I wasn’t hitting on you…

Dear Guy In Wawa That Was Giving Me The Dirty Look Tonight,

That stupid grin on my face was not me smiling at you.  Well, it was, but not in the way you think.  It was in the “laughing at you, not with you” way.  Don’t get your manhood up in a bunch, I wasn’t hitting on you.  I was trying to contain the laughter that was threatening to leave my lips.

See, it wasn’t the black trench coat.   Or the black jeans.  Or the black shirt.  While that in itself is amusing, it wasn’t the reason why I was smiling. 

And it wasn’t the mullet you were sporting — although I particularly liked the crew cut mullet.  Class AND style, there, brother.

It was the fact that you were still proudly wearing your high school ring.

Now don’t get me wrong, I do realize a lot of people wear their class rings.  And that’s cool.  But, damn, man, you are like 35.  It’s time to let go.

So when you add all of those things up, you have to expect people are going to smile.  I know you are a walking party animal, the Spuds McKenzie poster you no doubt have on your bedroom wall proves it.  But, brother, it’s not 1987 anymore as much as some of us wish it were.

But, even if it were 1987, the mullet is still not in style.  Nor is wearing the class ring two years out of high school.

Not a sermon, just a thought.


Stewie Redrum, Esq.

Nothing to see here…

Nothing to see here, move along because I have absolutely nothing to blog about tonight.

Nothing.  Nada.  Zip.

And I don’t even have any videos, either.

Tomorrow, of course, is the last day of November.  The last day of NaBloPoMo.  I’m looking forward to it.  (And, oddly, in a way I’m not because I kind of dug being forced to write at least something for a complete month).

With that said, I’m leaving you now to go back to the Packers/Cowboys game.  Favre is hurt.  I hope it’s season ending.  That would rock.

(For Snooze, Brett Favre is the quarterback for the Green Bay Packers.  I am not a fan.)

On a side note, to mention Joy so I can put this in some sort of category, when we were kids, Joy used to scratch me up so bad, my mom threatened to cut her fingernails.  She never drew blood, but she came damn close a couple of times.

And, I assure you, I never, ever did anything to deserve that treatment.  No sir.

Note to the ladies…

I caught this on Opie & Anthony on the ride home.

Note to the ladies, while I laughed my ass off (and the men reading this will, too, and if they say it’s not funny, they are lying) you might find it just a tad bit offensive.

Just a tad.


1943 Guide to Hiring Women

The following is an excerpt from the July 1943 issue of Transportation Magazine. This was written for male supervisors of women in the work force during World War II.

Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There’s no longer any question whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.

Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:

1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they’re less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn’t be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.

2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It’s always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.

3. General experience indicates that “husky” girls – those who are just a little on the heavy side – are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.

4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination – one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.

5. Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.

6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they’ll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.

7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.

8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.

9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can’t shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman – it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.

10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl’s husband or father may swear vociferously, she’ll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.

11. Get enough size variety in operator’s uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can’t be stressed too much in keeping women happy.


True in 1943, true now. 


Okay, calm down, I’m joking.  😆

I found the list here.

One of which was me…

When I used to work dreaded retail back in the day, the company I worked for filed Chapter 11, forcing me to find another gig. Fortunately, I had made a lot of friends in the company, so another management position fell into my lap. The plus side was it was right up the street from where I lived. The downside was this was a mom and pop establishment.

While they paid me what I was making at my old place, the people who worked there had really liked the old management. Who had been terminated for the new management. One of which was me. I knew this going in, but I wasn’t prepared for the coldness that I was treated with.

One lady in particular, Miss Julia, was particularly nasty to me. Not to my face, of course, but when the owner of the store went to my boss, Marty, and said Miss Julia told him (the owner) that I better be watched because she thought I was stealing, it causes a little bit of bad blood. (And I don’t like people who insist on having a “Mr.” or “Miss” inserted in front of their first name anyway.)

Fortunately, the owner knew she what she was up to, and Marty had worked with me for years, so it was basically a non-issue.  A non-issue I had to deal with every time I worked with her, but I didn’t have to worry about job security.  Plus, she did what I told her to do without argument, so I got some satisfaction out of the fact it probably pissed her off to no end.

Yet I would hear shit she said I was doing (or not doing) all the time from either Marty or Jonathan (the other assistant manager).  I didn’t exactly dread having her on my shift, but I never looked forward to it.  And since she had worked for the company for like a 1,000 years, she wasn’t about to get terminated for gossiping — especially in a mom and pop establishment like this.

About six months after I started with the company, she died.  I was honestly a little surprised they didn’t shut down the store in her honor the way they treated her like a princess.  But since the store was to stay open, I volunteered to run it on the day of her viewing and funeral.  On the day of her viewing, Jonathan came in to relieve me that evening.  He asked me if I planned on going to her viewing when I left work.

“Nope,” I replied.

“Why not?” He asked.

“Why would I?”

“Because you worked with her.”

“And?  She hated me.  I hated her.  Her being dead doesn’t make me like her any more than she was when she was alive.”

Jonathan looked me with what appeared to be shock.  “You shouldn’t disrespect the dead, man.”

“What?  How am I disrespecting her?   Just because she’s dead doesn’t change how she treated me when she was alive.  I’m supposed to feel sympathy for her?  Maybe her family.”

Jonathan shook his head and walked off to take care of the store.

I honestly don’t get it.  What is it about someone dying that makes some people think the dead should be respected just because they are no longer hanging about?  Just because they are no longer wasting oxygen doesn’t change how they treated people when they were alive.

Respect the dead, my ass.  Besides, it’s not like they care anyway.

It was just right…

When we were kids, my sister and I did a lot of stupid shit. Cliché as it sounds, I’ve probably forgotten more than I remember.

I do remember the day we thought it would be cool to jump out the second story window.

My father was at work and my mother had informed us that she was going to go over the neighbor’s house for coffee (or whatever) and we were not to act up or get in any trouble. Clearly she did not realize whose kids she was talking to.

Once she left us to our own devices, for some reason or another, I thought it would be a good idea to see how cool it would be to jump off the porch. I’m quite sure Joy encouraged this stupidity. The porch was right off the kitchen door. The kitchen was on the second floor, and from what I remember it was a high second floor.

I took in my surroundings, tested the wind and jumped off the porch. Joy asked me if it hurt, and I informed her that the ground was hard and it hurt more than I thought it would. So being the creative kids we were, we decided to take the couch pillows and use them as a landing pad. After another test jump — me again — it was determined the ground was still too hard, so we got the coats out of the closet and made one big pile of cushy softness.

It was just right.

After flinging ourselves off the porch for a bit, we tired of it, so we needed something different. A change of scenery.

So we decided to jump out of the kitchen window.

We moved our pile ‘o cushions and coats to underneath the kitchen window and started throwing ourselves out. That was a lot more fun, because we could pretend one was shooting or pushing the other, out the window and to our deaths. It went like that for lord knows how long. Until the phone rang.

Joy and I looked at each other. We knew who it was. I don’t know how, but we knew exactly who was on the other end of that line. Because I’m the bigger fool of the two of us, I answered.


“What are you two doing?” It was my mother.

“Uh, nothing. Playing a game.”

“Really? What game are you playing?”

Haha. I had her fooled. “Sorry.”

“Let me tell you something, you are going to be sorry IF YOU DON’T STOP JUMPING OUT THE GODDAMN WINDOW!”

I hung up. Joy could tell by the look on my face funtime was over. We picked up our landing pad and probably did play a game of Sorry.

When my mom came home, I asked her how she knew we were jumping out the window. She said, “Because I saw you doing it, dumbass.”

When she said she was going over her friend’s for coffee, for some reason I assumed she was going over Jay’s. But instead she was over Carolyn’s.

Here’s a visual aid:

The X is where we were landing.

The dashes were my mom’s line of site.

She’s right. I was a dumbass.