Useful Guide to Scheduling Meetings

Keeping in line with my helpful advice-giving series, here is a chart for all my meeting-scheduling friends. Please use this when you’re having trouble deciding what times of day are okay.

Rules for proper bathroom stall selection

To minimize exposure to psychologically damaging sights, sounds and smells, please follow these basic rules next time you’re in a public restroom. Obviously this only applies to restrooms in which three or more stalls are available.

• If all the stalls are empty, it’s your lucky day. Choose whichever you like. However, if you want to be extra considerate and forward-thinking, try to pick one that eliminates forcing someone else to sit next to you. A rush can happen at any time (say, like at 1:45 p.m.). For example, if there are three stalls, pick either the one on the far left or far right. If there are more, choose a stall that allows others to be at least one stall away from you on either side. This may involve utilizing basic math skills. Note: picking the stall next to the wall is almost always a smart move.

• When you enter the bathroom and one of the stalls is occupied, under no circumstances do you take the stall next to it. This is highly rude and inconsiderate behavior – bordering on criminal violation. This may mean you don’t get your preferred or favorite stall. Deal with it.

• If you enter the bathroom and multiple stalls are occupied, that’s when it gets tricky.  The objective is to choose a stall that has no one on either side of it. If one is available, you’ve dodged a bullet and your choice is made for you. If more than one is available, try to be smart and still employ the rules above as much as possible.

When everyone follows these simple guidelines, the law of averages says you should rarely be put into a situation where you’re the Noxious Neighbor, or one is forced upon you. But unfortunately, even though these rules seem like common sense, many people fail to follow them. Equally unfortunate, even when everyone does, sometimes crowding situations are unavoidable (chili day at the cafeteria, for example). Here are additional rules to help you when there’s no way to avoid sitting next to someone.

• If you enter the restroom and the stalls are occupied in such a way that you have no choice but to sit directly next to another person, weigh your options and see if you can come back later — once the crowd has cleared out. Remember: if you can continue to bear it, no need to share it.

• Sometimes situations arise when there is no way to avoid having a neighbor (sometimes two), and you can’t wait. Everyone has been there, and we understand. But remember, your new neighbor will only be sympathetic if you had no choice but to take the stall next to him or her. When this happens, please try to be quick, quiet and considerate. Frequent throat clearing and courtesy flushes are encouraged.

The overall goal of these rules is to make sure everyone enjoys his or her restroom time to the fullest — as well as avoid awkward encounters at the sink. Please feel free to disseminate this information, as well as do your best to comply. Thank you.

Helpful Hint

Due to recent warm weather, you may be confused as to how to dress. This should help.

Did he mention a religious affiliation?

I was just reading an online article titled something like “Tips Every 18-Year Old Should Know.” It consisted of reader-submitted pearls of wisdom from those who’ve been knocked around by life to those who have yet to be. Why was I, a thirty-cough-something-cough guy reading tips intended for 18-year olds? Well, let’s just say it never hurts to brush up.

Anyway, one of the tips was this:

34) If you get into a business deal with someone who goes to unusual lengths to convince you of how honest or Christian they are, watch your wallet and make sure you have an iron clad contract. They “doth protest too much.”

This one jumped out at me, and not just because of its awkward wording. It actually reminded me of a story that happened to me about 15-16 years ago. Let’s look back in time a bit, shall we? Doodle-ooo… doodle-ooo… doodle-ooo… doodle-ooo…

Father-Son Bonding

Not sure what made it pop into my head this morning, but as has been my theme for most of my recent blog entries, this is a story about something that happened a few years ago. It was when I was still living in Dallas, and my sons Zeb and Stephen were staying with me for part of the summer. At the time, they were about eight and six, respectively. Along with juggling work and parenting, I was trying to do as many fun things with them as I could in the short time we had together. Since money was tight, it was sometimes a challenge finding new and interesting stuff to do.

Then an opportunity presented itself: baseball tickets. One of our print production people at work had gotten Rangers tickets through a vendor (print production people always get all the good kickbacks), and she was kind enough to throw them my way.

Okay, I’m not much of a sports fan. That’s actually a bit of understatement. I have no interest in sports whatsoever. I’m completely lacking that inherited male gene that makes men enjoy watching other men run around chasing balls in tight clothes. I just don’t get it. But taking your son or sons to a baseball game? That’s a rite of passage. It’s Americana. They write songs and make movies about it for goodness’ sake. Here was my chance to create a moment my sons would remember for the rest of their lives. They’d talk about it fondly long after I’ve shuffled off this mortal coil. This was going to be special.

When I got the tickets, the game was still a few days away. I didn’t tell the boys what we’d be doing, only that I had “an awesome surprise” for them. I talked it up really big. I mean I really promoted it. I even used it to keep them in line (“if you don’t behave, you won’t get the awesome surprise I have for you!”).

The day before the game, I picked up the boys from their summer day camp, and one of the teachers told me that Zeb had been behaving very poorly for several days — and had even started a fight with one of the other kids. He definitely needed to be punished. My first thought was that he didn’t deserve to go to the game. But I couldn’t really punish him that way. In doing so, I’d also be punishing Stephen and myself, as well as squashing all the lifelong memories we were going to create! Too much was at stake. So Zeb and I had a very serious talk about how disappointed I was in his behavior, and I told him if I got another bad report the next day, the surprise was off.

Finally, game day arrived. I took the boys back to summer day camp, and reminded them (again) about the surprise I had for them that evening. They were super excited, and didn’t even know why. I also spoke to Zeb again about his behavior, and reminded him that I’d yank the surprise if he misbehaved. But the truth was there was no way I was going to back out. I was also way too excited. I just had to trust that my “threat” was enough and I wouldn’t have to follow through (note to future parents: it usually isn’t).

The workday dragged on and on, but finally it was time to go! I hopped in the car and raced to go get the boys. When I got to summer day camp, I asked Zeb’s teacher how he’d been. The response I got was, “better, but still not good.” The proper thing to do would have been to make good on my punishment. But as I’m sure I made clear, that wasn’t really an option. Zeb won that round. An example of my parenting skills at their finest.

But screw that! It was time to go to the game! They got in the car with me and asked me a thousand times where we were going. I stayed mum. As we got closer, the kids were smart enough to start looking for signs — I knew they’d figure it out soon. Okay, here’s where I have to tell you a little about the layout of Dallas. Rangers Ballpark is in a suburb called Arlington. Also in Arlington, right next to the ballpark, just happens to be another major attraction. That’s when they saw the sign. “OH MY GOD! WE’RE GOING TO SIX FLAGS!!!!” Yes, Six Flags over Texas is right across the street. It had never occurred to me that they’d see the signs for the amusement park and assume that was our destination. As we pulled into the ballpark parking lot, I quickly corrected them and told them that we were not going to Six Flags, but were doing something better. Then one of them (I forget which) saw the Rangers sign and asked if we were going to a baseball game, to which I excitedly responded, “yes! Isn’t that awesome?!” Then they both replied, “can we go to Six Flags instead? PLEASE?” I explained that the surprise all along was that we were going to our first baseball game together, and were going to have a great time. They asked again if we could go to Six Flags instead of the ball game. Oh boy. I told them no, and asked them to give the game a chance. I knew once we got inside the spectacle of the event would win them over.

The tickets the print production person gave me were primo. They included valet parking, and the best seats I’ve ever had at any sporting event. We were right behind home plate, just a few rows back. It was a beautiful evening and the temperature was just right. It was actually really fantastic. It wasn’t long until we were seated and experiencing all the sights, sounds and smells of the game. And I was certainly giving the boys the full treatment. We got hot dogs, sodas, big foam fingers, baseball caps, the works. I spent a small fortune on goodies. I was going to make this an occasion to remember if it killed me!

But the boys couldn’t get over the disappointment of not going to Six Flags. It was clear that they weren’t going to enjoy themselves at the game. No amount of enthusiasm on my part was going to help. I kept trying to get them excited, and at one point asked them, “isn’t this fun? Aren’t we having a good time?” That’s when Stephen responded with an answer I will never forget. He turned to me, looked me right in the eye, and with all seriousness replied, “Worst. Surprise. Ever.”

I managed to keep them there through three innings, and we left at the top of the fourth. That’s all they could stand. We got in the car and quietly drove home. And so ended my father-son bonding experience. Well… at least one of us will remember it for a lifetime.

The Most Memorable 4th of July Ever

This is a story I’ve been meaning to put to paper… errr… type up… for a long, long time. It involves my most memorable 4th of July holiday. Let me preface by saying that there are a couple holidays I generally don’t plan anything for: 4th of July and New Year’s Eve, most notably. When I was younger I’d always make big plans and have huge expectations for these holidays — then inevitably someone would crap out or the plan would go horribly awry — and I’d wind up disappointed and sad. The approach I’ve taken since then is to plan nothing. That way there are no expectations. If something comes up, then great! If not, then no big deal. The 4th of July holiday that turned out to be my most memorable was one of those for which I didn’t plan anything. See? It works.

Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll – The Reality.

This weekend, my band played yet another fist-pumping, panty-wetting show. In other words we really brought the rock. Saturday night’s show was in Geneva, and the town will never be the same. Prior to booking the show, I’d never heard of Geneva. I mean, I’ve heard of the Geneva Convention, and I know there’s a place somewhere over in Eurasia called Geneva (I have a theory that the two may be connected), but that was the extent of my knowledge on the subject. It turns out that Geneva, Illinois is a quaint little burg about an hour west of Chicago. The place we played was a bar/restaurant called Sanfratello’s. It’s a long story, but due to a misunderstanding, we arrived way earlier than we needed to. We’d actually left the city about 3:00 p.m. No sleeping all day and rolling in drunk just in time for the show for this band! There’s tearing down, packing up, loading, unloading, setting up, waiting, waiting and then waiting.

Offering The Black Jellybean

When we were kids, my brother Ken and I both got a package of jellybeans for Easter.  He, like me, LOVES the black ones.  Well this particular package that Ken got only had one black jellybean in it.  Basically, Ken got hosed.  But being the happy-go-lucky kid he was, he decided to focus on the positive.  He proceeded to make a big production about how he was SO looking forward to that black jellybean, and how he was going to save it for last and enjoy it SO MUCH when he got to it.  We were in the car when this happened, by the way.  So he got down to the end of the package, and all he had left was the lone black jellybean.  He, wanting to show how kind and generous and selfless he was, stuck it in my dad’s face and offered it to him.  My dad meanwhile, was fighting traffic and not paying attention to Ken’s shenanigans in the back seat.  He saw the proffered jellybean, said, “sure, thanks,” and unceremoniously snatched it from Ken’s hand and ate it.  It took about  5 seconds for the shock to hit him, but once it did, Ken started crying  – and he continued to cry for roughly the next 2-3 hours.

The jellybean was not offered so my dad could really take it, but so he could refuse. You see sometimes, like Ken, a person will make an offer because he or she really only wants to be recognized for the kindness and generosity of the gesture.  And also sometimes, like my dad, the other person doesn’t catch that it’s a hollow offer, and doesn’t realize he or she wasn’t REALLY supposed to accept it.  This leads to hurt and confusion on both ends.  In short, you should never offer something you’re not truly willing to give.  Ken and I BOTH learned a valuable lesson on that fateful Easter day.  Although his lesson was slightly more painful than mine; I still got all my black jellybeans.

To this day, when I suspect someone of offering something they’re not willing to give, I’ll refer to it as “offering the black jellybean.”  Now you know why.

6″ Turkey Breast on Wheat!

6″ Turkey Breast on Wheat. That’s what I had for lunch. Do you care? No. There’s no reason you should. So why, when you go to most any sandwich chain (like Subway or Potbelly), do they make you bellow your order across the entire store for all to hear?

We’re going to need a bigger bus

Welcome to this week’s CTA drama. There certainly doesn’t seem to be a shortage! I really should thank the CTA. If it wasn’t for them, my life would probably otherwise be boring and uneventful. I’d certainly have a lot less material for this blog.

Today’s story actually starts last night, when I was about to go to bed. I noticed both my iPod and cell phone batteries were almost dead. I thought about putting them on charge, but then decided they both had enough juice to get to me to work the next morning. I could put plug ‘em in there. Bad decision.