Month: January 2017

A little common courtesy, please

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date January 26, 2017
No Comments on A little common courtesy, please

So there’s this guy I know. He’s got a meeting Monday. But he might be able to do to get with you Tuesday. But what he really wants is to make sure the contract is signed.

OK, I don’t know him. At all. But I do know all of that other stuff. Why? Because he decided to have this conversation extra loud while pacing back and forth in a coffee shop.

Now I’m not one of those luddites who can’t stand if someone is using technology in public. We live in a world where people are mobile and on the go. Coffee shops are the people’s office. I often work in one, and I on occasion take phone calls when I am in there. I see no problem with taking a phone call if you talk in a tone that you would if someone were sitting across from you.

My problem with this guy was that he was not sitting in one spot, speaking in a normal tone. He was a loud person. And I get what it’s like being loud. My wife is constantly reminding me that I have a rather loud voice, usually when we are in public. Normally, it’s over very unimportant things, but she will tell me that we don’t need to ask the entire supermarket what kind of hummus to buy. (Our daughter inherited this gift, which provides me the opportunity to be a raging hypocrite and point out when she is talking loudly.)

The guy was also strolling back and forth through the store, from one end to the other, and then back to the other side.

Again, I get the pacing. I don’t think I have had a phone call in my house while seated in 20 years. I, too, am a pacer. But not in a coffee shop. It’s a social contract we engage in. Your conversation is yours, and it doesn’t need to become mine.

I continued working away as the gentleman paced back and forth, but I have to admit, I spent less time looking at my computer and more time watching others in the coffee shop. There were probably 15 other people in there. And every time the dude strolled passed their tables, someone would look up, having their at-the-table conversation disrupted by the guy who really had to finalize some contracts.

So what I want to ask each and every one of you today: Start today asking yourself, with everything you do, are my actions going to have a negative impact on someone else? I tell my kids this all the time. For example, when strolling through a parking lot, is your desire to play Pokemon Go or Snapchat something that critical that you should slow down traffic? No. It’s not. But my kids are teenagers. They’re expected to be knuckleheads. Adults shouldn’t have to be told this. But apparently they do.

So adults — time to reset. Time to remember what I always tell my kids — other people exist on this planet. And life is so much better when you realize that they are there. So don’t stroll through a coffee shop having a loud conversation. Also, don’t:

Mosey through a parking lot while staring at your phone, as I’ve already pointed out.
Take 11 items to the express line when it clearly says 10 items or less (even though it should be “fewer”).
Leave your grocery cart in the middle of a parking spot (pretty sure any long time reader of my column saw this one coming).
Continually switch lanes trying to win a traffic jam.
Litter. Seriously, it’s 2017. Who’s OK with that now?
Stay on your phone call when you are checking out at the store.
Stay on your phone when you are checking someone out at the store.

I am sure I could write on and on and on about little things people could stop doing that really shouldn’t have to be said. But let’s start with some of the basics. Come on, people. We can do this. We can remember that other people exist around us. And we can still probably get that contract signed by Tuesday.

Mike Gibbons was born and raised in Aiken, S.C. A graduate of the University of Alabama, he now lives in Mt. Pleasant. You can e-mail him at scmgibbons@gmail.com or follow him on Twitter @StandardMike.

The great ball rescue

Every once in a while, Superman needs a ladder.

My son, ever since he has been old enough to throw a ball, has had an amazing propensity for getting them stuck in trees. Mainly, this is because, for some reason, he enjoys throwing or kicking balls directly into trees. One would think he might eventually determine the cause and effect relationship.

We have been successful every time in retrieving said stuck balls, normally because I have fairly solid aim, and with a few chucks of another ball, I am able to unlodge the stuck object.

Sometimes, however, you have to go to plan B.

The most recent time happened when my son punted a football into the top of a palm tree in our yard.

“Dad, the ball’s stuck, and I don’t think we can get it out,” my son said. Hogwash, I said gathering up two other footballs that were sitting in the yard. I chunked one. And I chunked a second one.

Fun fact: The top of a palm tree has a ball magnet that will capture footballs and hold them with an iron-like grip.

I considered going to get a basketball, Frisbee, golf ball, etc. but figured I would just be adding to the offerings being donated to the tree.

Rather, I said, “Go get the ladder.” The ladder is a six-foot ladder. The ball was about 20 feet up in the air. My son said, “Dad, you can’t reach it from the ladder.”

“And your fishing pole,” I said.

I’ll be the McGyver of ball rescue, I thought.

Once the ladder was in place, I noticed it was sitting on mulch, which is not exactly what OSHA probably recommends you stand your ladder on. So I called in reinforcements. I had my daughter on one side of the ladder and my son on the other, holding it in place for me. I began climbing the ladder, fishing pole in hand. When I got near the top, I raised the pole above my head. I couldn’t quite reach the trio of balls. So you know those top steps on ladders that say, “Not a step”? Yeah, totally a step.

Once up on the top of the ladder, I braced one hand on the tree and began poking at the balls with the fishing rod. And every time, the top of the pole just bent, and the balls hardly moved.

As I was making several attempts, I began getting advice from my son and my daughter. My wife emerged from inside and also began to give me pointers. As if suddenly there were a bunch of experts in the time honored sport of retrieving balls from the top of a ladder with a fishing pole.

“Hey,” I said. “You know what I could use? No advice.” I was still looking up, but you could pretty much hear the collective eyerolls.

Back to the task at hand. Time to improvise the improvisation.

“Parker,” I said to my son. “Go find a the biggest stick you can. Taller than your fishing pole.”

In a few moments, my son returned with about a 10-foot plastic pole. The pole was in our garage when we moved in, and I have no idea what it’s for. At least I didn’t. Now, I know exactly what it’s for.

Back up on the ladder, with my assistants firmly in their places, I maneuvered the pole to the top of the tree. I poked the first ball a few times. And down it came free and clear. My son abandoned his job as ladder assistant to catch the ball. I’ll allow it.

Second ball — same thing. Free and caught. When the third ball was bounced free, it came near my daughter, who opted to keep her grip on the ladder. I will also allow that.

The balls are now free, but I am sure at least some of them will find themselves wedged up in a tree again sooner rather than later. But that’s fine. Because I finally know what the big, long pole is for.

Uncategorized

Hey, Chargers fans – Y’all are welcome here

Post author By Mike Gibbons
Post date January 13, 2017
No Comments on Hey, Chargers fans – Y’all are welcome here

Just wanted to reach out from the other coast and offer all of you understandably hurt Chargers fans a possible path back to professional football. As the recently self-appointed fan spokesperson for the Atlanta Falcons, I invite all scorned Chargers fans to Rise Up and hop on the Falcons bandwagon. We don’t have much history — only 10 games against each other ever. So we don’t have a rocky past. You know there’s no way you could possibly shift to the Chiefs or Broncos or Raiders. Too much history. We’re a lovely fanbase with a brand spanking new stadium starting next year. And Samuel L. Jackson is in our hype video. What’s not to love? So come on Charger, fans. Become Falcons fans. It’s only about a four-hour flight, which is probably about the same amount of time you’d spend in LA traffic. Look forward to seeing y’all.

Childhood Family

The hollow threat

I went to the grocery store recently, and I apparently went on rowdy toddler day.

Now, lest you assume I am going into a Harumph! rant about these kids today and how those dagblasted parents should bygum do something about those misbehavin’ younguns, I assure you I’m not.

Rather, as I strolled the aisles, basket in hand, picking up items for the evening’s dinner, I thought to myself, “I remember that!”

There were several packs of rowdy shoppers. Mostly there were moms, and they were handling the kids the way my wife would: With patience and that monotone approach that mothers innately have when they say those run-on sentences like, “No, we are not getting whipped cream and stop touching your brother, Sarah, and, Kyle, seriously, get your foot out from under the shopping cart before I run it over and hey, who put the whipped cream in the cart but one of you better put it back in the next five seconds.” Amazingly, the moms can do this while continuing to push the cart and check their grocery list.

Then there was the dad. He was there with his two young daughters. I passed him on one aisle, and he had that exasperated look of someone who could think of roughly 8 billion things he would rather be doing, and that includes getting his hand stuck in a garbage disposal.

His daughters were riding the side of the carts, which is really a dad way to travel. We are fine with that to start, mainly because we have not thought through the implications of having a small child on either side of the cart, both able to reach the items on their respective sides. Most moms, and certainly my wife, would have said no from the get-go, as she is smarter than I am.

A few aisles later, I passed them again. And that’s when Dad unleashed the Fury of the Dad in Public (and Publix) that I have known all too well: The hollow threat.

“Girls, seriously! Stop taking things off the shelf. Or. I. Will. Cancel. The. Vacation.”

Been there, brother. Been there.

I do not know where their vacation was planned for, but I do not believe for a second he was planning on canceling it. Why? Because if I had canceled every vacation I had threatened to, we would have traveled a grand total of zero miles in our life.

I have threatened to cancel Disney, the Keys, Washington, D.C. and many others. Now I know some of you old school hardliners are saying, “Well then why didn’t you cancel? Teach them a lesson!” Because those trips were paid for. And I wanted to go, too.

Truth of the matter is that threats of this nature are our last ditch effort to salvage a simple shopping trip. And you also have the fallback of letting the kids “earn” the trip back. When they’re little, they have no concept of, well, anything. So you sometimes throw a Hail Mary hoping to make them stop grabbing bags of Cheeto’s off the shelf.

I didn’t see the dad for the rest of the shopping trip, but I certainly hope that his daughters took the threat seriously, even if we all know there was no teeth to it. For one thing, I can only imagine what it would be like if he got home and told his wife, “Sorry, honey. Disney trip is canceled. Mallory wouldn’t stop grabbing Little Debbie snack cakes.” Her response would contain the phrases, “Do you know how much we paid for that?” and “Seriously?” and possibly, “The nuclear option was your choice?”

I have decided that the girls got their acts together and the rest of the shopping trip was a delight. And their vacation was salvaged. And, if not, I am also hopeful that they “earned” it back with good bedtimes or clean rooms or the like. And I hope Dad was just having one of those bad days where he is doing his level best, but isn’t quite wired for one of those even-handed Mom addresses. At the end of the day, most of us parents are just doing our level best to get through the day with some peace and harmony. And in defense of dads, sometimes we come heavy handed with the threats hoping to put an end to the madness. One day our kids will look back on this and remember that we were just doing our best, and we never did cancel those vacations. They will probably really remember it when they are parents and threaten the exact same thing.

Uncategorized

I’m floored

We have floors again.

Well, we’ve had floors all along. It’s not like we ever lived on the edge of a bottomless pit. But we recently had new flooring put in, and I am pleased that (a) it is over and (b) my wife is happy with the results.

We have lived in our house for more than two years. But we leased for the first two, and just recently purchased it from the previous owner. Since we were leasing, we hadn’t done a lot of interior work because, let’s face it, not many folks remodel other people’s homes.

We had carpets in most of the downstairs, along with tile in the kitchen and hardwood in a hallway. My wife wanted a hardwood laminate throughout the downstairs. Works for me.

I’ll spare you the details of the task of picking out the flooring, mainly because it was me letting my wife pick out what she wanted. And that’s not because she doesn’t want my input. It’s because I don’t really care what the flooring is. You could cover my floors in gym mats and I probably wouldn’t notice.

My wife and I went into the flooring place to set up the installation schedule. Jeff, our salesman, said he could do it the following Wednesday. “You mean the Wednesday before Christmas?” I asked. He assured me that was no problem whatsoever, and they’d be in and out before Christmas.

I wasn’t totally sold on the possibility of having our Christmas morning be amidst construction debris, but Jeff assured us it was fine.

Deep breath.

The night before the installers were to arrive, my wife and I set about prepping the house. We moved anything that was not needed downstairs upstairs. Which means we moved 439 pairs of my daughter’s shoes up to her room.

My wife then said, “We need to vacuum before they get here.”

I responded, “You know they are tearing up all of this carpet and hauling it away tomorrow, right?”

My wife looked at me. With one of those looks. I went and got the vacuum.

Our next move was to relocate our small dog’s bed upstairs. Our dogs are exceptionally helpful when workers are around, to the point that they will often maintain physical contact with, say, someone trying to install our cable. Thus, when workers are over, we move them up to our room.

Maddux the Stoic is a boxer with a great big crate he sleeps in at night, but he’s also fine without it. We can just move him upstairs sans bed and he’s fine sleeping at the foot of our bed. Murphy the Excitable Dachshund, however, when moved upstairs, just wanders our room looking for something of familiarity. To your bed, sir.

The workers arrived around 8:30 the next morning. By about 9, it looked as if my house had been simultaneously ransacked and hit with a grenade. All of the furniture was stacked together in a small pile on one side of the house. Our kitchen floor was now just a collection of pried up broken tile pieces. This is fine, I said. This will all work out before Christmas, I said. My wife had gone into the office by then. She texted me and asked me how it was going. I sent her a picture of the kitchen. “This will all work out before Christmas,” I said.

They then began cutting up and removing the carpet. They did not tell me how nice it looked being freshly vacuumed, but I am sure they noticed.

I decided I would do what contractors most appreciate and get out of their way for a while.

I came back a few hours later to see how they were coming with the undoing of my house. I walked in the door and there was … a new floor. On like half the house. I sent a picture to my wife. I am not sure she believed it.

They finished that evening with all but the den left. They wrapped that up the next morning in a few hours. Job done, start to finish, in just over a day. Jeff was right. Never doubt Jeff.

The floors look great, and my wife is over the moon with how it looks. The only negative comments we have received are from the dogs, who have made it very clear that this new ice-like surface we have installed means they must seek refuge on couches or in their beds. They would have really preferred we had gone with gym mats.