Furious With Fast Food Fads

I’m not here to argue whether fast foods are good for you or not – that’s not the point, or the focus, of this article.  Let’s face it, Porky… you could be munching on a carrot stick instead of that triple-decker grease burger with cheese.  We all make choices, good or bad, and a trip through your local drive-thru every now and then won’t kill you.   Try living on that stuff exclusively and you’ve got a whole different set of problems to consider!

What I’m annoyed with is the “finger on the pulse of society” that so many of the big chains seem to display with a united front.  One company comes up with an idea, and soon everyone else is mimicking it.  One of the latest crazes – or is it, being that it’s been going on for a couple of years now – is the jalapeño everything burger. 

No matter what the base of the sandwich is, we’re going to infuse it with so much jalapeño that you’re going to sweat your eyeballs out while trying to swallow this monster.  TV ads of pretty girls with beads of perspiration on their foreheads, guys trying to prove their masculinity as they chomp down an oversized mouthful of sizzling sandwich.  Really?

Sorry, guys… but you’ve lost me in the advertising jungle.  Yeah, I like pretty girls with a little bit of sweat on their foreheads – but not from eating, if you know what I mean.  And don’t forget the old adage turned slightly sideways:  what goes in must come out.

I’ve always been a fan of food that I can actually taste.  Call me old fashioned, but the idea of actually savoring the flavor of something – whether prepared in a five star restaurant, or the local Burger King – has always taken priority over smothering it with as many chili peppers or as much hot sauce as is possible.  Although I suppose, at least in theory, that you can serve an inferior product to the masses if you cleverly disguise it in a manner that totally fools their taste buds!

Still, why is it that when one burger joint advertises their new “Jalapeño Kill Your Taste Bud Burger”, all of them suddenly stumble all over each other on their mad dash to launch their own version of the same damned thing?  Are they simply responding to the demands of the marketplace?  I find this somewhat doubtful – I never tried the original, nor will I ever try any of the knock-offs.  I’m one of those people that doesn’t like overpowering spicy foods,  but instead prefers flavor to flames. 

I’m surprised that instead of everybody coming out with their own version of the same darned thing that the individual restaurants didn’t attempt to come up with something unique only to their own brand, instead of a “We’ve Got Jalapeño Too Burger”.  Although I guess I should tip my hat to Jack In The Box as they’ve been pushing their new line of “Buttery Jacks”.  If the grease in the meat isn’t enough to clog your arteries, perhaps an extra splash of butter will do the trick!

In closing I wish to salute McDonald’s for, after years of stubbornly refusing to extend their breakfast menu past 10:30 AM, finally acquiescing to their customer’s requests to serve a limited breakfast menu all day long.  Ah, yes… they finally saw the light!

Or did they?  No… it was just in an attempt to bolster quarter after quarter of slumping sales that they suddenly realized that “the customer is always right”.  I’ve been whining for the last 25 years or so about wanting an Egg McMuffin after 10:30 in the morning.  I like them as a pre-bike ride snack, and find them much less bloating than a burger.

But when they spin this sudden all-day-long breakfast menu as nothing more than trying to please their customers, after decades of not listening to requests from that same breakfast loving clientele, it kind of makes me feel like I’ve just eaten a Whopping Jalapeño Burger.  Backwards… if you know what I mean.

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!