Crap, We Lost The Biffle Account

A guy goes into a hardware store and selects several items. He goes to the register and says, "I forgot my wallet, can I take these and come back later to pay for them?" Cashier says no. Guy get pissed and drops one large bag of stuff on the floor causing it to split and the contents to spill out onto the floor. Guy leaves and the cashier gathers up everything and brings it to the back of the store in a cart to be restocked. Right before closing time the guy comes back. He asks the clerk, "Where's my stuff?" In the back of the store in a cart she tells him. The guy storms to off to find the cart. The guy spots the cart of stuff and grabs it, pushing it wildly through the store. Guy spots an employee and shouts at him, "You people wouldn't trust me long enough to get my GD wallet. This is the last time I shop here." Then he continues toward the register. The employee is the high school kid who does janitorial work. High school kid is sorry to hear this. Guy is an idiot. I spent the afternoon trying to put new glass in three large windows. I don't do this type of work that often and it takes me a long time to do it. Cutting big pieces of glass to size is very nerve wracking and I messed up a couple of pieces. Don't tell my boss. Plus, I have to stop repeatedly to help people who come in to buy stuff. The first of the month is also a big time for making keys. Tenants move out and new ones move in. All this takes keys, lots of keys. Our neighborhood has a lot of apartments, so we had a steady stream of key customers today. My little sidekick went home this morning and the lovely Mrs. Sneed is still away. I was thinking of getting a keg and some hookers, but I'm too tired and I have to get up early to go to work in the morning. Maybe next time. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Deposit, I A'int Seen No Stinkin' Deposit

Many a Merry Man in old Sherwood Forest was injured making this mistake.

We had eighty degree weather today. That seems warm for February, but it is probably close to normal. I have all my pots replanted. I bought three new rose bushes yesterday and some giant pots to put two of them in. I just love roses.

I went out with the usual suspects for golf this morning. The Seafood King and Seafood Jr. were distracted by calls from workers at The Seafood King's restaurants and of course, they distracted me by being distracted.

The first problem was a missing bank deposit from yesterday's receipts for one of the locations. That caused about twenty-five calls, mostly to Seafood Jr., although it seemed like one long call.

In the midst of that hullabaloo, some boneheads from one of the other locations called Jr. to say that the day manager had lost her keys and they were all locked out of the building. That took several more calls to unravel, but in the end someone went and let them in.

Finally, someone called to say that the missing deposit was found and all ended well.

Operating restaurants, even fast food ones, is a tough gig. So many things can go wrong.

We all stopped for lunch after gold and we were joined by Mrs. Seafood King. The Seafood King had some important documents that needed to be notarized and the plan was for him and Mrs. Seafood to go to the bank after lunch. Luckily I happen to be a notary, a function I used at my last job, so I saved them a trip to the bank.

Hardware man, golfer, bowler, gardener, handsome son-of-a-gun and notary to boot. Am I an impressive guy, or what? No need to answer.

The lovely Mrs. Sneed and Daughter Sneed claim to be in Phoenix for some sort of therapy conference. They say that they will be back early Saturday evening. In the mean time my pal Noah is spending the night with me tonight. Greg, the soon-to-be husband, is picking him up in the morning because I have to go to work at nine and he has the day off.

Right now Noah is anxiously waiting for me to finish this post so that we can play a spirited game (or twenty) of something called, Hi Ho Cherry-O. It is a board game and when it comes to board games Noah thinks rules are for suckers. Should be a lot of fun.



Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

My two guys wearing the Robin Hood hats the lovely Mrs. Sneed got for them.

It has been a hectic couple of days around here. Hence, no post yesterday.

I had an early doctor's appointment yesterday, followed by one for Son Sneed way across town. I followed that with lunch with my friends and another doctor appointment for Son Sneed. Anyway, I was all tied up.

I had an interesting request at work today. You learn something new everyday when you work in a hardware store.

Right before closing a couple of stoners came in asking for grow bulbs. Their story was that they had some houseplants that they wanted to make look as nice as possible. they didn't look like guys worried about Dieffenbachia. Call it a hunch.

I showed them our plant light bulbs. These bulbs are specifically designed to give the best appearance to your houseplants, but only visually, not through enhanced growth or anything.

Stoner one casually asked if I had any metal halide bulbs. When I told him no, he asked for high-pressure sodium bulbs. Those I had, but he didn't have a lamp that they would work in, so that was out. I suspected that he and Dumber wanted to grow their own pot and this site confirms my hunch. At least they weren't looking for bomb parts or something.

Speaking of dumber, a pain in my butt named Jason, is barraging my site with spam. His pathetic emails explain that he made $900 working part time and gives a link so that I can make $900 too. I've marked it as spam, so maybe Google will block further exciting offers like this. I refuse to enable word verification just to avoid these piles of crap.

There is a certain class of people who spend their lives trying to make the easy money. I've long thought that this class of people, who just move from one scam to the next, should be declared a public nuisance and incarcerated for a long term. Maybe that would discourage them.







Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Not Too Bad

There is important business at Chedwick University, where I serve in the capacity of Dean of Students. We are selecting our school mascot. At the time of this posting, the Chedwick University Eyeballs is running away with the voting with 67% of the votes cast. Since Ched U. has a liberal admission policy, virtually anyone can enroll for virtually anything at our virtual campus. So hurry and vote now. I'm getting a real education in the workings of a small business through my job at the hardware store. My prior work experience involved working at a very big corporation and a school district. The financial concerns at the former were huge in comparison to those of the hardware store, and irrelevant at the school. For instance, one of the important measurements for our store is the gross sale per customer. Our current number is a bit over twelve bucks per customer visit, meaning the the average customer spends twelve dollars per visit. Our target for this year is about thirteen dollars, so every additional item that we can entice a customer to buy is a big deal. My buddy, the Seafood King, asked me yesterday if I could get 20 units of a specific item for him, for his restaurants. This item retails at about thirteen dollars per unit, so that is equivalent to twenty average customer visits. Not a bad sale and something my boss will appreciate. Working is kind of fun when you have the ability to see how your individual effort impacts the store results. Mrs, Sneed has asked me on several occasions why I left a high-paying job, only to take one where I earn a third of my former salary? Not a simple question to answer. I could have stayed home being retired full-time, but that doesn't strike me as the very best way to spend my life. In fact, had the always hunky Randall Bing, my former boss at Tedious Systems, possessed the sense to take me up on my offer to work part-time, I probably would not have quit that job. But fortunately for me, Randall cannot think outside of his box. At Tedious, my efforts simply didn't matter to the people in charge. In fact, any success that I had was despite the incompetence and meddling from headquarters. Tedious was chronically the mode of burning the furniture to heat the house. Costs were constantly being cut, headcount being reduced and workloads increased. No matter how hard I worked for my customers, it was all for naught if the next guy in line didn't do his job. And often the next guy had left the company and hadn't been replaced. Do more with less was a tired refrain. Some people have to buck up and put up with that shinola for financial or family reasons, but luckily I didn't. So, I left and have never looked back. The hardware gig on the other hand, is about as good a job as I have ever had. The employees seem happy and committed to making the store successful. I don't have to rely on someone else to do their job, the manager is supportive of me, she's competent and pleasant. Most importantly, I feel like what I do matters. I've heard more thank yous in the last two months, than I heard in thirty-eight years with Tedious. So, I make a little extra cash at a job that I like to do. Not too bad. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Nothing To Say and No Urge to Say It

I have a confession to make. I don't know that much about sandpaper and I hope I never learn. Nothing good comes from knowing about sandpaper. Painting and that sort of thing result from getting too close to sandpaper.

I do have a tip though. If you get some 180 grit drywall sand paper, you can use it instead of a pumice stone to remove mineral buildup on porcelain. It's a hundred times easier.

The always curious Dennis wonders what the electrical outlet in the picture I posted yesterday is for. I ran it to the pond to operate the pump.

In other news the City bowling tournament wrapped up today with all in attendance agreeing that I am an embarrassment. there was an emergency meeting of the governing board of our local association to consider a motion to permanently bar me from the local bowling establishments. I hope it passes.




Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Saturday At The Hardware Store

Saturday is a special day in the hardware store. First of all we are busier than during the week and the clientèle is more homeowners and fewer professional repair types. This means more 'splainin' to do, as Desi might say, were he not dead.

I met I woman today that I truly feel sorry for because she's married to a belligerent buffoon. Her life can't be easy saddled with this guy.

She came into the store right after lunch with a bolt. She was looking for another bolt and nut the same size and thread pattern. Pretty simple stuff. I tried everything we had that looked close, but I was not able to match it. After about ten minutes of searching, I went to get my coworker, who is literally the world's foremost expert in all things hardware. At least he is in my little world.

By the time I returned to the customer, she was gone. I spotted her in the next aisle with the manager and a large lout, the aforementioned husband.

The husband, L. Ron Loutbreath, was berating the manager because he had been waiting in the car for the missus to get his damn bolt and he was sick of waiting. Just as I reached them he snatched the bolt away from the boss and huffed off, with the beleaguered Mrs. Loutbreath in hot pursuit.

Here's a generalization for life. Any guy who waits in the car for his wife or child to go into the store and "get one just like this", is an all around a-hole and likely a class A abuser.

On the other hand, I also waited on a nice guy in search of some specialized light bulbs. He also happened to be stone deaf, but read lips. He is a courier for a local business, picking up and dropping off materials and paperwork.

We didn't have what he wanted and when I told him as much, he asked me to call his boss and ask him what he should do next. The boss asked me to call another hardware store and see if they had them. So I did.

The guy at the other store had one of the two. When I explained that to the deaf guy, he asked me to call the boss again and see if he should go pick up just the one or keep looking for a place that would have both. So I did. The boss thought that getting one while the getting was good, was a good idea.

Two phone calls, ten minutes, no sale, but tons of goodwill. And that's a big part of running a small business.















Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Friday

My boss posted the March work schedule yesterday and this part time gig of mine has taken on a life of its own. Of the 30 work days in March (we close for Easter), I'm scheduled to work twenty. Does that seem like part time to you? It doesn't to me.

There are a couple of reasons to hope that this situation is just temporary. The first is that one of my coworkers is off on sick leave and will return soon. March is also the end of winter and the beginning of spring here in the desert. People will want to get started on all the spring stuff that they do.

Our store serves an inner city neighborhood, so there are lots of people who still use evaporative cooling. Newer homes have air conditioning, but the older ones mostly don't. Evaporative collers require a lot of start up tinkering, so we will be busy with people looking for cooler supplies. As a side note, the home pictured in the link is not one in which you would find evaporative cooling.

Another subject. I usually avoid politics, especially on my blog, but I have been following the Obama/Clinton tussle a bit. Clinton is making a big deal about Obama being long on rhetoric and short on ideas. I'm not so sure that it a bad thing. Maybe it is time for someone to come along with a different paradigm when it comes to governance. It seems that with Clinton and McCain, we are headed for more of the same old, same old, staffed by the usual suspects. Should be interesting.




Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Dissagreements

There was a story in the news this morning that the John Templeton Foundation is funding a four million dollars study at Oxford University to investigate why humans believe in God. In our local paper, the forum that accompanied the story contained comments from readers that ran the spectrum of belief. It is really interesting to see how differently people see the same subject. One fellow even opined that the world would be wonderful if everyone believed in God. The rub is that most of the people in the world do believe in God and the world is not that much of a bargain, peace-wise anyway. Of course, his premise hinges on whose God you are talking about. So much of the world's problems arise from the differing ways we see things, not just religiously, but our differing world views. For instance, I was watching a documentary called Inside North Korea, which you may have seen as a National Geographic special. National Geographic sent a camera crew along with a Nepalese eye surgeon who the North Korean government had invited to treat North Korean citizens. The North Korean government was told that the crew was affiliated with the doctor and was there to document his work. they really wanted to get a glimpse of life in the world's most secret society. What they found was a society that was seemingly content with what we would classify as a pretty bleak existence. Rather than dissent, they found a people whose world view was that of threat and survival. Generations of outside abuse have left the North Korean people wary of outsiders and totally dependent upon their tyrannical leader for their perceived protection. Instead of fearing the tyrant, they worship him as a near-deity. That makes no sense to me, but then I live in an open society. It certainly leads to a situation of mutual distrust between our countries. Cletus Sneed came by this morning. He seems to be off the drugs for the most part and the way I can tell is that he only asked for ten bucks, not the usual forty. His life is a train wreck and the reason seems so obvious to both of us. Unfortunately, it's not the same reason. Cletus works for a sleazy used car dealer, who pays him in cash. He is currently living in a fleabag motel, just off downtown. His rent consumes most of his salary. Because he has no paycheck stub, he is unable to get many social services that might help him change his situation. Cletus has a history of run ins with the law, mostly because he persist on driving with a suspended license. He also has a history of not showing up for court dates and is currently about $3000 in debt to the courts and on probation. That keeps him from getting a lot better jobs. He has no idea where his children are because their mother has them in hiding. We argue about his situation because he sees himself as a victim and I tell him that he needs to do different stuff to get different results. His last four jobs were all at crappy car lots, where he hangs with people on the fringe of society and his last few homes have been flophouses. He doesn't see this as a problem. I see it as more of the same. I can't budge him and he can't budge me. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Darrell and His Other Brother Darrell

I had to work at the garden center this morning, which works out great for me because Son Sneed has an appointment on Tuesdays at nine and has to be picked up from the same at noon. I typically drop him at the bus on the way and go to the place and pick him up afterward. Today was no exception. On our way home, I happen to remember that Chris, the Circuit City guy was supposed to call me and explain why my laptop was never sent in for repair. Chris you may recall, is the chief suspect of the two jokers that I talked to in the store yesterday. According to Mutt and Jeff, Chris is the guy in charge of not sending stuff. Since Chris hadn't called me, I anticipated the worst and figured I should just pay him a visit. I immediately recognized Chris as the guy who originally helped me. I no sooner got the words "Where is" out of my mouth than he plopped my laptop on the counter. Evidently, when Heckel and Jeckel told me it hadn't been sent in, they were wrong. It just hadn't been unboxed upon its return. You just can't make this stuff up. I asked Chris why Moe and Larry told me that it wasn't ever sent away and he said that they have a history of giving out bogus information. So a tip of the hat to Chris, or as I think of him, the Circuit City guy who isn't a dope. This whole experience is a result of a conscious decision that the Circuit City management has made. At least in my opinion. On at least two occasions the CC management has decided to fire all the higher paid staff and replace them with new people making less money. They are caught in a situation where Best Buy is dominating them and they have resorted to burning the furniture to heat the house. This has to reflect in the quality of service. And in my experience, it has. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Fire Duds

Longtime readers of the Sneed blog will recall that I have a longstanding love/hate relationship with the folks at Circuit City (CC). More hate than love. My most protracted and most famous skirmish with these lunkheads involved a Toshiba laptop that they sold me. It was in for repairs so many times that I finally badgered them into honoring their extended warranty by taking the piece of crap back. Unfortunately, rather than giving me a refund, I got a gift card for about $1100 bucks or something. Had I listened to the always savvy Kurt and sold the stupid card on Craig's list, I would bought a new computer at Best Buy or somewhere and would not being having to write another unflattering post about CC today. On January 17th of this year, my replacement laptop crapped out, leaving me high and dry. The following day I took it to the Firedog®, aka, Geeks in a Box, desk at my neighborhood CC in the hope that they would be able to do some magic geek stuff and get me back in business. No such luck. The tech on duty pronounced my mother board dead and told me that it would be away for service for 21 days or so. All under warranty, of course. I simply cannot survive without a laptop for three weeks, so I just bought me a new one. This also gave me a chance to prove to the children Sneed that the vicious lie they spread, that I wouldn't give a nickel to see an earthquake, is simple untrue. For a mere $99 the Firedog® kid copied my old hard drive to the new one. At least I had my data. I took my swell new laptop home and the boys at CC said that they were going to send the old one in for repair the next day. This morning as I was working in the yard, it dawned on me that I should check on the old laptop, so after lunch, I went over to CC. Predictably, we played a game of Laptop? We don't got no stinking laptop. After much hemming and hawing and searching "the computer", the poor joker on duty summoned another geek, a senior geek named Michael, who had perfected the art of dismissiveness. His attitude seemed to be that I was simply lying about the whole affair. In fact, he suggested that I needed to go home and get my receipt showing that they even took the old computer. I suppose that it should have occurred to me to bring the receipt, but it didn't. I told him that I would go home and get it, but that my attitude was going to worsen if I had to. Luckily, at that moment, geek one found the receipt in question. Here's the rub. The computer is still sitting where they put it a month ago. It seems that they forgot to send it in. This is all the fault of a guy named Chris and poor Chris is going to call me tomorrow to 'splain what happened. This wouldn't be such a big deal, but I need last year's Turbo Tax program which is on the old computer. I have my actual return stored on a flash drive but I can't open it without last year's software. Plus, Ican't remember where I put the original program for safekeeping. It's always something.

Firedog ® is a registered trademark of the Circuit City Corporation.

Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Boycott The Bastards

Another rant brought to you by me. As you know, I am a big advocate for living financially responsibly. I get that many people fall into financial calamity due to divorce, illness or job loss. Most though, do so because they can't say no, when no is the best answer. They want stuff and plenty of it. That said, I hate banks. In fact, I don't recall the last time I was in an actual bank and if I have my way, I will never step into one again. For sure, I will never give a nickel of my business to a bank ever again. What, you might ask, have banks done to incur the wrath of me? Glad you asked. The current subprime housing mess is the fault of the banking industry, who figured out that they could make loans to people whose qualification to borrow was limited to being alive and having showed up. And to make them without risk to themselves. The why of how that works is too long and boring to explain, but believe me when I tell that it's true. This mess hurts you and it hurts me, even if you don't think it does. The housing mess hurts people like me who have saved and invested. It hurts us when businesses close and layoff their employees. It hurts us in a hundred ways. There was a time when banks made loans based on the borrower's ability to repay. That has largely become irrelevant. I guarantee you that I can sign up our dog Lacey for a credit card tomorrow and get her one. That's how stupid it's become. About ten large banks control over 90% of the credit card business in this country. They make loans to people that they know cannot repay in order to make money on over-the-limit and late fees, which is more profitable than collecting interest. There used to be a joke that Sears made so much money off their credit card operations that Sears was not a retailer as much as a bank with some stuff for sale out front. This is what the banks have become. They are not so much in the banking business, but more in the business of collecting fees. It stopped being about responsible lending and repayment a long time ago. Banks have a serious financial interest in payday lending, which is simply a wealth grab from the young and the poor. If you have seen ads for the tax preparers advertising tax refund loans, rest assured that one of the big banks is funding those loans and taking a generous cut of the exorbitant interest rate being charged for them. Years ago I wrote to the president of our local state-run university asking him to stop the practice of banks preying on college students with his approval. His response was that the university needed the money. He endorsed whoring his students for a million bucks kickback. He also assured me that he had instituted a course in responsible money management for incoming freshmen. Guess who wrote the curriculum? A bank. If you use a charge account issued by most retailers you will discover that they are merely a front for a big bank. So anyway, what's my point? If you deal with a bank for checking or savings, I would urge you to close your accounts and sign up with a credit union. If you must borrow money, a credit union will not make you a loan that is bad for you and good for them. If you have bank-issued credit cards cut them up and pay off the balance as soon as possible. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Break Time

I thought the reader might enjoy a picture of my car. Two words...sweet ride. I'm having it printed so I can carry it in my wallet.



Our rainy and cold weather of the past couple of days has given way to sunny and cool weather. We live at about 2600 feet elevation and it snowed down to 4500 feet, as you can see in this picture. By midweek we will be back into the seventies and before you know it I will be bitching about the heat.

I was thinking about something today while I was at work. It has been decades since I last worked as an hourly employee and some aspects of it take some getting used to.

For instance, I'm not used to having to account for my comings and goings. In the store there are about ten people every shift who have to have time for lunch. It is important that we keep to a schedule. If my lunch is at 11:30, I had better go at 11:30 or the whole schedule gets out of whack and several hungry people get annoyed at me.

Sometimes in coming or going from the store a customer will ask me a question about something. Since I'm not on the clock, I'm supposed to request payment for the few minutes it takes to deal with them. This strikes me like way too much trouble to collect a buck before taxes.

Then, there are breaks. We get two ten-minute breaks, one in the morning and another in the afternoon. Arizona is not one of those states where breaks are dictated by law, at least not breaks for hardware guys, but the management allows for them.

The managers at the store are forever reminding me that it is time for my break because I forget to take them. It's the same as lunch, if I mess up the break times, everyone behind me is messed up. I appreciate the thought, but I'm not really a break kind of guy, mostly because all I can do with ten minutes is to sit alone in the break room. Plus, sometimes I'm too busy to stop and take a break. So, if I can, I just avoid the whole break thing.

Oh well, I'm an hourly hardware guy now, so I guess I'll get used to it.








Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Mark Twain

"A man cannot be comfortable without his own approval."--Mark Twain Our predicted hotter and drier than normal winter continues to be wetter and cooler. It is raining today and is expected to continue to do so throughout the day. I have to work all day, so the weather is not going to bother me. I went out with The Seafood King and Some Guy Named Bob to play golf yesterday. The aforementioned storm was just building so it was cool and windy. My golf game was slightly worse than average and I blame it on the weather. Next week I will have to think up a new excuse. Don't worry, I have a hundred tried and true. I also had to attend a meeting yesterday in the late afternoon. It was one of those things you occasionally have to do that doesn't really provide much in the way of benefit. I sat next to a fellow that I don't know well, but am casually acquainted with. He has always struck me as a guy working way too hard to impress the people he meets. Of course, impressing others is really secondary, what I guess he is really doing is trying to reassure himself that he is okay. Do you know what I mean? For instance, yesterday's meeting was a small group of a dozen or so folks. We sat at a horseshoe-shaped table in a small room, with the presenter at the open end of the horseshoe. When the presenter would make a point, this fellow would blurt out pointless bits of information that didn't add anything, but were supposed to impress, I guess. For instance, when the presenter put up a chart, which included a quote from Mark Twain, this fellow blurted out "Samuel Clemens". He carries photos of his cars and other man toys, that he shows around like I might show photos of the Sneedlets. It just seems odd...and annoying. But that says more about me than him, I suppose. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Wednesday

I was talking to my oldest son on the phone tonight about angry customers. I am lucky enough to have only encountered two really angry people in my brief career at the hardware store. Unfortunately, both were today. More on that in a minute. Son Sneed is a highly-trained medical professional working in a large government facility for the exclusive use of our many veterans of the armed forces. In that capacity, he sees more pissed off people in a week than I will see in a year. In case you didn't know it, there are two things that veterans know about the quality of their free or nearly free health care. One is that they are entitled care that is free, plentiful and first-rate. The second thing they know is that they are disappointed. Hence, Son Sneed meets a lot of grouchy folks. The two angry folks I met today on the job were both elderly women in search of lightbulbs. One woman told me that she needed a light bulb for her candelabra. I made a suggest. No dice. I made another. Still no. Finally, I offered a third choice and she snapped, "Just forget it." Then she turned and walked off. The second lady came in with a strange-looking bulb and asked if we had one like it? When I said no, she told me that I was no help whatever and off she went. Son Sneed and I are constituted in the same way. We don't like unpleasantness all that much. Longtime readers might question that when comes to me, but it is basically true. I am more than happy to call a jackass, a jackass when needed, but I'm not inclined to take out my frustration on some schmuck who is just doing his job. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Tuesday

February is a very nice time to live in the Sonoran desert. It has been in the low seventies most days this month and the lows are in the forties. March would have perfect weather were it not for the the wind, which typically blows hard in March and Merle Sneed doesn't like windy weather. I spent the day planting in my garden, now that the danger of freezing temperatures is gone. At the moment it is kind of slim pickings in our garden centers because it is too early for hot weather plants. I planted petunias, snapdragons, allsyum and geraniums in pots on the patio. I have several large pots that had annuals in them last year and I will be planting roses in those, once roses become available locally. The fellow at one of the garden centers told me that he was going to get roses in his store in March. One of the old line gardens here won't sell them until May first. Everyone has an opinion. I pruned my rose bushes in January and they are just now starting to leaf out. It is about time to fertilize them. Anyway, I'm excited about spring, but can also feel the dread of the approaching summer. In real Sneed family news, the lovely Mrs. Sneed and Daughter Sneed are attending their last class meeting tonight in their quest to earn their masters degrees in Marriage and Family Therapy. It has been a long hard three-year journey for them, but they are done with their internship work and will receive their degrees in May. They make an old guy proud. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Ask Mr. Screen

Interest in windows screens must be at an all time high, judging from the number of interesting screen-themed questions asked by readers of the Sneed blog. In my last post I mentioned that I had become trained in the ancient art of window screening and that I would be able to provide any help needed for your screen-related needs. With that in mind, I will answer a few of the many fine questions that were sent in. A Mr. Bob Dylan of the United States asked how you repair screens slashed open by supposed fans. Mr. Dylan, many people have faced this dilemma and and I am sorry to have to have tell you that there is no way to repair slashes from supposed fans. For slashes from real fans, take the screen to your neighborhood Ace store and ask them to do a rescreen. Anonymous of the planet Earth, has a problem with dog's teeth becoming entangled in his screens. This leaves holes large enough for some insects to crawl through. Duct tape has not proven helpful. Over 2000 personal pleas by Anonymous to the dogs imploring them to stop this wanton destruction, have fallen on deaf doggy ears. Anonymous, I would suggest electrifying the screen. The dogs will quickly learn that biting the screen is a bad idea. Either that or your dogs will soon be occupying space reserved for dumber than average dead dogs. Ace can special order an electrifying kit for you. Also hang a sign on the screen warning humans that there is a shock danger. Don't worry that this will tip off the dogs; few dogs can read. Taco Fetishist, a resident of the Gulf Coast of the United States, has a complaint about the cheesy quality of the kitchen window screen in his cheap-ass FEMA trailer. Taco, I feel your pain dude. George Bush ordered the high-quality aluminum screens removed from the FEMA trailers and had them replaced with low-grade fiberglass ones. He sent Haliburton the money that he saved by screwing the little people. I suggest that you sell some of your food stamps to a homeless guy and take those proceeds, along with the crappy frame to the nearest Ace. The helpful folks of Ace will provide you with a screen that you will be proud to own. Own is the operative word here Taco. Don't forget to take YOUR new screen with you if you ever move out of that sh*tbox. Otherwise those b*stards at Haliburton are the winners again. Mr. Dollface wonders about the best screen to use in the manufacture of "smoking aids". The Sneed blog is a drug-free zone and as such does not encourage or condone the use of illegal substances. However, since you will likely find out the answer anyway, it's better that you get safe advice here, rather than some dangerous back alley urban legend advice. Use aluminum man. Ace sells screening by the foot. Buy a foot of 24" aluminum screen. You can use regular household scissors to cut it into tiny squares suitable for your purpose. Join me next time when I will address John Q. Blogger's question, "How much do you know about sandpaper?" Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

I Only Sell The Stuff

I don't like to brag or anything, but today I learned the correct way to make window screens. Merle Sneed is now your go-to guy for all things screeny. Note to Ched. I have mentioned Seafood Jr. before. He infrequently shows up because he doesn't like to be bothered by weather that is too hot or too cold. Like Goldilocks, he likes things to be just right. As for my social circle expanding, like a balloon, it's better if it doesn't expand too much. Maybe this next thing shouldn't bother me, but it does. Sometimes I sell something to a person for a project and I know that it has disaster written all over it. Sometimes it is just a really bad idea that they can't be talked out of. Mostly it is people who want to do something but have no idea about how to do it. Take pictures for example. I've noticed that women like to hang pictures on the wall. For a while there I thought it was just something Mrs. and Daughter Sneed liked to do. It turns out that it is much more widespread than I imagined. On any given workday, one or more of the customers that I wait on will ask me about hanging up pictures, often very heavy pictures. Since most people are poor estimators of weight and height, they will guess that their picture weighs 20, 30 or even 40 pounds. It has been my experience that very few pictures kept in the homes of average Americans weigh even ten pounds, but the conversation goes like this. Customer: I need to hang a really heavy picture. Me: How heavy? Customer: Maybe...at least 20 pounds. Me: What kind of wall? Customer: Living room. Me: No, Brick, drywall, plaster? Customer: Drywall, I think. Me: Okay, these hangers can be tapped into the drywall and are rated for 20 pounds. Customer: Maybe it's heavier than 20 pounds, what else can I do? Me: Hollow wall anchors. Customer: Huh? Me: Follow me....(walking)....these. Customer: How do they work. Me: Blah, blah, blah. Customer: I'll take four of those those. This is the point at which I worry that I will wind up being blamed for the ten holes that get bashed into their living room wall from them trying to use what I sold them. Don't even get me started on the people who come in and buy electrical hardware. Unless you live somewhere where you have to hire an electrician to change a light bulb, there is a ton of money to be made as a handyman. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

And You Are Who Again?

Maybe you've had this experience. You see someone you know or at least should recognize, but don't you recognize them, because they are not in the normal context you see them in. Get it? I didn't think so. Say you go to a bakery every week and on most of your visits you are served by the same person. You never get chatty with this person except to exchange pleasantries. And maybe this goes on for months or even years. Then one day you are in the doctor's waiting room and the person sitting directly across from you suddenly asks how you've been, like they know you or something. Maybe this person even looks vaguely familiar, but you have no clue who it is. If the person has actual social graces, he or she might remind you about where you know them from. If not, you may remember later that it is the clerk from the bakery. It happens to me all the time and I used to worry about it. The problem is context. I think most of our remembering relies on context. We often cannot recall a specific detail unless we have some other details surrounding it. Walk into the bakery and you will recognize the clerk one hundred percent of the time. Out in the non bakery world, not so often. Remembering is turning out to be a trick business. More and more research is showing that most of what we remember is just stuff we think we remember, given the context. For instance, about 80% of wrongful convictions are based upon bad eyewitness identification. Usually the eyewitnesses aren't overtly lying, they just don't remember what they think they do. They use a context, say a mugging they witness and they fill in the details as they think they should be. Often, some poor schmuck gets cast in the role of bad guy in these recollections. So, why do I bore you with this? Because today I was on the "didn't get recognized" end of the deal and it is not that big an ego boost. Of course, the hurt of not being recognized is relative. If Larry the Bug Guy doesn't recognize me at the mall, it's not such a deal. If your own mother doesn't recognize you at your son's wedding it is a bit more personal. Not that I'm say that really happened to Mrs. Sneed or anything. We have lived in Casa Sneed since May of 1995 and since sometime later in 1995 a woman has lived across the street and over a couple of houses. Over the years I have spoken to her on any number of occasions. In fact, a few months ago she was having a problem with her neighbor and we exchanged phone numbers in case she needed help right away. If I see her at the mailbox she calls me by name for Pete's sake. This morning I was making keys for someone at the store and when that customer left, up walked my neighbor. She tossed the keys on the counter and announce that she needed them copied. It seemed odd to me. As I made the first key I casually asked her how her neighbor was doing. She looked at me for probably the first time since she walked up, and gave me this puzzled, squinty-eyed, who are you and don't let me catch you looking in my windows, sicko, kind of look. Finally, she asked me what neighbor I was talking about? I replied that I meant the crazy woman who bought Rob and Karen's house. She stared at me, I stared at her and both realized that she had no idea that I was me. Except now she did, because I gave her a context to remember. See, I thought I was a distinguished older guy who is frankly, pretty unforgettable. It turns out that if you stick me in the middle of the cul-de-sac bothering passersby I am. Take me out of my normal environment and I'm just another old guy in a red vest. To her at least. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

You Drove Into The Space I Was Attempting To Occupy

I met a guy named Les today and frankly, I wish I hadn't. Technically, I didn't actually meet him, we just ran into each other, or rather, he ran into me. I was driving home about 4:30 this afternoon after playing golf with the usual suspects, The Seafood King, Some Guy Named Bob and Seafood, Jr. I was traveling in the curb (fast lane) of an busy six-lane divided road, minding my own business, when a fellow, the aforementioned Les, changed lanes into me, causing me to slam on the brakes and skid into the curb. Despite my stuntman-like evasive maneuvers, Les sideswiped me, leaving the driver's side of his car pressed against my passenger side and my poor little Civic jammed against the curb. Since my Civic is approximately the size of a Barnum and Bailey clown car, the mishap also left Les and me sitting about three feet apart, staring at one another through our respective windows. I put down my window and Les immediately spouted a question that is destined to become a part of Sneed family lore. "You drove into in the space I was attempting to occupy." To which I responded, "Are you nuts?" In the parallel universe where Les lives the right-of-way goes to guys named Les. All other should get the hell out of the way. Les began to loudly explain to me that he needed to make a left turn at the next light. I on the other hand, tried in vain to tell him that I was more or less in the way at the moment the idea occurred to him. His rejoinder was that he really needed to make a left. Well, if I had only known, I could have run off the road or something. I told Les to move his car so that we could get out of traffic because we were blocking two lanes. He replied that I should move first. I pointed out to him that he had me pinned between his car and the curb. He seemed oblivious to the notion that two rather large chunks of matter can not occupy the same space at the same time. This despite his recent practical demonstration of that very point. Finally, with a giant sigh of disgust, he backed up a bit and accompanied by the sound of scraping metal, got clear of me and drove away. I got my cellphone out of my pocket and called 9-1-1 to ask for an officer to respond to the scene. Since I was unsure about the damage to either vehicle or even whether old Les had fled the scene, this seemed like the best thing to do. I told the police that I would wait for the officer at a restaurant on the corner. I pulled into the parking lot and got out of my car. To my surprise, my boy Les was parked in the same lot. Luckily, the damage to both cars looked to be relatively minor. Les just sat in his car, which was a relief to me, since frankly, he seemed a bit nuts. In fairness he was probably just a little rattled, but the last thing I wanted to have was another conversation with the guy about how this was all my fault. What I was mostly concerned about was that if we just exchanged insurance information, the details of the accident would become a he said/he said affair and we would each wind up taking fifty percent of the blame. Merle Sneed is like a felony rap; the evidence has to beyond a reasonable doubt before I accept blame. In this case it wasn't even close. The police responded in a miraculous ten minutes. Les admitted to the cop that he may not have actually looked to see if "the space he was attempting to occupy" was already occupied before making his lane change. The police officer wrote up an accident report, cited Les for making an unsafe lane change and sent us on our way. As it turns out, although Les says he has insurance, he was unable to provide the specifics of his coverage to the police. The police officer told me that there was no notice of cancellation of insurance against Les's license, so he probably has coverage. I called my company and made a report. The bad news is that they suggest I fix the car, and pay my deductible. Then they will go after Les to get our money back. My instinct was to blow the whole thing off since the damage seems minor, that is until I opened the passenger door and discovered that it makes a loud cracking noise while opening and closing. Postscript: In mid-blog, I got a call from the fine folks at Progressive Insurance telling me that their driver, old you-know-who, is 100% at fault and that they will be by tomorrow to assess the damage and either have it fixed or give me the money to have it fixed. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Buck Up

Several commenters have suggested that the "buck up" method of dealing with illness is likely to be a failing strategy for me going forward. Apparently these commenters are under the impression that I am aging. I remain youthful and vigorous, even more so than I was last year, so buck up remains a viable plan. I bucked up and made it to work today. We were short-handed at the store, so I gave out even more bogus information than usual. Going to work is something I am very good at. Not necessarily proud of, but very good at. I have complete confidence that in my thirty-six and a half years at Tedious Systems I missed less than thirty-six days being sick. That includes a five-day bout with a broken collar bone and another five-day absence when I had surgery. At one point I had over ten years of perfect attendance. Not necessarily something you want on your tombstone. So I went to work today. Another subject. When you are a semi-retired guy and own a television, you notice that a lot of late-afternoon television commercials are for companies who make their living off Medicare. Diabetes supplies and scooters lead the pack. When did someone decide that I owe a scooter to anyone? Call me mean-spirited, but I kind of draw the line at the government paying for medical appliances. Too many people lack even basic health care. The latest Medicare boondoggle involves a $250K artificial heart for people over sixty-five. Medicare is going to begin to cover these devices in the near future. In my never-to-be-humble opinion, this is insanity. We simply cannot afford to keep everyone alive forever. The available resources should be spent on a cost/benefit basis. Medicare and the insurance companies say that this will affect a relatively small population. Sure it will. Call me heartless, artificial or natural, but I think someone has to start drawing the line somewhere or we will soon be taxed into the poorhouse. Not me probably, but my kids and grandkids for sure. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Sick

I'm sick today. I woke up this morning with some symptoms that are best left undescribed. I didn't feel particularly ill, so I figured it would just run its course. I try to practice to the "buck-up" method of dealing with illness. Sometimes it works. Son Sneed had some appointments this morning lasting from nine to noon. I just figured that I would drop him at the bus at eight-thirty and then go to the medical center and pick him up at eleven-thirty. In between, I planned to go over to the rose garden and spend a couple of hours cleaning up rose leaves. Our rain from yesterday, gave way to clear skies and freezing temperatures this morning. The temperature at the garden center was in the low thirties when I arrived. This may not have been my best decision, because it was cold and wet. As an aside, I checked this afternoon and our winter precipitation is 188% of normal for the Eastern portion of the county, including our city as a whole. The only reading station where rainfall is below normal is the official NWS station at the airport. Consequently, the television weather guys are moaning and groaning about the lack of rainfall. Things were moving along nicely when, at about ten-thirty, I was struck with a wave of nausea and general wooziness. Luckily, I had just a few piles of dead rose leaves left to load into the trash. I got the leaves picked up and in the trash and loaded my tools into the car. Since I hadn't eaten since last evening, I figured that a snack might settle my stomach. Tip: Don't eat a chocolate milkshake if you have G.I. distress. It doesn't settle anything down and in fact makes matters worse. Hopefully, I will recover by tomorrow because I have to go to work. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Dry and Warm

Runoff from today's rain running in the normally dry wash by our house.



The cynical Merle Sneed believes that an awful lot of weather forecasting involves the forecaster sticking his head out the window, seeing what's happening weather-wise and predicting more of the same.

Of course, nowadays there are satellites and other modern gizmos that provide the ability to make long-range forecasts. These are pictures of the hotter and drier than normal winter that was forecast. It has been wetter and colder thus far. They did get the shorter days part right though.

As you can see, even the Ron Paul for President sign seems to have it wrong.

I took our Honda Civic, aka Clown Car, to the shop today to get the window fixed. You know, the window that was stuck halfway up. I hoped that it wouldn't cost two hundred bucks to fix. Luckily, I was right, it cost $430.

Rod, my Honda guy is just the best. He would never fix something that didn't need fixing or charge for something he didn't do, but he is very good at making sure everything is working properly and insists upon telling you what is wrong.

Rod called me shortly after I dropped off the car to say the front brakes were shot. Plus, not only was the doohickey that makes the window go up broken, it broke something else in the process of breaking.

I guess the occasional repair on a nine-year old car isn't totally unexpected. It beats the dreaded car payment, which as I recall, has to be paid every month.

On the good side, the car was repaired by two-thirty and I got home in time to take a nice nap.






Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Super Bowl

Well, the Super Bowl is over and one team won. Their fans are very happy, in fact they may be setting fire to cars and breaking windows as I type. The second team unfortunately lost, and their fans are probably setting fire to cars and breaking windows. Here's hoping it is not my car or my window. Daughter Sneed and her soon-to-be husband Greg threw a big Super bowl bash. They served delicious Mexican food, followed by chocolate cake. What's not to like about that? We stayed until the end of the third quarter. That is the longest Mrs. Sneed has ever been in the same room as a football broadcast, although she read during the entire three quarters of the game, so although she was present in body, her mind was elsewhere. I used to get all worked up over sporting events, but as I get older I just can't muster the energy to care that much. Especially since sports has become so corrupt and dysfunctional. Everywhere you turn these days another scandal is unfolding. If you are interested in reading something unsettling, read this series by The Seattle Time, about the University of Washington football program. It's disgusting, but this problem is not limited to the U of W. Every college with a major athletic program faces these sort of dilemmas in pursuit of winning and the dollars winning brings. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Ockham's Razor

The good news is that I made it to work on time this morning. The bad news is that I made it to work on time this morning. When I signed up for this gig and agreed to work on Saturday, I breezily told everyone, that it didn't matter if I work on Saturday, because when you're retired everyday is Saturday. Not quite true. On Saturday, I have to be at the store at 7:00am, which seems somehow earlier than it used to. I have to get up before six to make sure that I have time to read the paper, etc. This puts the kibosh on going out on Friday night, which to a hipster like me, is bad news. Luckily I have no peeps with which to hang, so I bear it. A funny thing happened at the store today. A lady came in and asked me about how to wire a day-night sensor to an outside floodlight. The kind of light you might have over a garage. She said that her light had just stopped working, neither bulb would light. She had tried changing the day-night sensor to no avail, so she thought that maybe she was wiring it incorrectly. We went over how it should be done and she said that she thought she had done it correctly. She asked if she could just bring the fixture in, which she did later in the morning. I wired the sensor like the wiring diagram showed and we rigged an appliance cord to it, in order to plug it into a wall outlet. Nothing. I removed the sensor and and tried the fixture without it. Still nothing. Then I asked her, almost jokingly, if the bulbs were any good? We had an instant moment of clarity. We got new bulbs and of course it worked perfectly. There is a concept in logic called Ockham's Razor, which says when faced with a problem, look to the simplest solution first. Or as doctors say, "When you hear hoof beats think of horses, not zebras." The customer got fooled because she didn't think that both bulbs could burn out at nearly the same time and I made the mistake of not testing it with new bulbs first. We both were working from complex to simple, not simple to complex. Live and learn. Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky

Dominoes, And I Don't Mean Pizza

I am a creature of habit. That wouldn't be so bad except that if my routine gets thrown off, I get all messed up.

For instance, I take a medication to lower my cholesterol. It contains niacin, a lot of niacin. If you have ever taken niacin, you know that it makes you flush because it is a vasodilator. Flushing is what the medical community calls it, I call it itching like crazy.

To combat the effects of the niacin, my doctor told me to take the medicine at night, when I wouldn't notice the itching, presumably because I would be asleep. That worked fine for more than a year until I got the shingles which came with their own type of itching. The dreaded double dose of itching.

Since it has been scientifically proven that one can sleep through the double dose of itching, my solution was to start taking the cholesterol medication in the morning, and itching be damned. I would just have to man up.

That didn't work out so well either because about a hour after taking the medication, I would be throes of the full-body itches. Luckily for me, it turns out that if you take an aspirin with the medicine, it stops the itching. So I bought the gigantico size bottles of aspirins at Costco and the itching problem was solved.

What, you might ask, does this have to do with Merle Sneed being a prisoner of his routines?

Glad you asked. My morning routine is to apply the cosmetics necessary for others in the world to stand me, take a pill for different condition, brush my teeth and tidy up my hair. Now, of course, I have to, add an aspirin and two cholesterol pills into this well-oiled system.

These extra pills in my morning routine have thrown me off to the point that I walk out of the bathroom in the morning and only then realize that I have forgotten to brush my teeth. This has happened about a half dozen times. It's just weird. And yes I go back and brush my teeth.

So now you have another insight into my freakishness and I can move on to the point of this post.

This morning, as I was reading the news, Son Sneed came into the room and reminded me that I had promised to take him to the grocery store before I left for work at 8:45 am. This was a major disruption of the sacred news and coffee routine. I had to stop reading and hustle to get dressed to take him. I forgot to brush my teeth and had to backtrack.

We rushed to the ATM so that Son Sneed could get some money for his groceries. We used the drive-up ATM and after I conducted the transaction, and tried to put up my car window, it stopped halfway up. It would go all the way down, but only go halfway up. Now I was stuck in 35 degree weather with an open window and another major distraction to, well, distract me..

We finished shopping and rushed home. I called our mechanic to get on his schedule for Monday and hurried off to work, arriving just in time. Just in time that is, to realize that I left my store keys at home. Just in time to discover that I couldn't get into my locker to get my work stuff. Just in time to have my work routine totally messed up by exasperated coworkers complaining that I wasn't ansering calls over the radio, which was locked in my locker.

Fortunately, the Lovely Mrs. Sneed graciously brought the keys to me on her way to work and life returned to normal, which is to say only a couple of clicks to the left of actual normal.

This is my life. One thing goes wrong and the dominoes start to fall.









Things in this blog represented to be fact, may or may not actually be true. The writer is frequently wrong, sometimes just full of it, but always judgmental and cranky