Lady and Hendrix

The Postal Service doesn’t want letter carriers being friendly with people’s dogs.  It’s a safety issue.  There’s always a carrier somewhere who can tell the story of being bitten by a dog whose owners previously said that, “Oh, Fluffy would never bite anybody!” 

And yet here I am telling dog stories.  Why?  I don’t know… maybe I have a learning disability, or maybe it’s just a rebellious streak.  Or maybe I’ve just had a bunch of exceptionally good dogs on my routes over the past 30 years.  Trust me – there’s a lot of dogs I wouldn’t try to make friends with ever.  And then there are a few that you just can’t help but like.

One of these dogs was a little mixed breed (Collie and Shepherd?) called Hendrix.  She shared a house on North 16^th Street with an older, larger and grumpier dog named Lady.  These two dogs were not kept in a fenced yard but were usually out front, free to roam (if they so chose).  Generally they didn’t, but there were a couple of exceptions.

There were two old guys that would take a daily walk through the neighborhood, walking down North 16^th several blocks, turning right and walking to Harrison Boulevard and then returning home along Harrision.  As they would walk past the “dog’s house”, the two dogs would walk with them, and then return home when the old guys reached their own homes.

I was the other exception, and when I would start walking the area by their house, the dogs would come out and join me for a few blocks of mail delivery.  This was not something I ever encouraged… it was just their own routine.  Hendrix also had one other little habit that she picked up over the time I had that route; when she heard the mail truck coming down the street, she would run out and sit in the middle of the road forcing me to stop.  When I stopped (come on, you think I’m going to run the dog over?) she would walk around to the driver’s door (which I would open for her), jump inside and then ride to where I normally parked, walk the block with me and then go back home.

I had told my substitute carrier about this quirky behavior so the dog wouldn’t catch her off guard one day and get herself run over.  (She was looking forward to seeing the hitchhiking dog!)  Sure enough, Sue was driving down the road watching for Hendrix, and Hendrix didn’t disappoint!  She walked out, sat in the middle of the street and waited for Sue to stop the truck.  Then Hendrix walked around to the door, looked inside and saw it was someone other than me, growled and turned around and walked back home!  Sue recalled later that it was one of the few times in life where an animal actually hurt her feelings!

Vitriol Toward Automated Phone Systems

It’s Sunday morning; I’ve been up since 4:00 AM.  Well, make that 3:00 AM… I set a few clocks back an hour due to the end of Daylight Saving Time.  Why am I up?  I’ve been sick the last week.  It seems that as soon as we got back from Florida, I decided to come down with some kind of nasal and/or throat infection.  Or it could be just one heckuva cold. 

What I do know is that this isn’t exactly my idea of a good time.  Nose constantly running until the skin around it is raw from excessive blowing, trying to breathe slowly and steadily to sleep but instead coughing up loads of yuck every few minutes.  Following people’s advice and drinking plenty of fluids, only to be getting in and out of bed like a pogo stick – because I’ve been drinking plenty of fluids. 

Yesterday I woke up with a voice reminiscent of Andy Devine.  Or maybe that of when a young male is going through puberty when his voice is changing, hitting a lower register and then shifting gears in mid-sentence and squeaking at a higher octave.  This is humorous to the casual bystander, but an emotional disaster to an employee of the United States Postal Service.

We have a phone number to call when we are sick and need the day off.  Like just about everything else these days, it’s an automated system.  And, one should note, because it’s a system affiliated with the Federal Government – it’s not a very good one!

You start out listening to a menu of selections, of which the option I want is number four.  “Press or say four.”  At this point with my voice, it’s much easier to press a button than to squeak an answer.  Then you get to listen to a spiel about the Privacy Act, and can press a button if you’d like to hear the whole damned story.  No thank you!  I just want to get on with things and get back to bed.

Next up, it’s “press or say” your employee identification number.  Again my finger does the dirty work.  After entering the eight-digit code, the machine recites back the information and then asks if it’s correct.  There’s a new wrinkle added… there’s no longer an option to respond by pushing a number.  From this point forward, every response is verbal, which is just peachy if you sound like I currently do.  You might as well just hang up if you’ve got full blown laryngitis! 

You’re asked what kind of leave you need (annual, emergency or sick leave).  Then you go through a myriad of questions pertaining to whether this is your condition, if you’re a veteran exposed to certain elements or conditions (or if you’re caring for a veteran with these conditions). 

You almost have to loop through this line of questioning a couple of times.  The machine rewords the questions because… well, I don’t know… maybe I was too stupid to answer correctly the first time around and deserve a second chance.  After all this cross-examination is over, you’re then again asked what kind of leave you want.  Didn’t we already do this a couple of minutes ago?

Remember in all this that I have to speak my answers; there’s no merciful option of pushing a button for “yes” or “no” anymore.  Also keep in mind that I can’t talk without my voice cracking, switching octaves or just fading out halfway through a word.  The machine can’t understand what I’m saying, and says things like “I didn’t get that,” and then it gives you the answer options for the question again. 

I try to yell into the phone, hoping the volume increase will aid the machine’s comprehension.  The more I yell, the less volume I actually put out.  Beautiful.  I’ve found that when I’m sick and have to use this line that by the time all is said and done, my blood pressure is dangerously high and I’m on the verge of having a stroke.

“Well isn’t there the option of talking to a real person” I hear someone asking?  No.  At least that’s what they want you to think.  The option to talk to a live person is never offered, but as I found out years ago with a particularly bad phone connection if you have enough responses that the machine can’t understand, you will finally be transferred over to a real living, breathing human being.

I had made it all the way through the ordeal, trying to answer the questions and then not being understood and having to re-answer the questions right up until the very last one.  It finally gave up on me and transferred me to an operator.  Thank you, God!  I can say, “I’m sick” and be done with this.  Nope.  That’s not how it works here in Government-land. 

“I need 8 hours of sick leave, starting today,” I said.

“I’m sorry, Sir… but I have to read the script just as if you were talking to the automated system.”

“Fine.  I got through right up until the very last question.”

“I’m sorry, but I have to start from the very beginning and go through each step.”

And this is where the story ends.  We went through the script, and I responded when asked to, and was understood.  Sadly, the human on the other end wasn’t allowed to think for herself, or we could have saved about four to five minutes of unnecessary script reading.

This is a sad commentary on where we, as a country, have gone.  The personal touch is almost nonexistent, and when you do encounter a human being – how often do they have to go through a script or routine, because they can’t be “trusted” to obtain answers or results through their own initiative?

To the companies that still have receptionists answering the calls, fielding questions and directing callers to the proper extension – I sincerely thank you from the bottom of my heart!

My Wife and I Separated... Thanks to the TSA!

I’m sitting in the C concourse at Tampa International Airport on what should be a normal Monday morning, viewing a spectacular sunrise that offers promise for a glorious day.  But I’m feeling no joy – only bitterness and malice toward all mankind.  Especially toward the United States government, and more specifically the TSA.

The Transportation Safety Administration is apparently now in the business of marriage disruption.  Maybe they’re also in cahoots with certain qualifying airlines, of which Southwest Airlines is one.  Maybe Southwest should take a share of the blame here.  I’ll never know, as everyone seems to be tight-lipped about this latest outrage.

There’s a special service the TSA offers; it’s called TSA Pre✓^®.  (It took me a while to figure out that means pre-check.  It’s early morning, after all!)  This makes sense for the frequent flyer.  You pay an $85 dollar fee and provide the necessary ID and fingerprints, and for a five-year period you get to join the privileged class.

Airlines which currently participate in this program are:  Air Canada, Alaska Airlines, American Airlines, Delta Airlines, Hawaiian Airlines, JetBlue Airways, OneJet, Southwest Airlines, Sun Country, United Airlines, Virgin America and WestJet.

Each new member of this “happy flyer club” is assigned a KTN:  Known Traveler Number.  A traveler simply uses this number when making his or her flight reservations, and then the magic begins.  When passengers print out their boarding passes, or download them to their mobile devices, a notation comes up indicating they have a TSA Precheck.

There are two lines at 150 airports (where the 12 participating airlines operate) and this is where the class struggle begins.  There are two lines that passengers are herded into.  One line is tended by demons from hell, snarling at passengers and prodding them with pitchforks – almost like running cattle down the chute at a slaughterhouse.  The passengers have to remove just about everything from their person, take their shoes and belts off, remove laptops from their cases and then go stand in a scanner while holding their hands above their heads, doing their best Bullwinkle Moose impersonation.

The other line is a little different.  People skip merrily down the path, pass under a rainbow and are greeted cheerily.  They don’t have to remove shoes, belts or laptops.  They don’t have to have their liquids out for inspection, and the best part of all – they pass through the checkpoint in rapid style and quickly emerge on “the other side”.

So why am I bitching about this?  People who paid their fee and passed the application process should reap the benefits, right?  Absolutely.  This is NOT the problem.  My dissatisfaction is from something much more sinister.

The TSA, assumedly in conjunction with the airlines, issues random prechecks on select boarding passes.  Today, my wife was given this special gift, while I was not.  This meant we were separated when we reached the TSA checkpoint, and while I stayed in the group of suffering humanity, she was whisked through the process almost instantly, and was then seen smiling and waving back at me from the other side.  Bitch!

Hours later I finally made it through, battered and weary from the experience while she was happy and refreshed.  “I didn’t have to do anything!  I didn’t have to take off my belt or shoes, didn’t have to remove the laptop from the case and I just walked through the scanner… I didn’t have to stand there or nothing!”

“Yeah,” I said, “I noticed.”

“It was almost like old times,” she said, giving a nod back to the “good old days” when you checked in and then just went straight to your gate.

I was so happy for her.  Actually, I was seething.  The TSA was behaving much like a drug dealer; they gave her a random taste of the drug known as “precheck”, and now that she’s hooked… it’s $85, baby… or back to the line of misery you go! 

All I can say after this experience is this:  “Sweetie… don’t forget how to take your shoes off!”  Withdrawal can be tough!

The Florida Tandem Rally -- or -- Why Am I Here?

Tandem riders saying their "good mornings" prior to the
start of the 6th Annual Florida Tandem Rally.

This weekend finds us willingly riding with countless other tandem riders in the 6^thAnnual Florida Tandem Rally, which hubs from The Villages in central Florida.  The rides start at 9:00 AM, and there are a few different mileage options to pick from: 33, 43 and 55 miles.  We opted for the 43 miler because once we ride to the starting point and then back home again, we’ll have 50 miles in for the day.

Florida is rumored to be flat.  As far as I know this is generally true, but the joker in charge of the routes knows where every hill in the area is located and made sure we got to experience them ALL.  One of my iPhone apps claims that we climbed 940 feet today; my legs say that we climbed much more than that.  We won’t even listen to what my butt is telling me…

So why are we here?  As with most cycling events, be it the “normal” single bike riders who come together for event rides or us tandem “crazies” – we pay a fee for the privilege of riding together.  In the event of a charity ride, most of the proceeds go toward the cause; with a tandem rally most of the proceeds go right into social events surrounding the ride weekend, or into the ride organization itself.

When it comes to a tandem rally, some of the allure is to be around other tandem riders.  In fact, it’s usually a LOT of other tandem riders.  Earlier this year we rode in the Northwest Tandem Rally over the 4^th of July weekend in Bellingham, Washington; there were nearly 400 tandems there.  In the cycling world where a tandem seems to be a bit of an oddity, suddenly for an extended weekend you’re immersed in a culture where tandem riding is the “norm” – and you’re surrounded by people who not only love to ride these long bikes, but they understand why you love to ride them.

An over-the-shoulder view of my stoker
and some tandems behind us.

The Florida Tandem Rally doesn’t have the kind of drawing power that the bigger regional rallies have, but it still pulls in several tandem teams from within the state and beyond.  Some of these people are meeting others at the rally for the first time; others are old friends and acquaintances that have met at past rallies, and this is a way of reconnecting and sharing riding stories.  (Sometime they seem as grand as fish stories, but they’re always more believable!)

But all this aside, the question still looms:  why are we here?  We can ride any day we choose back home for free, yet we choose the expense involved to come congregate with other tandem riders for just a brief weekend of sharing the road together.  And it’s not like we’re actually riding in a pack the whole day – everybody tends to spread out after a while and only the best of friends seem to stay in contact with each other for the whole ride. 

There’s often an ice-cream social to kick a tandem rally off, and usually a large banquet at some point during the rally weekend, so there’s fraternization off the bike as well.  And then there’s the final day’s ride after which people pack up and go back home to their normal, every day lives.  So why arewe here?

Perhaps it’s because a tandem rally is much like an extended family reunion, where we once again touch base with people we’ve met before and meet new members of the tandem community for the first time.  Maybe it’s because we like being with other people who understand why riding a tandem is so… well, right.  Maybe the bottom line is that we’re here because it’s fun, and if it’s not fun, why do it?  We plan to keep doing things like this for as many years as we can.  Why?  Because it’s fun!