At Last

I've been through a lot of bad things in my life. But this kind of makes it all just a little bit better.

Gone Bad

Why does hand lotion have an expiry date? Am I going to get a rash if I apply some Intensive Care Hand Therapy that's been around a few years? It's amazing to me that we fear the effect of massive amounts of non-degrading hydrocarbons in our landfills, but we make damn sure the chemicals we apply to our skin are fresh.

I suspect this phenomenon, which is recent, has two influencing factors: one, the unfortunate faithlessness and litigious nature of our society; and b, the impetus to keep the commerce cycle short. This latter concept is the same as building in defects that limit the utility of electronic equipment, and also making it difficult for authorized (!) small-electronics-repair shops to stay in business; postmodern consumers are trained to buy cheap radios that break in a year, and then to just buy another one. And so on.

There's no dairy or meat in this inorganic product. How can it go bad? Can't I just give it a good shake in a couple years when I remember that I still have it? I've still got the same jar of Vaseline that I had when I was a little kid. It's just not something I need that often. Why throw it out? I'll take my chances.

Talking House

I drove by a house for sale in Watertown today, which had a red sign in the front near the realty sign. It said, in large lettering, "Talking House. Tune radio to 530 a.m." Eager to hear what this house had to tell me, I alertly tuned my radio to the prescribed frequency. The house was emitting a high-pitched electronic shriek. I wasn't sure what type of authority to call for that.

Nothing is "Humungous Ass Proof"

I love my Amazon plog. How'd a silly monkey like me get on THAT list?? This posting in particular is really amusing, about Walletex's new MP3 player, whose USB plug is actually thicker than the device itself. Hasn't the past five years' experience with handheld devices taught us that on-screen navigation is a key part of a good user experience? Apparently, not.

Gym, 5:30 a.m.

I've been going to a no-frills, limited-mirrors gym for several months, about four or five times a week. Most of the time I go at night, but lately I've been trying to go in the mornings before I start work. Because I can't seem to move any faster that my one speed in the morning, I have to get up at 4:45 a.m. and drag my ass out of a big, warm bed full of a husband and two sleeping cats. It's really difficult to do. But on the days that I do manage to get there in the morning, I'm always glad, not just for getting it done early, but for the unspoken camaraderie of the gym that early in the day. Some people sweating it out at that hour are glad to be there and some aren't. For those of us in the middle, there's Brent. Let's call him that.

Brent is a big guy, wider than he is tall, and not one ounce of fat on him. He can't put his arms flat against his sides. He's got a smile like this:

But it's not fake like that. He has a '50s buzz cut and an easygoing demeanor. I imagine that he's been in the military in the past. He slaps hands with guys he's training and eggs them on. He always wears a pair of black Adidas sweatpants, sneakers, and a sleeveless wifebeater. He either actually works for, or he might as well work for, the gym. It's clear that everyone looks up to him, for he is a Good Guy.

Don't worry, people, I am not attracted to Brent; it's just not like that. It's just that some people, including Brent, have a good way about them that immediately lets you know they're a good person. He's a little ray of sunshine in an otherwise very dreary, these days, set of morning-time tasks. He's making me work harder and he doesn't even know it.

Phone Porn

God forbid the Mac, that fickle temptress, lose its hip cache.

Night Crew

In high school and through college I worked at a grocery store. It was the closest grocery store to my house, about 25 miles away, and was the smallest store in the area, since most of the other stores in town had been super-sized when the big retail supermarket chains and Wal-Mart bought up space. This one, though a chain, was small enough to conduct a rousing game of rotten-tomato baseball using the Produce and Frozen Foods departments as first and third bases, respectively, just to give you an idea. They weren't quite regulation, but they served well.

I started as a bagger, which to this day remains my favorite job (in a long and industrious career). I loved bagging, since you didn't have to deal with anyone's money, you got great exercise, and people loved the help. Then when I became a cashier, it stopped being quite so fun, and when I moved into the customer service desk and back office, it wasn't that much fun at all.

But during this several-years' tenure at the store, I got to know the guys on the Night Crew pretty well. These guys come in at 11 p.m. and work through the night, receiving the shipments from the truck and stocking the shelves. Everyone is assigned to an aisle, and every aisle has a different boom box playing a different classic-rock song. I remember scanning the aisles for any remaining customers before I closed up the store and cashed out the tills, and hearing the alternate blares of "baby hold on to me/whatever will be will be" and then "there is no pain, you are receding/a distant ship's smoke on the horizon" and then "go and get yourself some cheap sunglasses/oh yeah!/oh yeah!/oh yeah!" -- and so on.

The Night Crew guys were tight, and they went out to socialize some mornings after work was through. Their inverted lives puzzled me at that time, and I still don't know how third-shifters function when they are called upon to attend some normal-hours obligation like a party or a parent/teacher meeting.

The night crew guys ranged from eccentric to shady, and hit most points in between. My friend Steve was ultraconservative and wore incredibly thick glasses. He had a concealed-weapons permit. He wore suspenders all the time and always walked as if he was stepping around something. As I counted up cash at the end of the night and prepared deposits to utility companies, Pat told me about his latest laser Floyd show at the Civic Center or his plans to buy a satellite dish (the ones big as cars that you needed a big back yard for).

I moved on from my job at the store once I graduated from school, and eventually the store became part of a Super K Mart. It's probably something else now. Whenever I drive by there now, on my way home to see my mom, I always look at that corner of the building where the letters used to be. For a long time after you could see the fade marks on the concrete where they'd been.

However fond I remain of my friends in the Night Crew, I cannot recommend visiting the 24-hour CVS in "off hours" unless you absolutely HAVE TO. I was there today at 4:30 a.m., getting some supplies (Gatorade, ginger ale) for an ailing Brad, and was alarmed to hear a stock guy shouting loudly down to the end of the store: "and she wouldn't even [expletive deleted] my [expletive deleted]! Can you believe that shit? Oh, shit! Sorry about that!" (this latter as I rounded the aisle determinedly hoofing to Cough 'n Cold in 13b).

Hey, I understand, it's the middle of the night, and they're the night crew. This is their turf and I'm just here to transact business and head out on my way. But it was a reminder that we aren't in Kansas anymore.

Too Much Time