We’ll take a little break from my dead grandparents for a while.
I had a lunch meeting at 2p at Panara in Bristol on Friday. It was with the membership guy for the networking group that I’d like to join if only I had $430. On my way in I ran into my cousin Kristi. I only had two seconds to say HI but she made my day by saying that she read my blog and liked it.
So I found the guy and sat down for what I thought was going to be an interview to see if I was worthy of their fine group. I was looking forward to a free meal too. I wasn’t hungry but I was going to order something really big and then take the leftovers home to eat later.
The next hour turned out to be a freaking infomercial for his company. Halfway through, he asked if I had eaten yet. Well yeah I did, so I followed up by asking if HE had eaten yet. No, he had not had lunch yet and just to be polite and not sound too eager or greedy I said that I could go either way.
Well… he shrugged his shoulders and I’m thinking, what the freak does that mean? Then he asked if I wanted a coffee. A coffee? Did I want a coffee? Not only wasn’t I getting interviewed but now I wasn’t even going to be fed? I ended up with a diet Pepsi and a handful of chopped-up bread from the samples section on the way back from the soda machine.
I sipped my diet freaking Pepsi and listened some more and even liked the product. Well finally he asks me which payment level or option would work for me the best. And I’m thinking, are you kidding me? If I had $500 I’d be paying the dues for the networking group and not worrying about burning our freaking furniture in the fireplace for heat this winter.
So I look at him and say, “If I had $500 I’d be paying to join the group. If I had $500 I’d buy some oil and not have to decide for a few weeks if the couch or love-seat was going to be the first item to burn.”
I think he understood. But I guess I felt bad about being that blunt so I gave him every friend, relative, and enemy name that I could think of (you’ll probably hear from him this week).
I was at the office at 7:45am because I needed to be there at 8:15am. We were merging with some of the people from the Portland office and we needed to move some stuff from Portland to Bristol. It was against my better judgement to put my ankle through the rigors of carrying heavy items, but I never duck (Aflaaaaaaaaac!) out on helping someone move.
OMG! I should have said NO. It’s just not strong enough for squatting and lifting yet but I acted like it was fine. OK, well I mentioned a couple of times that it was bothering me. By the time we carried a monster conference table up three flights of concrete stairs several hours later, it was SHOT.
I had to be the guy to say that we needed to put the table down with only half a flight to go. But I did get a free meal out of it and felt good that I could help out the person that has helped me so much from the first day that I walked into her office.
After the workout that my ankle got on Saturday, I needed a day to take it easy and not stay on it all day. Instead I spent 8:30am until 5pm at the football fields picking up trash, sorting cheerleader jackets, walking back and forth between fields, carrying trash bags, and everything else a volunteer for a large youth sports organization does (well there are actually some of our volunteers that don’t do much volunteering, but I’ll stop there). None of those activities kept me off my feet for very long but I believe that when you commit to doing something (and I committed knowing about my ankle), you follow through unless you can’t get out of bed.
The two hours I did get to sit were spent yelling words of encouragement to the ten year-old during his game. “Hey 77! BLOCK SOMEBODY!” His mother and I were getting freaking pissed off at the kid because he’s built like a truck but was playing like a freaking Moped! “Hey 77! If you’re not going to block the kid in front of you, you might as well hug him and give him a tongue kiss!”
His team got killed and both his mother and I ignored him for the next couple of hours. We decided on a few incentives for next week’s game: for every missed block he will spend an hour in his bedroom all alone; for every missed tackle he will run up and down the basement stairs 20 times; and for every missed opportunity that we feel as though he could have put a kid on his ass, he will spend a half hour cutting logs for firewood with his fishing knife.
Needless to say that once I got home and emptied the car, I collapsed on the couch and put my throbbing ankle up. The day wasn’t over because I still had to make some fliers for work, play some games with the ten year-old, and watch Desperate Housewives with the wife.
And then I just couldn’t go to sleep without documenting everything so that someday my kids will read it all and maybe figure out why they turned out as they did.