The Bike Shop

April 4, 2008

I have never taken the time, nor had the inclination, to post anything about the job that I had prior to my current job. This, of course, does not mean that nothing occurred at the Bike Shop that was worth writing about, as those six years provided me with a lifetime worth of material. The following is a true account of a sequence of events that unfolded that would stupify even the most hardened individuals…

The day began normally enough… I was polishing a bicycle on the showroom floor while watching one of my co-workers empty the garbage containers outside the plaza. The plaza was home to the bike shop, a pizzeria, and a coffee shop, and since the owner of the bike shop owned the whole plaza and rented to the other stores, we were responsible for any garbage containers located outside of the doors of the stores.

On this particular day Jeff was handling the garbage duty. I noticed that as he emptied the garbage outside the coffee shop, he reached into one of the bags and pulled something out. After staring for a minute and trying to figure out what he was holding, I recognized the distinct shape of a can of Pringles chips (to this day, I still haven’t determined whether going through the garbage he was emptying was a regular practice for Jeff).

Jeff completed the job and came back into the bike shop, still carrying the can of Pringles.

“Dude, you aren’t gonna eat those, are you?” I asked as he walked toward me.

“No way, are you f**king nuts?” he replied. “Look inside here.” He removed the cap to the can, revealing a can about half full of chips, cigarette ashes, and what appeared to be some soggy, cappucino looking stuff. He blew into the can, sending the ashes flying into the room as he smiled and exclaimed “Follow me!”

I followed Jeff through the door on the showroom floor that leads back to our service department, getting a sense that Jeff was going to ask a mechanic if he wanted some Pringles… but to my surprise, Jeff walked into the service area, walked right past the mechanics, and set the can of Pringles down on Kurt’s bench (Kurt, a newer mechanic, hadn’t arrived for work yet). Jeff turned and walked back out the service department with me in tow.

“What was that all about?” I asked.

“Dude, I can’t give a can of half eaten, disgusting chips to a mechanic… if I offer them and they eat them and get some disease or something, they will try to hold me responsible…. nooo way. I ain’t that dumb.” he replied.

“Then what was the point?” I asked, still not understanding the situation.

“Just wait.” Jeff replied.

About two hours passed, and I walked into the service area to grab a bike to deliver to a customer, and the Jeff’s plan had begun to unfold before my eyes… Kurt was working on the bike, chewing a mouth full of Pringles.

“Kurt, where did you get those chips?” I asked, dismayed and disgusted at the same time.

“They were sitting here on my bench when I got here… are they yours? Sorry.” Kurt replied.

“No, they aren’t mine.”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him… so I ran and told Jeff what was going on.

“YES!!!! IT WORKED!!! WHAT AN IDIOT!!!! AWESOME!!!” Jeff shouted, trying to hide his excitement well enough not to draw attention from the managers. He immediately headed to the service area.

“Kurt, where did you get those chips?” Jeff asked.

“Huh? Take that Jeff! Leave your food on my bench and it is fair game!” Kurt said, proud that he finally pulled a quick one on Jeff.

“Kurt, those are garbage chips!!!! Nasty!” Jeff exclaimed, laughing and shouting at the same time.Over the next couple hours, Jeff was sure to tell everyone in the store what had occurred, even successfully repeating the experiment on one of the managers. Everyone thought it was hilarious, except for Kurt.

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Are you kidding me?

April 4, 2008

I am almost ashamed to say what I am about to say…

Today is my dog’s birthday (as best any of us can tell, seeing as how we adopted her).

Let the festivities begin.

Some quick background info:

We adopted Aries, a mix-breed Belgian Malinois/German Shepherd, about a year and a half ago from the Humane Society. She was about 6 months old. My girlfriend decided that since she was about 6 months old, and since April was about six months before we adopted her, and since her name was “Aries” (the astrological sign dominant in April), that her birthday should be in April. She then chose the 4th of April as the day, since 4/4 is easy to remember (very scientific, huh?).

So today is Aries birthday. She will be showered with attention, food, toys, etc… until midnight, and maybe even through tomorrow.

On my birthday, I think I may have heard a couple people jokingly ask how it felt to be “a quarter century old”, and may have gotten a hug… I guess I just don’t measure up to the dog.

So here is to Aries… Happy Birthday, and many more!


Hey Billy, pass me a cold one!

April 4, 2008

Question: How old do you have to be before you can legally drive a car?

Answer: 16 years old in most states, although there is some variation.

Dangers involved: Numerous, probably too many to list. Driving is one of the most dangerous activities that most of us engage in on a regular basis. Severe injury and death are certainly possibilities.

Question: How old do you have to be to enlist in the U.S. military?

Answer: 17 years old (with parental consent), 18 years old otherwise.

Dangers involved: Quite a few, but not nearly as many as driving… If, by chance, you actually see combat you could be severely injured or die. Heck, I suppose you could even be injured or die outside of combat, considering the general nature of this line of work.

Question: How old do you have to be to purchase cigarettes?

Answer: 18 years old.

Dangers involved: Lung cancer, emphysema, burns, other types of cancer, death (long term).

Ok, so what is the point, you ask? While watching the idiot-box last night, I happened upon a show that followed the daily activities of police officers working in spring break hot-spots. I was surprised to see that their job basically consisted of going from one party to another looking for underage drinkers, and it got me to thinkin’…

I am not going to re-hash the cliche argument that goes along the lines of “if I am old enough to be drafted or take a bullet for the country, why the hell can’t I enjoy a beer?”…

But seriously, if someone is old enough to take a bullet for their country, why the hell can’t they enjoy a beer?

I am sure that some “Mother Against Drunk Driving” is going to read this and come back with a million reasons detailing the dangers of under-age alcohol consumption… but is it more dangerous than walking onto a battlefield? Better yet, is it more dangerous than driving a car or smoking? But again, the MADD person will probably say that smoking doesn’t put others at risk to the same extent as drinking…

You can get a CDL and drive a semi-truck in most states at the age of 18 (not in Ohio, my state of residence, unless you are going to drive ONLY in Ohio). Read that again: the guy driving the semi-truck next to your compact car may be 18 years old. Why is this ok? Because he has passed a course and been “licensed” by the state to do so (and more importantly, he has paid the price of a CDL to the BMV). This made me think…

One great way to fund alcohol rehabilitation programs would be by “licensing” people to drink at the age of 18… Basically, the 18 year old pays some cash, takes a few courses on the dangers of drinking and how to drink responsibly, and is then “licensed” to drink at 18 years of age. The proceeds from the licensing fees could then be used to pay for alcohol rehab programs, clinics, etc…

Would the government actually do this? Heck no! Why? Because it would make too much sense (and be costly… think of all the lost revenue in bail money for the 19 year old who just got caught getting blitzed following finals week).

Much as we are trying to “medicalize” everything into a medical condition, we are on the road to criminalizing everything as well…

Seriously, I would like someone to explain to me why a 19 year old can’t legally drink… Is it because they are too immature to make the right decisions (if so, should we really let them behind the wheel of a car, or arm them with a tank on a battlefield?)?