It Could be Worse, But I’m Optimistic

Posted on October 26, 2012 by enthusiasmiscontagious

A young girl was known for being unabashedly optimistic at all times, and it frustrated her parents. Despite their best efforts to tamper her overly rosy look on life, she continued to dream big and often. Her 8th birthday was around the corner, and she had been asking and was expecting a pony for her birthday. It was then that her parents felt that now was the time to educate her to life’s disappointments. While she was in school, they filled the garage with horse manure and that afternoon when the birthday candles were being blown out by her, they took her to the garage. Squealing with delight, she jumped into the pile, began shouting with laughter and threw manure in the air. Stunned at their daughters excitement for a pile of manure they asked, “What are you so excited about?” Without missing a beat, she happily proclaimed, “With this much manure, there has to be a pony in here someplace.”

I’m like her, I’m choosing to keep my enthusiasm for life no matter what life brings me. God is always trying to educate me to His perspective; I just wish I had His eyes more often. Twelve years ago we purchased a beautiful home on the side of a little mountain in Kentucky. It took only a month to learn after the purchase that we had been horribly defrauded. Not a little but a lot. Despite numerous setbacks (there were many) waiting 7 1/2 years for the court system to find in our favor, we finally restored the home. With the help of carpenter friends, a partial court settlement, and borrowing all the money we could from my retirement fund, we finally restored it fully.

We never got to enjoy the new oak hardwood flooring, the thousands of dollars in upgrades and decor, for we relocated to a hotel and a new job in Tennessee immediately following completion.

It has been more than two years since we left our home, and what a struggle it has been to make payments on two places especially when one sits empty.

But today the clock ran out and so did our money. We lost our home and our investment today. As I reflect on the high’s and the low’s of today’s events, I am choosing to look at our financial loss with an optimism only my Creator could give me. You’ll never know in the nine years we lived in that house, the interventions we saw God do. He met our needs through fire, mudslide, electrical and plumbing fiascoes. While I may never fully understand His reasoning, He did give me an epiphany that made me smile.

Despite the fact that my credit score will probably resemble the gross national product of Paraguay for the foreseeable future, I have reason to find happiness. Because beginning today, I will not have to worry about being a target of identity theft. No one will be able to purchase an envelope with my credit.

That my friends is optimism.

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Where is The Service?

Posted on October 24, 2012 by enthusiasmiscontagious

In the past decade I have been astounded at the varying options for degree programs. Fifteen years ago, one university actually offered a degree in Frisbee tossing. How this would have helped a person acquire a job on Wall Street, I’ll never know. It may however get you an inside job at Papa Gino’s Pizzeria. It seems to me that education is missing a major component today. I ask, why don’t schools from grade school to college teach mandatory courses on ‘proper service techniques?”

Everywhere I turn nowadays, I have to do everything for myself. Restaurants and fast food establishments expect me to serve myself and get my own beverage. If I have to assume the role of waiter and waitress, why don’t they knock 15% off my bill for tipping myself?

Isn’t it a strange phenomenon that when you walk into a department store you see bunches of store help milling around talking, but the moment you need assistance they appear to have been beamed up to the Starship Enterprise? Not one in sight. Last year, I was searching for gift tissue paper. I wanted to wrap up some early Christmas presents. Finding a rare “sales associate” (politically correct term for helper), I asked him where I could find gift tissue paper. He pointed me to aisle 8. When I got to the designated aisle, I found he had sent me to the toilet paper section. I thought to myself, this would be one way to impress your family and friends; wrap their Christmas presents in Charmin. At least the recipient would be flush with pride. (I know bad pun)

Grocery stores are another example of deficient service. You know why milk is on the last aisle? Because if you got it first, shopped and then waited to be checked out, it would look like tofu by the time you got to your car. Why you ask? Because the checkout process is like aging. You start out happy and end up old and cranky. I have no sympathy for die-hard rock fans who camp out all night for good tickets. The only difference between them and me is I don’t lie down in line, and my wait not theirs causes varicose veins.

Murphy’s Law dictates that when I check out, the computer doesn’t recognize a bar code, the sale is over, the coupon can’t be scanned, the checker looks like she could use Fibercon, or the grocery bagger appears to have had maybe 15 minutes of orientation. The proof is in my loaf of bread. It looks like unleavened communion bread. That’s because when I get home, I invariably find my 10-pound bag of spuds in the same bag.

I am now at the point where I don’t want to answer, “Paper or Plastic?” For all I care, you can pack my groceries in a camel bladder, I just want to go home.

The solution to the lack of service in grocery stores is elementary. Store managers need to teach some simple mathematics. 68 customers in line does not equal two checkers and one bagger. Eggs are lighter than all canned goods and in spite of whatever the checker encounters, she needs to remember that from the customers perspective, it’s a lot harder to get angry at a smiling face than one that looks like she babysat for Dennis the Menace.

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I Have A Little Thing Called Perspective

Posted on October 22, 2012 by enthusiasmiscontagious

This being my birthday week, I am becoming more and more aware of my age. I was standing in the grocery store check out line and my eyes fell upon a magazine that boldly proclaimed 40 is the new 30, 50 the new 40. You get the picture. I’ve never been blessed to look young. If I had written the headline for the magazine based on my life, the headline would have read 50 is the new 50. My wife in comparison to me still looks 15 years younger than me, yet we’re only one year apart in age. I try to convince her it’s because I’ve taken better care of her than she has of me. Funny when I tell her that she never says a word, she just walks away with hysterical laughter. I’m getting paranoid.

Oh I see the telltale signs of my own aging. My eyes look like they’re going on vacation because the bags under them are packed. Each year my nose gets larger. I figure in the next three years at my present growth rate, I ought to be able to smell soy sauce from Hanoi. Despite my loss of hair the rest of my body doesn’t seem to notice. That’s because I look like a cross between Sasquatch and a Chia Pet in my bathing suit. Does this depress me? Nope, not a bit. Why? Because I have what is called “perspective.”

Perspective is that little thing that opens your eyes to the bigger picture.

I was cleaning my computer cache’ of all my spam messages. Do you ever take note of what’s in your spam (junk) folder? If I had an opinion about myself based on the advertisements that are aimed at me, I’d be depressed and in therapy. Somewhere out in the blogosphere hundreds if not thousands of people are targeting me because they think I have garnered a huge Nigerian inheritance. They’re confident I’m a belly blaster using, scooter driving, on the prowl playboy with personal plumbing problems, looking for Russian women while operating an in-home business.

The real story couldn’t be further from the truth. My present reality is I’m dull and almost decrepit. In fact if I were a horse, I’d be on my way to the glue factory. I don’t have time nor the energy for extra frivolities.

However with my new perspective, I have a spring in my step. At least I can look in the mirror each day and know I’m not what my spam folder thinks I am.

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I Hate A Man Named Les

Posted on October 19, 2012 by enthusiasmiscontagious

In the past thirty years I have come to hate an individual I have never met. Harsh words I know from a man who should know better. Whether you work in big business, teach in a school, volunteer at church, or deliver pizza’s you’ve heard his name a million times. I’m talking about a man named Les.

Each year for whatever reason, bosses across America are telling workers, “I’m sorry but you’re going to have to do more with Les.” “I know you’re doing the work of three people, but we have no choice, you’ll be working with Les today.”

My biggest question is, “WHO IS THIS MANIACAL SLAVE DRIVER, LES?” No one has ever seen him, so how do we know he exists? The proof is in the workplace.

The first piece of evidence of whether Les works with you at your job is if all the employees have a title. I was eating at a well-known restaurant chain recently and I opened the menu. Inside were two pictures of smiling employees with the titles of, “Freshness Officer,” and “Quality Inspector”. Twenty years ago these same people would have been known as cooks and waitresses. Now they sound like they should be serving me in full military uniforms adorned with gold braid.

The second piece of evidence that Les works at your job is how much energy you have at the end of the workday. If you crawl to your car and have only enough strength to bench press an egg noodle when you get home, this is added proof Les works at your job.

The third and final piece of evidence can be found in your paycheck. If the amount barely covers the cost of a box of Triscuits and Cheese Wiz after taxes, then Les definitely works at your job.

I suggest corporate America do three things for their employees: eliminate the fancy titles (they’re not fooling anybody) or raise the pay commensurate with the titles and let them work with Les for a change. Then for us, replace Les with a new Guy named Mr. More. We need More. I would far better appreciate spending my day working with More than Les, wouldn’t you?

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