Blogservations

I heard a radio ad on Saturday. Yes, radio. I am usually an iPod guy but while dutifully scrubbing the dishes and listening to a super cool block of 80’s metal, there it was. The ad described a 50’s style diner located near the airport. It conjured up images of white paper hats, waitresses on roller skates, a neon rainbow-topped jukebox and more chrome than you can shake a stick at. For the record, the music that kept me glued to the radio included ACDC, Autograph, Scorpions, Rainbow and Dokken.  Nostaglia worked its magic.

The next day while mommy enjoyed a day off from child-taming duties, I marshaled the youths into the Malibu. We sojourned to Skooter’s Restaurant and basked in the blue & chrome exterior. We just beat the approaching rain showers and settled into blue cushioned seats and matching blue/chrome table.

The burgers, dogs, fries and onion rings filled our bellies, producing smiles and questions like, “Can we come here again?” and comments like “Can we make onion rings like this at home?” Between the friendly staff and delicious eats, we’ll be back. Next time we’ll leave room for milkshakes. Make sure you have cash if you stop in, no plastic allowed.

On Saturday night I stopped by our local walk-up burger/ice cream joint for some quick grub. A grandmotherly looking woman was treating her entourage to ice cream. When she tried to hand her credit card through the window, the teenage employee announced her obviously rehearsed reply, “Cash only, ma’am. See the sign?” She pointed a rigid arm, index finger extended to a 5”x7” Sharpie-on-paper sign, adroitly taped diagonally across the corners.

I cringed, preparing myself for grannie’s response. Grandmotherly in age she was, but with age any volume or poise filters must have broken down and crumbled to dust. Loud and tactless, she ensured everyone within fifty feet of the restaurant knew she was paying and how generous it was for her to do so.

“Reaallly?” she said. “Can you believe that, Harold? They don’t take the card!?” she asked the unfortunate man standing beside her. She turned back to the counter girl, “You know, the ice cream place I usually go to takes the card for orders over $10.”

The girl behind the counter proved unflappable. “I’m sorry, ma’am. We don’t take any credit cards here.”

“Well, Harold, have you got any cash left?” Harold nodded silently and shuffled a step forward in obedience. While Harold counted out his money with arthritic hands, Grannie cranked up the volume.

“Well this is embarrassing. Can you imagine? They don’t take the card? You know, the place I usually get ice cream takes the card for orders over $10?” The counter girl bit her tongue. The stress pulled at the corners of her lips and eyes, raging yet under restraint. Several customers shifted their weight between their feet or visibly backed away from Granny’s troupe lest they be mistaken for one of her party.

Granny continued her exclamations as she and the entourage walked to the outdoor seating area. I think she made the “under $10” comment a third time. The girl behind the counter exhaled at last, venting amongst her co-workers. It couldn’t be helped. She lacked the discipline to hold off until no customers were around.

Driving the kids around for a few more stops after our hip & cool lunch, I set my sensors on high alert. The rain always transforms a multitude of drivers into idiots fleeing from a common sense vaccination. Carrying precious cargo, I scrutinized the driving habits of approaching cars. Possessing powers of observation on par with super-humans and demi-gods, I put them to work. It appears that Sunday is the official day for citizens to talk on their cell phones while driving. Twice I was nearly side-swiped by the distracted driving of cell phone chatting “fooligans”.

Yes. I just made up a word. A fooligan is a person possessing poor judgment and zero common sense who endangers others by plowing through life with no regard to laws, other warm-blooded organisms and their own damn safety.

My blood pressure leapt as I glimpsed the laughing faces of the fooligans, chattering through their conversations. Phone pressed to their ear, they drove one handed or with their knees while slurping coffee, soda or water (at least it wasn’t booze). One guy ate a Subway sandwich while driving and blabbing on the phone. That must have been a quality conversation for the doofus on the other end of that call. They swerve out of lanes, don’t use turn signals, stop short at red lights and roll through stop signs.

Since I’ve been running a Monster cable from my phone to my car stereo, I’ve had zero issues with phone distraction. I prefer not to have a phone to my ear since I can control the call volume with a huge knob on the dashboard. Freedom from ear buds and Bluetooth earpieces is joyous. It can be uncomfortable if I have a passenger in the car, but I try not to take calls if either the caller or the person in the car with me shouldn’t hear the conversation. Whatever did we do before cell phones and the ever-connected culture we plug into today?