jumpsuits and have heads of murderers, cheats, rapists, and all types of mean crazy people.  


However, I would prefer to simply awaken from this dream and roll over to kiss my wife.




I might even rub her horizontal yellow stripes for fun!

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

German Chocolate Cake...Life Is Wonderful!

In the last 9 days, I've written two blogs: one here on the Job Fair and one in the Ravaging A Destroyed Mind series.  Sounds like I've been screwing around doing not much of anything, doesn't it?  

So, just call me a lazy ass and get on with your life if you want.  

Well, I've also produced two Fantasy/Horror hubs on Hubpages, two newscasts (that easily took 24 hours of writing time each) and a long tribute hub for a "Pass It On Lollipop" award I received.  Still doesn't sound like a lot, does it?

Still haven't called me a lazy ass?  What are you waiting on, Ground Hog's day?

Add to that most of my evenings have been spent planning a joint blog effort with a friend of mine.  Believe me, the talking about names, what to do, how to do, and where to do takes ten times longer than the actual writing.  

It's like two teenagers trying to decide what to wear to the prom via chat room conversation.   Fuh Su-rer!

Imagine these same two individuals making a decision together, that are miles apart, both having separate lives and personal responsibilities, as well as, different sleeping schedules.  Add to it the fact that both are completely anal about wanting to select the perfect name, perfect format and perfect schedule.  Now, add one more thing to the equation... neither individual is perfect.  Yet, they have a common goal and know if they ever get it going, the world will be at their feet.

Be careful, my toes tickle easily.  Smell anything yet?

It's kind of like knowing you're both great cooks, but having someone else help you in the kitchen is difficult for both parties.  Will you make a feast, or will you totally screw it up and end up sending someone down the street to McDonald's dollar menu for a better meal?  

God, that was a terrible example!  Oh well, what do you expect for free?  

But, please remember, I haven't been doing anything this week.  Just being a lazy ass, squandering my time in the land of Zo (I wanted to make that easy to read if you happen to suffer with dyslexia) wallowing in the good life of munchkins and flying monkeys.  I've traveled the land of yellow brick roads and the journey of being lost in a lost world.  Where's Auntie Em when you need her?

No, I'm not cracking up.  It's called being a wise ass.  (If you're going to call me a lazy ass, at least I can change the "lazy" to "wise" and feel somewhat pleased with myself.) 

In fact, I feel almost as good as I did at the grocery store today.  Please, don't let that statement change your love life, yet.  Allow me to explain.

I have been in the mood for a slice of German Chocolate cake for almost three weeks now.  I wake up in the morning fantasizing about a German Chocolate cake.  

No, not like the apple pie scene in the movie American Pie, damn it.  Get your mind out of the gutter.  You really do think I'm a typical ass, don't you?  

Anyway, if you're meeting me for the first time or just have a terrible memory affected by years of illegal, but fun, drug usage, I have been fighting weight gain and diabetes for about eight months.  I've lost close to 50 lbs. and got my sugar count down over 36 points.  It's very close to normal now, unlike my mind. 

There, I said it before you could.

Anyway, getting back to the German Chocolate cake, I went into the local supermarket today to get a slice.  Normally, they have it available.  I know, supermarket bakeries and pastries are not the most sanitary.  In fact, I won't even go into one of them now thanks to a past experience of watching crumbs move as I started to partake of a second bite of Red Velvet cake a year ago.  Yes, they weren't crumbs.  Just small bugs.

Hope you weren't eating before reading that.  I triggered my own gag reflex just thinking about it again.  Oh well, we all need our protein.

Getting back to the long, drawn out story, I walked into the grocery store.  The produce department was first spied, so I walked over and spent nearly five dollars on a bag of apples that used to run a couple of bucks.  

Don't we all love inflation?  "And a ching ching here, and a ching ching there, here a ching, there a ching, everywhere a ching ching, Inflation is costing us, cash for other things." (Yeah, Old McDonald had a Farm was the tune.  I only claim responsibility for the substituted words.)

Next, as I walked away from the produce department, I found the deli and bakery area.  Deli made large pizzas were on sale two for $10.  Not wanting to spend that much money on one from Pizza Hut, I went ahead and bought two, knowing my wife was off tomorrow.  We'd pop in one tonight, and one tomorrow, and that would keep me from having to take her out and spend twice as much.  Plus, she wouldn't have to cook a meal.

See, I sacrifice my healthy eating habits to make life easy on her.  Don't you wish you had a husband like me?   Oh, if you're of the male gender, ignore that question and just read on.  

So, I'd picked up a plastic hand basket knowing I wasn't going to need a cart for a slice of cake (remember the German Chocolate cake?  That's what this story is about.  Really?  Too many drugs in your past?)  and found that the pizza's were too large to fit.  Now, I'm in a fix,  I have two large pizza boxes in my left hand, and a bag of apples in the hand basket in my right.  Going to make picking up anything else easy, isn't it.

Okay, maybe we better forget about the wise ass and go back to lazy.  I just lost my brownie points for wise.

Now, I'm searching the deli pastry for my real goal, a slice of German Chocolate cake.  I look and I look, but to my utter dismay, there is no German Chocolate cake available.  Not a slice, not a half, and not a whole... nothing... nada... nil... nowhere!  

I started to go into German Chocolate cake DT's.  The fever set in.  I started the shakes.  My lips began quivering.  If I'd have talked, my speech would have been slurred.  My eyes were darting from side to side. 

 Surely another person had moved it over to the pie section.  No, not there!  Over by the breakfast turnover, perhaps!  No, not there either!  Possibly, they hid one for later behind the massive stacks of bread on the racks!  

459 loaves on the floor later, my quest was still not reached.  Yet, no one would approach me either.  I had to hurry for I'm sure they'd called the men in the white coats to come and take me away.

In a panic, I did the only thing I could think of.  I went to the baking aisle and found a Duncan Hines German Chocolate cake mix for $2.99.  No question, that was going into the hand basket.  Using my chin to knock it from the shelf into the hand basket, it only took two dropping on the floor before achieving.  

Store help picks up these aisles at least once a week anyway.  No big deal!

Perusing the box's directions, a terrible thought hit me.  The $2.99 doesn't include icing!  A German Chocolate cake has got to have icing!  Coconut icing with pecans is a must!  Where's the icing in this damn place?

Remember, I was in a panic trying to beat the men in white coats from arriving.  "They're coming to take me away, ha ha, they're coming to take me away, ho ho, to the funny farm, where life is happy and gay, everyday...."   (It's a novelty song from the 60's.  If you've never heard it, consider yourself one of the lucky ones.)

There, just down from the cake mixes, was the icing.  Amazing they would use logic in their placement!  

Must have been an error in judgment on their part.

I see they're $2.49 per can, or three for $5.00.  My panic increases as it suddenly hits me I have absolutely no idea how many cans would it take to ice a cake!!!   1...5...10... I have no idea.  I look up and down the aisle.  What!  Only one small, middle aged oriental woman in the whole aisle.  

I must have either scared the others away previously, or store management had been busy clearing the area for the men in white coats!

I tried to ask her but only got a kind smile and a shaking of the head in return.  

Why are there so many really nice, great English speaking oriental individuals on the writing sites and none in grocery stores or restaurants?  Sounds like another blog topic for later on!

Again, using my chin, I decided the sale sign was a sign from God and that it would take three cans of icing to ice a cake.  If not, I could always use it on my wheat toast in the morning.

That was a joke, but I may have to give it a try one day.  Hmmmmm!

Knowing my time was growing shorter by the second, I ran down the aisle a Mach 7 speed and arrived at the check out.  Remarkably, next in line was a lady I'd worked with years ago.

After the initial "how you beens", she said something that absolutely made my day.

"You've lost a lot of weight!"

I proceeded to tell her my complete weight loss and medical history, sounding like a great grandmother talking to her best friends at a church social.  The efforts, the heartbreak, the restrictions, the success...all were related to her in a moment's notice.

Isn't vanity grand?

Then she noticed the two pizza's and the German Chocolate cake mix and icing.

Oops!

I then related my tale of woe and obsession.  A reward for victory validation.  A story of conflict and adventure.  Searching for a slice and having no alternatives but to purchase as I did.

She smiled in understanding and asked if I was going to eat the whole thing.  I replied no, I was buying the pizzas so my wife wouldn't have to cook, and that she'd probably take some of the cake to others she worked with so I wouldn't be fighting temptation.

Then she said, "Well, you sure look good!  Keep in contact.  We need to see each other more often!"

Like I started this whole thing off with, there's nothing like feeling almost as good as I did at the grocery store today!  Had she just made a pass at me?  "Yeah, right Ripvanrumple!"

When I arrived home, I found my wife napping, having just worked a ten hour shift.  After a couple of hours, I went into the bedroom, gently woke her, and told her the story of the pizzas to keep her from having to cook.  She was so pleased!  

Then, I told her I'd bought a cake.  A German Chocolate cake that I'd been wanting for almost a month.  And, it had coconut and pecan icing!  She was smiling as I related that.  I could tell she wanted some, too!

Then, I told her all she had to do was bake it.

I guess she knows me by now.  She laughed and said she'd do it tomorrow on her day off!

So, I'll get my cake and get to eat it, too!

Life is wonderful!  

Would you like an apple?

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved

$9 An Hour: A Job Fair To Hell

Okay, so this may be a little over the top for a job fair.
But, It got your attention, didn't it?
- Wikimedia Commons -

For several months, I've been searching for a job that pays more than $9 an hour.  Now, I recognize that may sound rash to some, but let's look at the qualifications I offer.  

1. Corporate Training Director with publications in Sales Training, Customer Retention, and Business Development Centers, and experience in training nationwide.
2. Retail, Sales and District management positions for over 20 years
3. Previous business developer and owner in Privacy Law Compliance
4. Previous positions in commanding audiences in Stand-up Comedy and Radio Broadcasting
5. Previous Military experience.

Six digit income figures were mine for many years.  So, should I, or should I not, be expectant of finding a position that offered more than $9 per hour?   Or, have I simply fooled myself all these years believing that I should earn more that a cashier at McDonald's?  

(Please don't answer that.  Allow me a few moments of self respect.  

It's become such a rarity.)

Hasn't our current President stated many times that he's bringing these type of jobs back?  Or, could that simply be political rhetoric?  Please, don't destroy my belief that a politician would only be saying something to get re-elected!  However would I live through tomorrow if this were the case?  

(Okay, damn it, I'm not that naive.)

You can imagine my enthusiasm when word came down the email pipes that a VA Job Fair would be held!  Finally, manufacturers that appreciate those that took years from their lives to protect the country and the businesses and people it stood for!  Plus, I couldn't wait to ride the Ferris Wheel!  

(Okay, I said that as an effort to make you smile.  

I know it was cheap, but it works on 9 out of 10 dentists.)

So, this morning I put the suit, tie, white shirt, and polished shoes on, blow dried my hair for the first time in ages, and let optimism rule my attitude as I drove to the Job Fair.  With me, I carried a leather pouch containing 20 resumes, folders for booth dweller information packets, and a pad on which to take notes.  I was ready.   

When I arrived, I found I was the only one in a suit and tie.  Oh, did I forget the white shirt and polished shoes?  Sorry.  I must be still in shock from what I saw.

Previous Job Fairs I participated in as a booth dweller provided mine was the proper dress.  Instead, I found girls and boys in T-shirts and the occasional Polo shirt, in shorts and tennis shoes.  

Has Ripvanrumple really been away that long?  My, I must be living in the past.  I thought the goal of the booth dweller was to exude success to inspire desires of the attendees to want to be employed by such a prestigious corporation.  

And, Yes Virginia, along with Santa Claus there's the Easter Bunny, 

Tooth Fairy, and Keebler Elves.

There weren't even booths set up.  Round tables encircled the center of the room with tiny, handwritten signs letting you know who the occupant was.  It was almost as though they were hiding from the attendees, and everything and body else.

Let's see, Job Fair... a place for employers to prospect for employees.  Why hide?  If you didn't want to be there, all you had to do was stay home!  That's right, these boys and girls were the new era of human resource people.  Folks that couldn't do the jobs they offered, but knew the right people to hire to do them!  

(Isn't that like saying, "I'm an expert that can't do a damn thing"?)

I began to wish I had stayed at home, too.  But, I shut down that tiny voice of negativity and believed it would be a journey that would lead to Nirvana!  

 (I guess I'd forgotten the band was no more.)

This was what was expected.  It was not what was found!
- Wikimedia Commons -

First stop, a chemical manufacturer.  "We're hiring general maintenance and temporary shift workers only.  Starting pay is $8.50 an hour.  You're probably looking for something more professional though, aren't you?"

"No shit!  I can't wait to dip my hands into dangerous chemicals and kill myself 

for such a deserving wage!"  Without a heavy heart, I moved on.

Next stop, a famous copier company.  "We're hiring customer service reps only at this time.  You can check our website for future office hiring.  If you're interested in the CSR position, it starts at $9 an hour."

"Yeah, I'm real interested.  By the way, have you read any good books lately?"

Next stop, a very famous Japanese Auto Manufacturer.  "This is the temp service that supplies all of our line workers.  We start at 9.50 per hour and hold it there for six months.  If we decide to keep you at that time, the wage goes up to $13 an hour."

"How often do you hire new people, every six months?  That would explain why you're here today.  Why pay the current zombies on the line $13, when you can fire them and get new ones for $9?  Yep, this is a place that can guarantee years of job security!  

Sign me up now!"

Please don't let my sarcasm depress you.  By this time, I was beginning to make a game of it to keep my sanity.  

(I know, I'm strange!  You're not the first to think that way!  

My mother knew it at birth (mine, not hers).

Of course, there was the typical lawn care table looking for lawn mowers and leave rakers for $8 an hour, as well as the construction crews that were hiring material helpers for $8 an hour.  

Does the expression "kid in a candy shop" sound a little out of place here?

On and on it went.  Unless you were under 36 years of age and willing to work for the DEA, there wasn't one position available for more than the $9.50 already described.

As I walked out, a person entering looked at me and asked, "Is there anything good in there?"

"Are you willing to work for $9 an hour?" I asked.

His response was, "Are you kidding?  I make more than that on unemployment!"

"Well, welcome to the way America treats its veterans"  I replied.  

When I started humming, the National Anthem, he followed me out.

I'd done something good for the day.  I'd spared him the agony of discovering the truth for himself.  I was proud of myself.  It must be God's will!

Driving away, I reflected upon what I had experienced.  At no time were any qualifications discussed.  At no time was I asked for a resume.  At no time was I treated with any type of respect.  It was as though the manufacturers and businesses thought they were offering the world in the salaries that couldn't support even the most frugal of families.

I'd been referred to seven home office websites to check for future openings, been completely ignored by those at seven tables, and found six tables completely empty as several folks were eating box lunches back in the corner.  

At least they got a free lunch.  

I decided to end it all and commit suicide.  It was my only course of action left.  So, I drove into Hardee's and purchased their $5 Big Bag lunch!  Two double cheeseburgers, fries, medium drink, and an apple turnover all in one bag.  I wondered to myself, "How do they do that?" 

 (No, not really.  That was said for comedic affect.)  

I knew death would be painful, but at least I'd be giving a $9 an hour employee something to do.  

God Bless 'em all!

©Copyright RCRUMPLE2012. All Rights Reserved