The tipping for take out conundrum

After a six and a half hour drive, we made it to Omaha. Bellevue to be specific. The drive was rather uneventful other than the semi we passed that was crumpled like a can.

We got to the hotel, and were happy to see a Famous Daves just across the street. I called to order take out, at 9:30, and they were closed. They close at 9 here for the winter.

Then Fiance realized she left a bag at home, which contained her glasses and contact stuff as well as other things.

"That's OK, hon, I'll go find a Walmart or drug store or something." I like being a hero.

So I got back into the car, drove down the little side street we are on next to Cornhusker Road. I took a left, thinking there must be stuff on this road since it's a highway exit. After five miles of nothing but streetlights and nothing but a Casey's gas station, I turned around and headed the other way. Wouldn't you know it, but pretty much a few blocks from where I began in the other direction, I found a Walmart.

I parked in the lot nearest the pharmacy door, only to find they were painting that side of the building and I had to walk to the other door by the grocery. I picked up the needed items and got to the cashier. I then made the mistake of trying to get some smokes. She asked for my ID, and all I had was my snipped ND license and the paperwork for the MN license that still hasn't arrived two weeks later. She didn't know if she could accept these forms of ID. I said to forget it then. Then she called the manager over, and he approved it.

The night wasn't done yet. Across from the Walmart was a Buffalo Wild Wings. I figured I could get some take out from there. I went in and the place was pretty empty. The manager welcomed me and asked what I wanted. Then he wandered off. Then a waitress asked me, said she had to get a card, then she wandered off. Then the manager came back, I ordered, and here comes the part where I have the conversation in my head every time I get take out and have to use a card.

"There's a tip line. Do I write in a tip? Isn't the point of take out so you don't pay for delivery? Why is there a tip line? Tipping is usually for good service, but our transaction hasn't finished, so how do I know if the food or service will be good? If I don't tip, will they spit in my food? I wonder how much snot or mucus I've eaten over the years from angry servers. If I do tip, and the food is horrible, or the service sucks, I'll feel ripped off. Aargh!"

I usually end up tipping 2 bucks or 10 percent. I don't know why, or what the expectations are.

I sit down and wait for the food, which he said would be 10 minutes. It took about 25. There weren't many people there, and I saw a lot of people come in, perhaps to work or pick up checks, I don't know. After a while, I went up to the empty counter and stood there, impotently, for a few minutes, as no one was there and no one was minding the store.

Then some guy who obviously was a kitchen worker came in, saw me, and a minute later, he buzzed the coaster thing I was holding and gave me my bag of food. I had been completely forgotten about.

I took it back to the hotel, where the fiancé ate her sandwich, and I felt horrible about how long it took. I feel even worse as she throws up in the bathroom. Not sure if it's from the chicken sandwich that she said was cooked, but cold, or from her emotions about why we are here - to see off her best friend and maid of honor who will miss our wedding due to the war in Afghanistan - we don't know. But it sure doesn't help matters.

I can't wait to log on to the buffalo wild wings site to fill out the survey, though.

Wrath of the allergies

A few years ago, fiance was getting sinus infections every 6 weeks. Has been for  a long time, as she didn’t develop sinuses like the rest of us. She’s been having them so long that normal antibiotics are useless for her. It’s a sucky situation. 

Then, a specialist had her tested for allergies. She turned out to be allergic to most everything, and gets double hit with the sub-zero Fargo air in the winter. We started allergy shots two+ years ago. After the first few months, they trained me how to do it so we could take care of it from the comfort of home with her favorite television show to distract her.

She still curses me every week. Gives me dirty looks when I say it’s time for her shot.

The whole process is simple. Take a Benadryl pill. Wipe the two vials, fill half the syringe with one, top it off with the other. Wipe her arm. Shoot her with the medicine. Slather anti-itch cream on it and slap a cold pack on her arm. For two days, she has a red welt. 

She now gets sinus infections once every six months, if that. It’s been working well.

Then we moved. And once the syringes ran out, it was time to get more. I never had issues with getting them in Fargo. The medicine comes in the mail. I just pick up a new 10 pack when we need them at the drug store. I went into Target on Tuesday to pick some up, and met all sorts of glares and sass.

“We don’t carry allergy syringes. People do that at the clinic. You need a prescription.”

Same thing at the nearby Walgreens. 

I wanted to yell, but criminy, they were bitchy about it. Let’s just say, for shit’s sake, that I wanted syringes for illegal drugs. What sense does it make to have them be prescription-only devices? The only thing this policy does is force drug users to re-use and share needles. Way to go, Minnesota.This whole shot thing is simple, and I've been doing it for more than a year now. I'm more than capable of doing this and saving 30 bucks a week rather than Fiance having to go in to a clinic and lose time at her new job.

OK, so I had Fiance transfer whatever info they needed, and we were cool, but today I tried to pick them up and it turned out the transfer went to a Target in Minnetonka, not Plymouth. So after getting lost trying to find the place during rush hour, I finally had the syringes. After picking out the flowers for the wedding, we got home and it was time for the shot.

These new Target syringes were different than the ones I got in Fargo. The Fargo ones had a cap on the top and on the plunger. Just pull them off and you are ready to go. These syringes just had a cap on the needle. I pulled off the cap, and there was no needle.

“Huh”

So it appears the needle is still in the cap. I try pulling it apart. Nothing. Try again. Nothing. Keep applying force and the needle pops out to my surprise and IM STICKING MY FINGER WITH IT AND OH MY GOD THE BLOOD get me to the sink “Why are you so horrible?!” I yell at the needle that I am sure broke off in my finger because it feels hard and swollen (that’s what she said) but a closer look at this demonic thing from medicinal hell confirms that it didn’t break off and I am a wuss and now Fiance decided to go to bed because “why would I seriously want you to give me a shot now?” but she really will use any excuse to get out of getting a shot dear lord I hate these new syringes.

Netzophrenia

Hello valued customer, 

I want to thank you for choosing Netflix, also known as Quickster, then for a few hours, Moovier, before changing back to Netflix again.

In these tough and unknown economic times, we at Netquick strive to fully show our support by mirroring the United States' uncertainty and keeping you, the customer, on your toes. Are you enjoying the ride?

Quickflix wants to inform you that to keep our prices low, we will be making a slight change in our services. Our movies will now be delivered right to your hand by elephant. That’s right, Netphant is working for you. Our elephants, you should know, cannot reach every residence due to local laws, so between our service described two sentences ago and now, we have changed our business model to deliver you movies on the double by providing one central location in Kansas City where you can bring in your movies and take home new ones at the same low cost of 10.99 a month. That just changed to 12.99 a month. Order Quickphlixsas soon.

You may notice the name change throughout this letter. At this point, it is difficult to write our name in any correspondence since we change it every 10 seconds. By the time I went back and changed them all, they would be out of date. So I will continue to refer to our services as they are named when I write them. That’s the up to date care you will get from us at Netster.

So for the low introductory price of 15.99, you can get 10 minutes of your favorite movies at a time. Our central location has now changed to Nome, Alaska. If you are enroute, for 5.99 a month, you can get our new ap that will tell you where the central location is to go and get your next movie. It’s never been so easy!

Thank you for continuing to support Netfilmresidue. We appreciate your business.

Sincerely,

The Netflop team

Photo essay: Wall Street

So Occupy Wall Street is going on right now. Here's a handy chart of what the average CEO makes vs. the average worker.

So Occupy Wall Street is going on now. Here's a photo of that.

An estimated 15,000 people showed up to a march this week. Here's a photo of 15,000 people.

If you were to fill the same space with CEOs based on average salary, so for every 475 people, you have 1 CEO, you get about the number of people on the football field:

I'm too busy to spend more time searching for an appropriate photo of precisely 31 people from a distance, but I think you get the point.

Pigmy

 (This is an old thing I wrote as an exercise in a "break up" scene. Putting it here because why not.)

SETTING:                                          An apartment. Furnished for two men in their 20s,

with a nice television, video game system. Old furniture. Band posters on the wall. A coffee table with a crack down the middle. The living room and kitchen are connected. One opening leads to their bedrooms. A door leads to the outside hallway.

FADE IN:                                           Evening. Paul comes home from work wearing a

pizza delivery outfit. Stan is lying face down on the floor. Paul sees him and quietly heads to the kitchen and starts rooting around for something. After checking a few places, he slams the last cupboard shut.

Paul

Son of a bitch.

                                                            Stan

(Head rises from the floor. Crumbles of Rice Chex stick to his face as he looks around the room)

 What?

                                                            Paul

Where’s my cupcake?

                                                            Stan

Your what?

                                                            Paul

My cupcake, a-hole, where’s my cupcake?  I left it right here on the counter.

                                                            Stan

I’m sorry, man, I ate that cupcake. For real.

                                                            Paul

Man, why you keep eating my shit?  That cupcake was obviously not yours.

                                                            Stan

Well if I knew you’d be such a pansy, I wouldn’t have eaten it.

                                                            Paul

How would you like it if I ate all your cupcakes?

                                                            Stan

Jesus. I didn’t see your name on that cupcake. Why is it that important? It’s just a cupcake.

                                                            Paul

It was a cupcake given to me by Ginny for my birthday. We were going to eat it after dinner tonight. What, do I got to label my cupcakes?  We live in a society where a man should not have to label his own food.  Let me ask you, how many people live here?

                                                            Stan

Two.

                                                            Paul

Yes, me and you.  Did you buy that cupcake? Did you make it? 

                                                            Stan

No, I didn’t buy that cupcake.

                                                            Paul

So, if you didn’t buy it, it obviously wasn’t yours, right?

                                                            Stan

Yes, it obviously wasn’t mine.

                                                            Paul

                                    (Pulls out some spaghetti from the fridge)

So, is this spaghetti yours? I don’t see a name on it.

                                                            Stan

No, that’s not mine.

                                                            Paul

                                    (Throwing spaghetti at STAN)

Well, why don’t you have some anyway? 

                                                            Stan

Man, cut it out!

(A marmoset, which can be a puppet or person in a poorly designed costume, comes out from behind the couch and begins eating the spaghetti while sitting atop STAN’s head.)

                        Paul

What the hell is that?

                                                            Stan

Shit. Paul, meet Frank, my pigmy marmoset.

                                                            Paul

Your what?

                                                            Stan

My pigmy marmoset. I picket it up from a friend at the zoo. On the down low, so …

(puts finger to lips)

shhh.

                                                            Paul

Why do you have a monkey?

                                                            Stan

A marmoset, man, don’t hurt Frank’s feelings.

                                                            Paul

For Christ sake.

                                                            Stan

Look, these little guys are great at grooming. I figure why shower if you have a marmoset to take care of your hair?

                                                            Paul

Wait a minute. Is this what ate my cupcake?  Is this why I found bits of poop on the walls in the bathroom?

                                                            Stan

Sort of. Frank did eat your cupcake, not me, but the poop wasn’t his. Frank doesn’t throw poop.

                                                            Paul

It was yours then?

                                                            Stan

No, don’t be ridiculous. That was Sophie’s poop.

                                                            Paul

Sophie?

                                                            Stan

Yeah, my emperor tamarin. I’m teaching her to clean my room. I got a maid outfit for her and everything. You should see it.

                                                            Paul

Another monkey?

                                                           

                                                            Stan

Another sort of monkey. She has the cutest mustache, like a reverse handlebar.

                                                            Paul

How long have you had these animals?

                                                            Stan

Oh, a few months now. I’m surprised you hadn’t noticed. Sophie likes to cuddle up in your bed when you’re not home.

                                                            Paul

Jesus.

                                                            Stan

Yeah, plus she’s a wiz at making beds.

                                                            Paul

Stan, we’ve got to talk.

                                                            Stan

Okay.

                                                            Paul

Alone.

                                                            Stan

Anything you got to say to me you can say in front of Frank.

                                                            Paul

Fine. Stan, I’m leaving. Now.

                                                            Stan

You’re leaving?  Why?

                                                            Paul

You wouldn’t understand.

                                                            Stan

Is it because of the cupcake?  I can get you another cupcake. Trust me, I got connections in cupcakes.

                                                            Paul

No. It’s the monkey thing. I can’t live with primates.                                                           

                                                            Stan

You don’t mean that. You can’t be so prejudiced. Don’t listen to him Frank!

                                                            Paul

I’ll be back later for my things.

                                    (PAUL opens door to leave)

                                                            Stan

You’ll be back. Trust me, Sophie can cover your half of the rent, no problem. She’ll work the streets, she’ll clean other houses. We can live without you.

                                    (Door slams shut)

Frank, I guess it’s just you me and Sophie now. I call dibs on Paul’s bed.

To the pickledick who looked at my resume this morning

Dear pickledick,

I'm sorry I don't know your name. Or who you are. My resume found its way into your hands via your hairdresser, an acquaintance of my fiancé. When my fiancé had done said acquaintance a solid, she was asked if there was anything she could do in return. "Find my fiancée a job," she said, half joking, half fed up.

You see, although I've been unemployed for just a few weeks, and have had several interviews, my fiancé has learned that I don't do well without a job. I don't relax. I am the energizer bunny of applying to jobs, doing laundry, dishes, errands, and just not stopping. It's hard to live with, I guess.

The hairdresser said you would be coming in the next day and that you might be looking for a writer for some videos. She said she would pass on my resume.

I wasn't really expecting much from the whole thing, but figured it wouldn't hurt.

So the hairdresser comes in today and tells my fiancé how viscerally the guy reacted to my resume. Under my job duties at the small newspaper I worked at 10 years ago, I have:

· Reported city and county government, agriculture and business news

· Generated, wrote, shot photos and designed features on art, lifestyles, family and

religion for the weekend section under tight deadlines

· Formatted content for obituaries and opinion and pulled copy for food and

entertainment features

· Copy edited paper according to AP style

Straight forward, includes a sense of the many duties I juggled, active verbs, no biggie, right?

Nope.

This guy I guess went off on the fact that I included obituaries and food in the same bullet point. That's a criticism I can handle and consider as I continually revise and refine my resume. It's what came next that makes me hate you. A lot.

You said it doesn't surprise you that I haven't been hired yet because of this resume. That it isn't written in sentence form. That I included obits and food in the same line.

"This guy is a terrible writer," you said. "The thing that bothers me about writers is that I can write better than any of them."

My fiancé, god bless her, took this criticism relayed from the hairdresser and said it seemed a bit overboard. The hairdresser stood on the side of her client, who is a millionaire, so obviously he knows what he's talking about. He said he would look again if I fixed all the issues.

OK, pickledick, here's where you went wrong. You went from professional courtesy to professional asshole. It's a pretty thick divide between the two, so I am impressed with your ability to straddle both worlds.

One, I've been unemployed for a couple weeks, and have already had 4 interviews, so I must be doing something right. Also, your attitude toward writers in general seems overly negative. Did a writer molest you as a child? Is that how you got your millions?

The thing I've learned from reading a dozen books on resumes from supposed experts in the arena is that they are as variable as snowflakes. Format, style, emphasis varies from person to person, based on a multitude of factors including amount of experience, education, work history and skills. Each expert in these books gave different advice that conflicted with each other. You pick what you like from hundreds of examples and make a resume that works for your situation.

What this amounts to is that you do your best to create a resume that is visually appealing, presents information in a logical manner for that candidate, uses active verbs, and doesn’t include glaring grammatical mistakes. To pretend that your vision of a resume is the only possible way to do them is asinine.

At heart in your attitude is something that I think gets at a deep myth of the Midwest and the country at large. Observing my fiancé go through unemployment for more than a year and the reactions she got from people, reading articles and comments on unemployment, and reading the stupefying, simplistic advise from HR professionals in blogs that point out silly errors in resumes - I have come to the hypothesis that the way we view job hunting and employment is ridiculous. We view those hunting for jobs as flawed, that there must be something they are doing wrong that they continue to search. In America, all you need is the desire to work and it will come. If you are searching for a job and aren't getting one, there must be something fundamentally wrong with you. It's your fault.

This view is most often held by people with jobs.

The unemployment rate would not support that. There are many people out of work, all applying for jobs, and what makes one stand out above others I suggest is more often down to the whims of hiring managers or the computer systems they rely on. I've applied to jobs that I am half-qualified for, I've applied to jobs I'm more than qualified for. I've taken 4 hours tailoring my resume and cover letter to a specific position, I've shotgunned a generic cover letter and resume to 10 jobs in a day. There is no pattern to which ones have called me to talk other than that it's more often smaller companies and that spending four hours on one resume is a waste of effort. Large corporations like GM, UnitedHealth, Cargill and so on send auto-emails that say other applicants more closely matched the position, which is frankly impossible for some of them, as the job is what I have been doing for years beyond what they were looking for and I took pains to include language directly from their posting in my resume.

I talked to someone at Celarity, a hiring agency for creative professionals like me. The guy I spoke to gave me some helpful tweaks to consider, and said part of the issue was that I lived too far away. Now that I am here, and did exactly what he suggested on the resume, I still have yet to hear from them. So the sad fact is you can do everything right even for that particular recruiter and still get stiffed.

This blaming of the applicant is the rally cry of those who have jobs. I'd say it's like blaming the victim, but the connotations inherent in that make me sound insensitive. However, we unemployed are often screwed daily by HR computer systems that reject us for jobs we are more than qualified to do.

In an economy like this, there are many applicants out there with perfectly good resumes that don't get a chance. That's the reality of the market. It's like publishing. I've read a lot of incredible novels and short story collections that will never get published, not because they aren't worthy, but there's only so many books the publishing industry can support.

So, as you get your haircut and throw your judgment around, consider the idea that many others are finding my resume appealing and I haven't been out of work very long. I appreciate the constructive criticism and advice, it's the judgment that you can keep.

And on behalf of all writers and journalists who have been honing their craft for a dozen years, article after article, story after story, novel after novel; on behalf of those who have sought an education in writing to pursue a field of work that, like politicians and teachers, everyone thinks they can do better; go fuck yourself.

Sincerely,

Fargo Jones

Open letter to vent frustration

(The following open letter is written in the voice of my fiance as she adjusts to the politics of working on a college campus. It is a letter to the dean that will never be sent, even with the more confrontational bits taken out. It’s amazing how much shit we must eat to keep a job that continually changes the rules and gives you conflicting directions. Background: she was hired to run the writing center, but it is increasingly clear that she is only to do what she is told and take blame for any problems that arise from that.)

It was good to meet with you this morning. I have a few follow ups.

1. Earlier, you indicated that the faculty adviser would be advising me for only this semester, and that the writing center would become my responsibility. However, whenever said adviser is around, you say the opposite. Not sure which is true.

2. I’m having difficulty reconciling the job duties as described to me upon hiring and in my job description and the reality that is continually presented.

Since I began at the writing center, I have been anxious to help develop it into a valuable resource for students and the college. In practice, it has been difficult to do anything to move the center forward. I am greatly enjoying working with students, which continues to be the best part of the day. Now that I know I won’t be adjuncting this semester as you promised earlier, leaving me thousands short of what I expected when I moved here, I am holding on to this student contact like oxygen. The students seem to be very thankful for the help as well as evidenced by a very high return rate. I also am continuing to strengthen relationships with the learning center.

However, I could do so much more. I would like to meet with classes to promote the writing center. I would like to develop strong ties with TRIO and Veterans Services to obtain referrals. Every time I try to do something to increase awareness, I am cut short by the adviser who says I'm doing it wrong. Then I am held responsible for the low student turnout. 

My adviser said she will be the face of the writing center, and that I am just to help students. Since I don’t understand such things, I asked my fiancee, who has been in marketing for five years.

Him: “So she’s the face of the writing center?”

Me: “Apparently.”

Him: “She goes around to talk to classes, not you?”

Me: “Right.”

Him: “But she’s never at the writing center?”

Me: “Correct.”

Him: “That’s incredibly stupid marketing.”

I was unaware until this morning that I also have more experience than my advisor along with more training and education. This knowledge and experience is not being used to full potential. While I appreciate her input into the writing center as it relates to the college, I don’t know how helpful or cost effective it is to have her spend less than one hour a week on writing center related issues, which invariably result in my having to stop any plans to increase awareness.

I understand the mission of the writing center, and I want to help it become what you want it to be; however, I feel the main message I gleaned from this morning is that I cannot do anything without approval and that I should just let things transpire as they will. Meanwhile, I will be held responsible if the writing center doesn’t grow as much as we both desire.

I write this in the hopes that you will allow me to dig in and begin making the writing center a place the students need and use regularly.

Thank you for your time.

Houses are horseshit

So it’s 2007, my new job is going well. My sister recently bought a house. My brother is house shopping. I’m living in a studio apartment in Fargo for $375 a month. I decide to take the plunge as well into home ownership. 

I have few reasons.

The market has crashed already. Rates are low.

Not sure I want a house, but it seems like the grown up thing to do. I have a solid job. And I go through the First-time Homebuyers program that helps people like me get a house. You take a class and learn all the ins and outs of buying a home. I can see myself settling in for five years in Fargo. They say you have to do five years in a home to make it worth it. (which is horseshit, by the way)

After looking at more than a dozen homes, I find one in the upper end of my price range ay 103,900. It’ll be tight moneywise, but it’s a nice character home, big trees, perfect size for a single guy and a roommate.

Home ownership is part of what we are told to do when we grow up. You get a home. You fix it up. You have your own private place. You build a bit of equity as the housing market rises. I didn’t see how it was worth it at the time. I figured I would be better off staying in an apartment and stashing the money away into savings or into stocks. But the pressure to buy, to be something I’m not, to live up to the parent’s expectations, was too much. 

I’ve been reasonably happy with the house. But not enough to warrant the purchase.

So 4 years later, I’ve been paying 875 a month average. About 100 of that goes to principal, the rest to interest and insurance and taxes.  That’s $42,000 for four years. Only 26 more to go and I own it!

And that isn’t counting 300 a year for flood insurance, 500 for a new dishwasher, 170 a year for rotor rooter, 500 to get the tree trimmed, 500 a year for other fixit type things, and looming costs of painting and shingles. Add in the 50 a month for the city garbage, extra 60 a month in electricity and heating compared to an apartment, and you’ve got another 10,000 for a total of $52,000 in four years. That’s now more than half the cost of the home in four years.

For comparison, a similar two bedroom apartment in Fargo currently goes for 625 a month. No extra costs for garbage, sewer, fixing things, or homeowners insurance or property taxes. $30,000 assuming I overpaid for the last four years. Let’s add renter’s insurance at $200 for fun, and it’s still not up to $40,000. That’s assuming I moved out of the studio into nicer digs, which may not have happened.

So in four years, I spent an extra 12,000 to have a place I get to fix, mow, shovel, and deal with a racist neighbor from hell (neighbors from hell can be found in apartments and in neighborhoods. Fact!) If I stayed there until paid off on the 30 year plan, I’ll have spent over 300,000.

Well, how about getting that principal back upon selling, you ask? I’m now asking 106,500 with no takers after 3 months. That’s barely over 0.5 percent a year. How much will I gain at that price? Nothing. Not a dime. Although I’ve paid into principal, even an extra 100 bucks a month for the first two years, I don’t see anything. The real estate agents and banks take that. I’ll be lucky if I can pay off the 1000 I spent to spiff up the place with new paint and watersealant and landscaping.

So now I have the joy of paying for a place I can’t sell and don’t live in, while unemployed. I’m still trapped in Fargo.

I asked the loan manager at the bank if I could just pay the interest and insurance and taxes because of all this, just cut off the 120 or so in principal. No dice.

This whole home ownership just has no upside to me. Anyone I ever hear talk about their home is always complaining about how much work it is and what broke last week. A coworker had to spend 5000 out of pocket to fix his fence last summer.

I honestly don’t see it. The only way it would make sense to me is if you planned to stay in the same place for 15 years, and who can foresee that when jobs don’t often last that long?  I guess without people to buy into this whole system, banks wouldn't make money, so hey, we can all feel better about helping banks out, right? 

I guess I like the honesty of apartments as well. Yes you are helping someone else get rich, but they are providing a place to live that they fix if it breaks. It's a lot easier to leave an apartment than a house. And the owner isn't promising that you will one day make money off it it when you won't. ever. 

Rant over.

Anyone interested in buying a house? I've got the perfect one for you!