Shit happens -- Unknown This is my finger on drugs. No vacation would be complete without a mishap and this one is no exception. I was making a key today at work and my index finger strayed into the cutting wheel. I had to get six stitches, a tetanus shot and some antibiotics. The finger is cut right down to bone, across the knuckle. The doctor says that my dream to become a hand model is dead. Life is so unfair. Since I am off work until next Friday, I won't catch any flack for it for a few days. I hope they fire me for gross safety violations or something. More likely, my poor store manager will suffer the wrath of the owners for having a careless doofus like me on the payroll. 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

“A gentleman is one who never hurts anyone's feelings unintentionally.”--Oscar Wilde Perhaps my problem is that I am not enough of a gentleman. Hurting someone's feelings is something I try never to do intentionally. My general insensitivity causes me enough grief without my purposefully piling on. Take this guy Jim I met at Starbucks. Jim is not a guy I want to have as a friend, but unfortunately for me the feeling doe not seem to be mutual. As expected, Monday morning I received a call from the hospital asking me to be there at ten sharp, to pick Jim up from his surgery. I was dreading the moment, but also looking forward to the possibility of bringing an end to our acquaintance. My plan was to pick him up and take him home and then not have to deal with him any more. Jim was full of interesting ideas about how to repay me for my kindness toward him. He wanted to take me and the lovely Mrs. Sneed out for dinner or me out to lunch. I did my best to decline all his invitations, using all the excuses at my disposal. We went into extra innings in the game of verbal dodgeball because I had to also take him to the pharmacy to pick up his pain meds. This gave up another thirty minutes in which to lung and parry. I ultimately managed to get him home and out of my car and then I beat feet. Stage two of my plan involved giving up my daily trip to Starbucks for awhile, hoping to avoid the guy. For four days it seemed that my plan was working. Unfortunately, Jim has my cell number from the hospital business and he called this morning to say he hadn't seen me at Starbucks lately. I gave him the bum's rush on the call and hope that will discourage him. I'm just no good at this sort of thing. After avoidance, I don't have any good strategies. Perhaps serial curtness will bear some fruit. On a lighter note, here is another fascinating story from the hardware store. A very nice woman came into the store today with a large globe type light bulb, still in the box. It was a brand we don't sell. She told me that she bought the bulb at Home Depot and when she put it into the fixture and turned on the switch, it blew up. I showed her what we had in the way of similar products and she settled on a GE bulb, for $6.99. She feigned horror at the $6.99 price for the bulb, obviously kidding. She remarked that she only paid $3.99 at Home Depot for the dead bulb. I explained to her that we only charge $2.50 for bulbs that don't work, so her's wasn't that good a deal. I think she took the point. Lastly, the lovely Mrs. Sneed and I will be off to San Diego this weekend for our traditional Labor Day retreat. Blogging may be sporadic through Tuesday. 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

"The dogmas of the quiet past are inadequate to the stormy present. The occasion is piled high with difficulty, and we must rise with the occasion. As our case is new, so we must think anew, and act anew. We must disenthrall ourselves, and then we shall save our country." Lincoln's Second Annual Message to Congress, December 1, 1862. The country anxiously awaits the moment when Barak Obama accepts the nomination for President, in just an hour or two. I remember well, the days when a black mayor in a major American city was ground-breaking. It was inconceivable in those days, that a black man could become President. Perhaps Obama has the vision to lift the country from the malaise we are in. Maybe he will be just the latest face of the status quo. I hope it is the former and not the latter, but I'm not convinced yet. As I watch the coverage on CNN, I am disturbed by the pomp and circumstance that Obama has allowed himself to be swept into. The set at Invesco Field is kind of embarrassing from my point of view and lends to my sinking feeling that at the end of the day, smoke and mirrors will trump substance. The stark reality for Obama is that he will ultimately have the usual suspects in Congress with which to deal. The Congressional Democrats have thus far shown little in the way of visionary thinking and there is no reason to think that Mr. Obama will motivate them to a loftier place. Lobbyists still lurk in the shadows and the backrooms of Washington, enticing public servants to choose self-interest over the public interest. The permanent bureaucracy still stands ready to be the immovable object. It's a huge task. 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

Dim Bulb

In each human heart are a tiger, a pig, an ass and a nightingale. Diversity of character is due to their unequal activity. ~Ambrose Bierce As a Senior Statesman At-large, part of my commission is to provide guidance toward behaviors that enhance our society and discourage behaviors that detract from our mutual well being. With that in mind, here's a tip for better living. A guy goes into a hardware store as asks a worker where he can locate a tubular light bulb, much like the one in the image. The always courteous and helpful hardware professional, escorts the customer to the appropriate aisle and shows him the various selections available to fill his lighting need. The customer, and this is where you will want to pay special attention, looks at the bulbs and says, "Five bucks? I can get one for a dollar at the Dollar Store". Lest he be brought up on charges of conduct unbecoming a Senior Statesman, the professional hardware man resists the urge to say, "Well why are you looking here then you dumb bastard?", opting instead to suggest that the Dollar Store is an attractive alternative. The civilized consumer never tells the workers in a store how much cheaper a product is at another store. He or she understands that the employees are simply trying to make a living and have no control over the prices. Remember, the few seconds of pleasure that you get from ragging on a hapless employee is paid for by the everlasting impression you leave that you are an as*hole. You're welcome. 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

Did they expect me to read the bag? In times of rapid change, experience is your worst enemy. - J. Paul Getty Now he tells me. I made a bad assumption yesterday and in the words of the lovely Mrs. Sneed, "You could have died." Skydiving, assuming the electricity was off, thinking the water wasn't that deep? Nope mangos. a Merle Wayne Sneed is allergic to mangoes. I have had two near-fatal medical emergencies involved this allergy and I am usually quite careful in making sure anything I eat is mango free. My latest near-death experience started Sunday when the lovely Mrs. Sneed and others were having brunch at a local cafe. I ordered oatmeal, which came served with a delicious assortment of dried fruits and nuts. Very tasty and mango free. I eat oatmeal infrequently, but whenever I do, I wonder why I don't eat it more often? With that question in mind, I bought a bag of mixed dried fruit and nuts yesterday, with the intention of mixing some in the oatmeal that I planned to eat more regularly. I have purchased this assortment before without incident, so I assumed that it was mango free, You know what they say about assumptions, "They make an ass of you and me." ASS-U-ME. Unbeknownst to me, the manufacturer of this product has substituted mango for pear, something I only learned after my face swelled up and I developed full body itch. Generally, this is accompanied by the inability to breath and a runaway pulse. Luckily, this time my symptoms were confined to swelling and itching. After weighing my discomfort against the prospect of sitting for hours in the emergency room among a zillion other sick people, I opted to take some beneodryl and hoped that I didn't die in my sleep. Which I didn't. This morning my eyes are very puffy and I look like a guy whose been on a bender for several days, but otherwise okay. So, here's another key to better living from Merle Wayne Sneed, Senior Statesman At-large. Read the package and don't assume you know what it says. 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

An Important Public Service Announcement

This is the actual flag from my actual front yard. A limp flag against a gray sky pretty much sums up the state of my political career. Rest assured that had Obama/Sneed 2008 come about, the flag would be flapping against the bluest skies you've ever seen. Now that I, Merle Wayne Sneed, have been denied the Vice Presidency by that conniver Joe Biden, I turn my efforts to making American an even better place to live. Not as the second most powerful personin the world, but as a private citizen. I shall become a senior statesman. In my new role as Senior Statesman At-large, I would like to warn all Americans against a threat that poses great danger to you and to your families. Of course, I am talking about the threat posed by explosives that you might have put in a suitcase and forgot about. Lest you think that you are the kind of person who never forgets where you leave your explosives, the following is a reminder that even most responsible explosives owner can be tripped up by the unexpected . In the following case the owner is foiled by the Grime Reaper. What follows is a cautionary tale from the Associated Press, more or less as reported today in the Hooterville Daily Dish, my hometown paper. I will summarize the important details of that story. Auctioneers in Mayflower, Arkansas, were making preparations to auction off the belongings of a recently deceased Navy veteran. One of the items for sale, was an old suitcase which was stuck shut, its latches rusted and its contents unknown. Being professional auctioneers and not just someone's knuckle-headed cousins, the auctioneers decided to crack the suitcase open, to see what was weighing it down. The 'what' turned out to be a load of military explosives. I think I read that all former military personnel are required to keep a load of explosives on their premises in case of national emergency, but I could be wrong about that. The quick thinking auctioneers called the Conway Fire Department, which dispatched a bomb squad to deal with the potentially explosive mess. In the end all ended well, with no one being blown to bits. Even the auction went off as planned. Quoting from the AP story. Deputies continued to investigate the incident, but charges weren't likely as the presumed owner of the explosives is dead, he (Faulkner County sheriff's office Maj. Andy Shock) said. I think we can all agree that the hallmark of professional law enforcers is not charging dead people with crimes. Please heed these words of warning, again from the AP story. But just in case there was any doubt, Faulkner County Sheriff Karl Byrd made sure to stress that owning dynamite or plastic explosives without permission is "definitely illegal." Unless, of course, you are dead at the 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

A Dark Day

Team Sneed is in disarray this morning after having the rug pulled from under our collective feet by the Obama people and that conniver Joe Biden. A late-night voice mail from Mr. Obama put a halt to the frenzied preparations that had been underway at Sneed headquarters. A team of my youthful volunteers were searching the garage, trying to locate my suitcase when the news came that Obama had picked another old white man over me. Team Sneed was enjoying some celebratory refreshments, Pizza Bites and Diet Fanta Orange, when Stuie Knox, former blog intern, turned campaign communications director, informed the team of the voice mail message. "Dude, you better check your voice mail, it sucks to be you right now." And to Stuie's credit, it did suck to be me. Even more than usual. One volunteer summed the mood up succinctly saying, "Shit, he couldn't have called before we moved all those damn boxes?" As a token of my appreciation, I let my campaign finance team keep the change they found among the furniture cushions. That money was earmarked for a bus ticket to Denver. Needless to say, I won't need it now. We've put out a feeler to the McCain camp about the possibility of an Old and Older 2008 ticket, but it is a longshot at this point. Bummer. 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

Breaking News

It was supposed to be a secret. 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.

Congratulations

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth."--John Heywood (Maybe) Last week I received something totally unexpected in the mail. Tedious Systems sent me a letter congratulating me on my recent retirement. It was odd in addition to being unexpected, because I retired thirteen months ago. Perhaps the paperwork was lost under someone's desk or something. Or maybe they just now noticed that I am gone. Whatever the reason for the timing of the letter, it included a brochure featuring 48 fine gifts from which I could choose, as a token of appreciation for my 36 and a half years of dedicated service. You would think that among 48 fine gifts I would see something that I really wanted. But I didn't. There was a table saw, some power tools, a several clocks, cameras, video recorders, many rings, watches, two bikes, exercise equipment and so on. Nothing struck my fancy, so I settled on the Mead Spotting Scope shown above. I'm not sure what I will do with it, aside from spying on the neighbors. The interesting thing is that this isn't my first retirement from Tedious Systems. In 2001 I got a year's pay and a clock to retire. Then they paid me to come back. I got a watch a couple of years ago for having reached 35 years with the company. I've never worn the watch. I figure the kids can argue over it when I die. Loser has to take the watch. Maybe they will send me another letter asking for this gift back. They better hurry, I might sell it on eBay. 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

Jim

Prejudices are what fools use for reason.--Voltaire I have made an accidental friend at Starbucks. I have a history of this and it always turns out badly. One of the draw backs of being a friendly guy is that sometimes the socially-challenged mistake cordiality for friendship. My new accidental friend is a 71-year-old guy named Jim. I am not sure how this happened, but now when I go to Starbucks on the way to work, Jim is there waiting for me. Jim lives in an apartment complex a mile or so from here. The rent is cheap and the population is diverse. Jim laments that he "lives in a ghetto". Jim recently moved here from a big city, back East. (Hottervillians refer to anything east of Denver as back East). Like many big city residents, Jim lived his life in a neighborhood that reflected his ethnic origin. He tends to identify people by their ethnic background and mourns the loss of the old neighborhoods, where everyone knew their place. What is disturbing to me is Jim has a lot of prejudices and the more time he spends talking to me, the more comfortable he becomes in revealing them. Nothing as overt as dropping the N-word into conversation, but lots of innuendo and stereotypes. I don't want to hear it. He also seems to have a history of conflict, based upon the stories he has told. Jim asked me to pick him up at the hospital on Monday, because he is having an outpatient surgery. He has no one to pick him up and they won't let him take a cab. I told him that I would do it, but I am sure I will regret it. The last thing I need is another goofball for a "friend". 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

“Clothes make the man. Naked people have little or no influence in society.” Mark Twain Ever noticed how many people have 'a look' and how much trouble they go to in order to maintain it? I'm not talking about good grooming and dress or looking fashionable. It is something different than that. A unique look that is theirs. Before I slip in to this morass any deeper, I hasten to point out that I am not (a) questioning anyone's right to be an individual, (b) making fun of anyone, (c) being judgmental. So save those accusations. I always wonder about the lengths to which men particularly, will go to make a statement about themselves in their appearance. Merle Wayne Sneed prefers to remain an enigma by looking nondescript, but to each his own. I am thinking of some guys that I see on a regular basis around here. One guy is an old hippie that I see at the bookstore near our house. He drives an old pick up and is usually wearing bib overalls and a long sleeved denim shirt. The ensemble is completed with a floppy hat. He has really long gray hair. He looks like a moonshiner or what I imagine a moonshiner looks like anyway. His is a look that takes a lot of work to maintain I would guess. Another guy comes into our store nearly every day. He is a former Marine. The Marines insist that there are no former Marines, just Marines, but that's a technicality. This fellow is a retired Marine. He is also scary odd because he never buys anything, he just walks around the store like he's conducting an inspection. Attempts at conversation are futile. The Marine is very fit for a man of sixty or so. He is always dressed the same way, in crisp shorts, a Marine Corp embelmed tee shirt and one of those olive drab Marine Corp caps. Every day, same thing. I get that the whole The Few, The Proud, The Marines thing, but this Marine Corps pride taken to the extreme, if you ask me. Anyway, that's just an observation. 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

"A nation is a society united by delusions about its ancestry and by common hatred of its neighbors."--William Ralph Inge. I was impressed with that quote because of a shooting that took place last night here in Hooterville. Apparently, a carload of gang-bangers did a drive-by shooting at a local convenience store. Someone in the store, who may or may not have been another gang-banger, ran out of the store and returned fire, killing a bystander. This unleashed a torrent of knuckleheads in this morning's Hooterville Daily Dish, screaming for all Mexicans to be shipped back to Mexico because, in the minds of the knuckleheads, all Mexicans are murdering gang-bangers. Jackasses. In other news, I vowed not to watch the Olympics because it is just too much. Too many stories about the hardships Olympians endure and too many heart-warming tales of adversity overcome. Megan said this better than I can. Mostly though, there is just too much crap passing as sport. Once the games began, I fell for the whole Micheal Phelps business. Not only did I watch him do all that winning, I made plans to watch. All was lost for my vow to avoid the Olympics. In every lose there is a bit of gain and my loss of resolve to avoid the Games, gave me an opportunity to root against the Chinese. They have more people than anyone and a government dedicated to winning everything. They should never lose, but they do and it warms my heart. When it comes to sporting events, I confess that I am a bit of a jingoist. I am a huge softball fan, in part because Hooterville here, is the softball capital of the world. Despite what Oklahoma City might think to the contrary. Mike Candrea, the USA coach is also the coach of our local university team. Many of the Team USA softball players are University of Arizona alums. Of course, in their wisdom, the Olympic honchos have decided to kick softball out of the Games because the rest of the world can't compete with the US team. I don't recall anyone kicking ice hockey out when the Russians were unbeatable. But not to worry, we will still have grand Olympic sports like badminton. Who the hell plays competitive badminton? And who watches it? Excuse me for pointing it out, but Equestrian sports are just people riding on horses. What the heck is athletic about that, unless you are the horse? Don't even get me started on trampoline, synchronized swimming, or rhythmic gymnastics, which is just modern dance, by the way. And rhythmic gymnastics isn't even good dance. It is a bunch of gymnasts who are not good enough to compete in real gymnastic events, so they made up an event where they dance with balls and ribbons and rings. They look like refugees from Mrs. Smith's Academy of Dance at the annual Spring recital. Rhythmic gymnastics could be improved by the introduction of real dancers, but real dancers would be too embarrassed to actually participate. There, someone had to say it. How about ping pong? I don't think any game that can be played by drunks in a frat house should be an Olympic sport. Can anyone tell how Taekwondo differs from judo? Why do they get a twofer and who is watching anyway? BMX bicycling? Somebody is kidding someone. What's next, skateboarding? Shooting? Puleeze. It's a skill not an athletic endeavor. If you have shooting, you ought to have knife-throwing too. How about juggling or darts? The possibilities are endless. These are midway games not Olympic events. Crap, put in bowling, I may have a shot. At lunch last week, my pal Lonnie and I were watching some guys running around a court trying to throw a small ball into a soccer net. We didn't even know what sport it was. It turns out to be handball, not to be confused with the real handball, which is played by guys at the Y. Luckily, it only comes around every four years. 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

Sippy Cup Nation

"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet." Yesterday's post inadvertently set off a debate about sippy cups. Marcia posed the question, in the form of a declarative sentence, about the official cutoff age for the use of the sippy cup. The lovely Mrs. Sneed and I were discussing it over dinner and we are not sure of the answer. We did agree that since we are a nation on the move, the covered cup seems to have become more common than the open cup. Some might call this a sippy cup. Or this...a sippy cup for all seasons. Or this...the sippy cup home version for adults. Or this...drive-thru sippy cup? The urban sippy cup? I guess regardless of age we all prefer our beverages in us and not on us. Especially not on our grandfather's clean carpet. Grow, develop, run free young man. Just do it on the tile floor or use a covered cup. 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

It Ain't No Possum

Unlike Gomer and Goober, the lying liars from Georgia, the creature in my freezer is the real deal. Young Noah coaxed the beast out of the freezer by tempting it with Tootsie Roll miniatures; regular-sized bars had no effect. They have become fast friends, although the thing continues growl and snap at me. At least now we can get ice cubes. We had it DNA tested and the creature appears to be a cotton/polyester hybrid of some type. Possibly from another planet, as well. 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

Perhaps you have heard the news that a couple of fine gentleman from the Peach State, have an actual Bigfoot in a freezer. A real Bigfoot and they are not kidding. Not to get into a game of one-up-man-ship, but Merle Wayne Sneed has a little something locked away in his freezer. Every time I open the freezer door, I get startled by it. Warning! The following picture contains images that may be disturbing to young children, pregnant women and old people. I warned you. 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

Drill, Damnit!

Our huge thunderstorm last evening knocked out power to a large group of homes, ours included. Unlike our brief two-hour inconvenience, some 1900 homes in the foothills north of our city proper are still without power and will be that way until sometime tomorrow. What a pain. As the saying goes, it sucks to be them. I was headed to the garden center today and virtually every intersection on the way was being controlled by a policeman directing traffic because the signals are out. It took a long time to get there and to get home again. As I drove to the center I was flipping through the radio channels when something caught my ear. It was a rant about oil and oil drilling. The guy on the radio was ridiculing Obama for saying that he wanted to get the nation off oil. The speaker's point was that getting us off oil is impossible because many consumer products contain oil and oil derivatives. He was saying that even if every car was converted to an alternate fuel, we would still need five million barrels of oil per day. My response would be, "So"? Our daily consumption of oil is about 21,000,000 barrels per day. Even if Obama is 75% wrong, we would still reduce consumption by 5,000,000 barrels per day. If you are keeping score at home, that is six hundred million dollars a day in oil we would not be importing. Only a jackass could find fault with the goal of drastically reducing oil consumption. Of course, the solution in the eyes of supply side crowd is to drill more. The reason that this won't work is that many countries are rapidly increasing oil consumption. China uses only about 6,000,000 barrels a day. Does anyone think that their consumption will fall? They have five times our population for Pete's sake. They will require as much oil as can be brought to market. It is way past time to innovate our way out of the morass, not drill our way out. Not to brag or anything, but Daughter Sneed is teaching a psychology class at a local college. Her first class was today and she said it went well. How did a moron like me get a bunch of smart kids? 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

We had a huge thunderstorm this evening and it knocked out our power for a couple of hours. Man, I am glad I did not live a hundred years ago, I would never have survived. I probably need to clarify something about yesterday's post. The owners of our hardware store would never do anything illegal with respect to the employees. They would demand people work overtime, but they would pay for it. Arizona is a right-to-work state so many things that would be considered out of line in more progressive states, forced overtime for instance, is routine here. I was telling Mrs. Sneed tonight that I am feeling a bit haggard these days. I feel like I am doing too many things. I do not mind being busy, but I cannot bear the feeling that I constantly have to be somewhere. I am thinking I need to cut back some. Luckily for me, the Seafood King s out of town and unable to play golf tomorrow. I called Some Guy Named Bob and told him to count me out tomorrow. He pissed and moaned a bit, but I held firm. 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

Pissy Mood

One of my neighbors was cleaning her back yard and piling the junk she gathered in the street in a giant heap. These pots were on top of the heap. Who throws away this kind of stuff? These are about forty bucks each new and they are still in perfect condition. I knocked on her door to see if I could have them but she wasn't home. I took that as a yes and grabbed them. About the time I had them loaded into the back of the car, she came home. She said she sent me an email telling me to take them. I had a bad day at work today. I think that the novelty of working in the hardware store has worn off and little things are starting to piss me off. I was feeling kind of down all day for no specific reason that I could think of. I just felt like I resented being there. After having several hours to mull over why I was feeling peevish, it occurred to me what it was. There was a notice on the board today from the owner to the manager, which the manager had posted with the important points underlined for emphasis. The crux of the memo was that, should the store fall short of expectations in a certain area, all vacations and days off would be canceled. Further, everyone would be expected to work nights, if needed, to correct the situation. Or else. Longtime readers know that Merle Wayne Sneed doesn't like to be told what to do that much and ultimatums will get you nowhere fast. But that isn't really the my problem with the whole business. This managerial muscle flexing shouldn't bother me at all, because I don't really have a stake in the operation. I get paid a piss ant wage to do a job, albeit a job I more or less enjoy. But this job is a job, is not a crusade. So, don't threaten 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

Monday is supposed to be my day off but it didn't work out that way. I was at the rose garden bright and early to deadhead, water and pull weeds. This is a beautful rose, don't you agree? The deadheading never ends. The move of the lucrative Sneed insurance account proceeded apace today. I was successful in changing auto insurers and will soon be moving the house insurance as well. As for The Hartford, they remain clueless. I called today to ask if they have sent the cancellation letter to us yet and the person I spoke to said that they had not. I advised him to cancel us effective today. The old "you can't fire me, I quit". This afternoon I received a notice in the mail for The Hartford that our annual premium is being raised to $2163 from $1602 due to a recent addition to our policy. What addition? It noted that we had been given a discount for being loyal customers and accident-free drivers. Dumb bastards. You can't make this stuff up. 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

Sunday

This lovely little plant is a Sago Palm, which is not really a palm at all. It is a cycas revoluta, and is a descendant from ancient Mesopotamian flora. From an evolutionary standpoint it is still a rather primitive plant. This is a view from directly above the plant. It is a monocot, meaning that all the growth springs from a single point at the top center of the plant. Think of how a palm tree sprouts fronds to get the idea. Dicots, which includes most plants that we commonly see, have many growing points along their branches. I really like this little plant. I did something most unSneed-like last evening, I went to a party. The lovely Mrs. Sneed and I attended the birthday party of my very close friend of 25-years. The attendees were a mix of about one-quarter people I knew from my previous employment and three-quarters were strangers. Consistent with my desire to keep my circle of acquaintances tight, I avoided most of the strangers. We spent most of the evening chatting with another couple. I knew the husband because I worked with him in the 1970s and 1980s. He left our company many years ago and has run his own print business since. I occasionally run into him at a store around town. This fellow told Mrs. Sneed a story about me that I had never heard before or if I have, I do not recall it. It made me think about how the smallest events in life have a big impact. Evidently, years ago, about 1970, I was sitting in the parking lot of convenience store in my company truck, when this guy spied me and came over to ask about how he could get a job at my company. He says that my advice was to apply and then pester the human resources folks often for a job. The more often, the higher likelihood of success. The story rings true because that is exactly how I got my job. I applied and then hounded them unmercifully. So, that is exactly the advice I would have given. Anyway, he followed that tactic and it worked out. According to this fellow, that lead to a ten-year career during which he met his future wife and married her. That job gave him a pathway to buy and operate his successful business. According to him anyway, one conversation with a doofus like me got him to where he is today. Sometime or another, we have all thought of what might have happened 'if only'. Usually we focus on the negative. That fender-bender would not have happened if we left home a minute earlier or later, that sort of thing. The million good things that happened because of their timing, go more unnoticed. Life is like a maze. For better or for worse, one turn changes all the turns that come after 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

Friday

Well, 08/08/2008, the luckiest day in at least thirteen months is upon us. I thought 07/07/2007 was special but today tops even that. 09/09/2009 should really be something, I can't wait. My buddy Noah is here tonight while his mother attends her twentieth high school reunion. How did a young guy like me get a daughter that old? It must be some time shifting thing. We stopped in a fast food place to grab a bite to eat tonight. It was perhaps the worst dining experience ever, made worse by a belligerent jackass in line who kept screeching about the wait. It wasn't me, but thanks for asking. The problem seemed to be that there was just a single cashier and about nineteen knuckleheads cooking, watching cookers cook and managing cookers cooking. What a mess. I blame the entire debacle on the manager, a bossy and abrasive woman named Irene. Almost any customer service problem can be traced back to poor management. The restaurant is located next to a car lot. They have a sign which says, "Our truck prices are so low, you won't care about the price of gas". Wanna bet? Even a free truck cost four dollars a gallon to fill up. Makes no sense to me, but I suppose if you have a lot full of trucks you have to try something. 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

Our hardware store caters to many, many senior citizens. As we all know, seniors can be set in their ways, have ideas that are outdated and don't believe inflation is real. That last one is something I struggle with everyday. Old people just don't get why things cost what they do. They mostly remember when things were cheap. We have a young woman in our store who is an expert on the subject of paint and paint-related matters. She has been mixing and selling paint since she graduated from high school a decade ago. She actually likes to paint, an idea completely foreign to Merle Wayne Sneed. This morning I was walking through the store, minding my own business, when an elderly woman hailed me over. She was standing next to our painting expert holding a can of paint. When I walked over she asked, "Is your house brand paint as good as Krylon?" I immediately realized that our expert had probably already told her it was, but she was looking for a man's opinion. I'm not walking into that trap. I asked her what my coworker had said about it? She replied that she had said it was as good. "Well, there's your answer, I told her. She knows much more about paint than me." Old notions die hard. Speaking of senior citizens, an old, old guy came in yesterday asking to buy a three-way lamp socket, some lamp cord and a new plug. He told me that his son had died and he was trying to update a lamp that had belonged to the son. He was trying to fix it as a memento for his wife, the dead man's mother. I got him his parts and drew him a diagram of how to redo the lamp. Off he went. This morning I was paged to the phone and when I answered it, an old woman said, "You sold my husband some lamp parts yesterday and I'm sending him down there with the lamp. He has it apart and cant figure out how to get it back together." An hour later he appeared with the lamp, in parts, in a large sack. He said he worked on it for seven hours, but the more he worked the worse it got. I have to say, it was butt-ugly as lamps go. Putting it together was a challenge because he couldn't remember exactly how it looked assembled, but after a half hour or so, I got it back together and he was very happy. He said that I was going to make an old lady very happy, but I think he was mostly glad that he wouldn't get blamed for ruining the lamp. The boss came by while I was working on it and told me to be sure to charge him for my labor. I felt bad charging him ten bucks for labor, because with parts, he had about twenty bucks into the thing. 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

In all the hoopla over the car insurance yesterday, I missed posting about the subject that I intended to post about. Longtime readers may recall that I joined the Master Gardener program through our local extension service. Following the educational portion of the training, I volunteered to work with the rose garden committee. What I quickly discovered was that this organization consisted of a bunch of older people with too much time on their hands. They have entirely too many rules for me, very inflexible rules. They are forever sending out cautionary and instructive emails. By joining I violated Merle Wanye Sneed's first rule of organizations, which is to never join an organization. They had rules for everything. So many hours worked by April 1st, so many by year end, you must work this event or that event. All committee work is to be done on on a specific day of the week. With the introduction of my swell hardware job into the mix that is my life, things really got messy. My schedule at work kept me from making it to work day at the garden. Especially when you factor golf into the mix. As it turns out, the garden folks are better at making rules than enforcing their rules. I wasn't as kicked out as I thought. The rose committee doesn't meet over the summer when it's about a hundred and plenty in Hooterville, but the roses still require some care. Someone has to make sure that the watering system is working, weeds are pulled and the roses are deadheaded. I volunteered to take the first part of this month to help out, not knowing whether I was still a member or not. I had visions of tastefully dressed older people chasing me out of the garden, screaming "interloper". Yesterday I spent three hours working all by myself in the rose garden. It was glorious, I forgot how much I enjoy the work, despite the inherent problems in organizations. 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

The No Hartford

Today ladies and gentlemen we will be discussing automobile insurance companies.

Merle Wayne Sneed has long advised folks to shop their insurance around. People usually stick with an insurance carrier for some irrational reason. They might like their agent, they might think changing is way too much trouble or and worst of all, they might mistakenly believe that their loyalty as a customer will be reciprocated. It will not.

The good hands will crush you like a paper cup, there are no good neighbors and cute amphibians will turn out to be poisonous. Loyalty is futile.

Insurance companies are in the business of getting you to buy their policies and faithfully pay your premiums. Then, just when you need them most, they become weasels. "That was no hurricane, it was water damage".

Sometimes they will drop you or jack up your rates for an arbitrary reason, such as your credit got bad. Other times it is because you actually made them pay and they aren't falling for that twice. Luckily for Arizonans, we cannot be canceled unless we commit insurance fraud or fail to pay the premiums. We sure cannot be canceled on a whim. Or so I thought.

Insurance companies are masters of playing games with the law. If they can figure out something in the fine print to screw you, they will. The Hartford, the official auto carrier of AARP and my company, is no exception.

The Sneeds and The Hartford, have had an amicable relationship for about nine years now. We paid on time and in full and made no accident claims. The Hartford also carries the insurance on our home and again, we always pay and they have not had to. What could go wrong? The Sneeds have been near perfect clients.

So here's what went wrong.

Longtime readers will recall that Son Sneed was accused of DUI about 18 months ago and was subsequently exonerated of that charge by the State of Arizona.

As a condition of resolving his situation, Son Sneed was required to take a medical evaluation, before his driving privilege was restored.

Son Sneed chose to surrender his license rather than have it suspended and take some time off of driving. He went to the DMV and voluntarily gave up his driver's license well before the deadline to do so.

Unfortunately for us, the State of Arizona still showed that Son Sneed's license was suspended pending medical evaluation. A fact we only discovered today while at the DMV.

The Hartford knew full well that Son Sneed lived in our house and was covered by another company. The Hartford's only stipulation was that Son Sneed was not a covered driver on our policy and that The Hartford would bear no responsibility for him.

Recently, Son Sneed decided to get the medical evaluation and try to qualify for a driver's license. His doctor filled out the paperwork and the State of Arizona cleared him to resume driving. Today we went and got his license. He didn't even have to take a test.

Since Son Sneed has no car to insure on his own, I figured that I would just add him to our policy with The Hartford as an additional driver. We are in a Catch-22 here. Our policy requires that The Hartford be notified of any license driver living in our home.

When I called them this morning, before we got the license, I explained the situation and was given a quote to add Son Sneed to our policy. I was told to call back when I had his new license number. I was completely upfront with them about the situation. The agent that I spoke with even checked with her boss to confirm the information she had given me.

This afternoon, when I called back with the license number, another agent told me to hold while he checked with underwriting about how to handle the change. After about ten minutes he returned to tell me that he had bad news. My policy was being canceled because Son Sneed had previously had a suspended license and he lived in our house. I was dumbfounded.

He never drove our cars or caused The Hartford any grief, but his mere presence is cause for us to be canceled. I asked to speak to a supervisor and after a wait of about 30 minutes a woman came on the line.

She was upfront in telling me that she had been checking Arizona law as it applied to my situation and that they would still be sending out a cancellation notice. But, if I was to sign a form stating that Son Sneed would not operate our cars and that The Hartford would not be responsible for him in any way, they would reinstate us. They would have outright canceled us, but Arizona law prohibits them from doing so.

Aren't they great? After an nine-year relationship, they are willing to do only what the law forces them too.

I asked if there was anyway they could cover Son Sneed, seeing as how they had to keep us? No way, no how. The nice woman suggested I give Son Sneed one of our cars and that he try to find insurance on his own with another company. That's a possibility but an expensive one.

So, the Sneeds and The Hartford are getting the big D. I spoke to a representative of another national company and they are willing to cover us all, including Son Sneed, for about what we were paying The Hartford. And since I was checking, I priced our our homeowner's insurance and found that I can get our house covered for two-thirds of what The Hartford has been charging us.

So, do not get married to your insurance company, they will break you heart every 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

When you work with the public you see some disturbing stuff. Sad stuff, disgusting stuff, weird stuff. Our store is in a lower middle-class area and lower middle-class, doesn't just mean economically disadvantaged. For instance, I had to take a kiddie pool out to a truck for a customer today. A mom with three kids, all under eight years old. She had me put the pool in the back of an old Dodge truck. She and the kids were all piled into the front, completely unrestrained, with the toddler standing on the seat next to his mom. What year is this? When I went in to the store, one of the cashiers said that when Mom drove up, the older two kids were riding in the back of the truck. Someone needs to tell her she is an idiot. We also get people trying to salvage things. Sometimes it is because they have to squeeze a bit more life out of something, and sometimes it is for other reasons. We have lots of older widows in the neighborhood and they don't have anyone that they can rely on to fix broken stuff, so they bring it in. Broken rakes that need a new handle, lamps that won't light, eyeglasses with missing screws, weed eaters with tangled line, just about anything that that they can carry, they bring in to have us take a look. Most of us are happy to do what we can. We are right next door to a thrift store and some people bring their found treasures in looking to spruce them up or mend them in some way. We see more than a few watches from the thrift store. People usually come in for a battery, hoping that a new battery will resurrect an old watch. Sometimes it does, but mostly it doesn't. Today a guy came in with a teenie tiny perfume bottle that he found in the thrift store. It was sterling silver and he said it was from the 1930's. The only problem was that it leaked from the top. He wanted to stop it from leaking, before he surprised his wife with it. I put a tiny o-ring on the threads, which stop the leaking, but he said it didn't look authentic. The o-ring looked like it belonged on the bottle when the cap was on, but Mr. Bigshot wasn't satisfied. I guess he probably had to go to a hardware store where they have an antique repair section. This afternoon an older woman came in to pick up her crucifix. That's just what she told me, "I'm here to pick up my crucifix. Bill was going to repair it for me." Bill is the saint of the store and is loved by one and all. He goes way above and beyond for the customers. Some of the older customers call and ask that he bring them this item or that and he cheerfully does it. Bill has a following of hundreds of customers who shop in our store because he works there. If he left, they would too. I like to think of myself as Bill in training, but I flatter myself. I found the repaired crucifix in the back room and gave it to the customer. It turned out to belong to her one hundred year old mother, who was sitting in a chair nearby. she was delighted to get it back, nearly as good as new. Repairing stuff is the real fun in the job. It breaks up the monotony of working and people are really happy when you can fix something. 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