A Note to the Cafeteria of an Anonymous Fortune

MONDAY, MAY 3, 2010

To Whom It May Concern,

I was visiting the cafeteria today and noticed with glee the shiny new condiment dispensers. Brightly colored and clearly labeled, I see we are now offering – for free – portion-cup sized dollops of our favorites: ketchup, mustard, mayo, barbecue sauce and sweet relish. Although the color of the ketchup and barbecue sauce dispensers are a little too close for my personal comfort (I would hate to approach the inevitably popular area in a rush and reach through the crowd and mistakenly squirt my beloved French fries with a blast of barbecue sauce instead of ketchup - that would truly be a tragedy, especially given the time and cost it would take me to order another helping of the deep fried goodness), I agree with your thinking that it would probably take a true idiot to make such a mistake, especially with the colorful dispensers being so clearly labeled and all, but I digress. While nearly giddy with excitement over the bright, shiny new dispensers, by the time I got back to my desk with my banana, for which I had paid a dollar and seven cents, I realized that the surface beauty of the dispensers and my impulsive love for anything new and shiny and brightly colored had been dulled a bit by the excessive price of the tropical Musaceae. I usually stopped by Circle K and bought a banana for 20 cents. I was vexed. Perhaps a better plan to grab customers might be in order.

And I am pleased to help.

It seems to me, that the purchase of five condiment dispensers may have been a bit over-optimistic, if not foolhardy. I can understand ketchup and mustard and for the most part mayonnaise, although many might balk at the idea of a gallon of mayonnaise sitting out at room temperature all day. Not myself, for I come from a long line of drunken, bleary Irish who would eat most anything slopped on a plate and usually mistake spoilt mayonnaise for Miracle Whip. But sweet relish – really? A gallon? I thought back to how often we serve hot dogs and could only recall twice in recent memory, and both of those times being vendor-sponsored events, where packets were
probably easily procured and paid for by those sponsoring the event. Since a case usually comes with a minimum of six million of these packets and by my estimate only about 2% of the living population even considers sweet relish outside a ballpark, a case of sweet relish should last approximately 75 years. And I could think of no other single food item on which sweet relish isused. No need for the dispenser.

And barbecue sauce, while tasty, probably does not deserve a gallon dispenser of its own, just as it does not deserve any more than a sentence to note its worthlessness.

And upon further rumination, I recalled that the tortillas used in the quesadillas had seemed to decrease in size from the standard 10” to something resembling an 8” substitute – of course, this is only an estimate and my sense of measurement and in particular length are somewhat skewed, according to women I have dated. But the tortillas are smaller nonetheless, even by my myopic standards. Is this really how you want to save on food-cost, by cutting back on quesadilla size? It is an affront to fiestas everywhere. Here’s an idea: Cut the price per ounce on the self-serve salad and make up the money on the amount of lettuce you will sell over that which you throw away at the end of the day. I feel I can safely speak on behalf of my teammates when I say “NO!” to the eight dollar self-serve salad. It only makes us bitter and resentful for trying to be healthy. And stop catering to the weak. Ordering special items for those with intolerances and allergies to peanuts and wheat and fun and humor and latex will only cost you money and eventually a lawsuit. Don’t worry about them, they will either bring their own chow, or mercifully die.

I guess what I’m saying is “Keep it simple, folks”. Give me a greasy burger and some fries, with ketchup, or some pasta or a few tacos when I have a hangover – I don’t need Chicken Kiev, or Marsala, or Piccata or Cacciatore or any of that fancy stuff, nor do I need colorful dispensers for my Miracle Whip. Then maybe we can keep up with Circle K when it comes to the banana-thing. And we want Monster drinks and chewing gum again. And low-cut outfits for the ladies.

Thanks for listening.

(Originally Posted May 3, 2010)

Previous Letter to Facilities of an Anonymous Fortune 500 Company...

To: Facilities
December, 2009
From: Jerry Ford

Subject: Men's Restroom, *** Street

To Whom It May Concern:

I happened to be using the restroom next to the break room at *** Street this morning and wanted to bring something to your attention.

Now, let it be stated that I am not one to saddle anyone with useless work - we used to call it "busy-work" - in fact, I am of the firm and unshakeable belief that if one does their work in a competent and reliable fashion that they should be rewarded with a shorter work week, a pay raise, a puppy at Christmas and a picnic at Easter as a reward for their competence and foresight, but I digress.

I was tending to my business at the urinal, planning out my next two hours at work, wondering what was on the lunch menu and contemplating the spread for the Superbowl. All the while, I was musing to myself over the competency and reliability of my own workmanship as well as what type of puppy the holiday was certain to bring, when there was a sudden "WHOOSH" sound, followed by a stinging in my eyes and throat and a horrible flashback to a mace mishap at a frat party in 1981.

I screamed and backed away from the urinal, my hands instinctively flying to my eyes, unwittingly ruining my shoes and providing extra cleanup duty for the 11am cleanup crew. I cursed, once I had regained my speech and most of my eyesight and saw, much to my surprise, a battery-powered, time-released air-freshener that had apparently been installed to freshon the air around the urinals in a toxic cloud of citrus-scented Zyklon B.

Installed at head-level above the urinals.

This seems to lack foresight.

Perhaps, instead of hanging the "freshener" above the urinals and aiming the deadly mist at users' eyeballs, we should think about re-installing them across from the stalls, where the really serious odors are generated. After all, while it is indeed funny to imagine people screaming and spraying the floors while pawing ineffectively at their eyes and creating, in essence, their own little mini-biohazard, it seems likely that the cycle of bad karma set into motion would far outweigh the actual joy over the implementation of the prank.

And all the while, the methane gas on the other side of the restroom remains unchecked and the most likely cause of the strange smells and random fire-alarms that plague our building.

Once again, I don't wish to create extra work for anyone and am all in favor of a good joke. In fact, I laugh at the Three Stooges every time Shemp gets his head stuck in a steam iron. I simply want to make certain that our safe work environment is maintained and policed at every level.

If there is anything I can do to assist in this matter, please do not hesitate to let me know.

Thanks!

Regards,
Jerry Ford

(Originally published June 17, 2010)

Wives - Doing the Math...

I am clearly not the voice of reason when it comes to marriage. My first two trips down the aisle ended in divorce, my third has lasted the longest, but the reason for the longevity of this relationship may be due in part to the fact that the spouse has been in a different country for all but a few weeks of the marriage, which is perfect, really. I can eat when I want to, watch sports on TV and leave the seat up if I am so inclined. I can travel there for occasional maintenence and hightail it back to the comfort of the man-cave when the conversation wanes. On the downside, I have to do my own cooking and laundry - seems a fair trade.

That said, I saw an article about the fact that there are so few women in certain parts of India that men have to sometimes share their wives with their brothers... Or whomever. In my opinion, it seems like bad planning when you eliminate pregnancies when they are found to be of female gender. That's easy math - a couple of generations of that sort of backward thinking and you find yourself taking deli-numbers for a few minutes of procreational hoo-ha with the three lucky gals on the block. Clearly not thinking ahead, the Indians.

Compare this to the glut of women in the camp of Warren Jeffs, the old-school Mormon fellow who took it upon himself to form his own town where the wives were plentiful enough that each man could have his share and more. This sounds like a better scenario than not having enough women, if you want my two cents. You can sleep with a different gal every night, your house would damned clean if you had six or seven wives helping with the upkeep and dinner would probably be a smorgasboard of delight. On the other hand, you would have to listen to a constant cacophony of yammering and in-house cat-fighting and those gals probably don't like the sexy underthings. Or the religion probably doesn't. I don't know for certain, but I'm guessing someone is putting the kibosh on the lacy undergarments. That's how it works - we'll have a few wives, but we'll dress them like Laura Ingalls so no one realizes we're being gluttons...

There has to be some sort of happy medium here - granted, having one wife can get tiresome, even if she's living in another country - but having to share one with family just doesn't feel right to me. What if someone in your little ring around the rosy passes along a dose of clap or some crabs - I'm thinking that makes for a tough Thanksgiving dinner, with everyone glaring at each othor over the cranberry sauce. If I open a Christmas gift from my brother and find a tube of cream for pubic-lice, there is going to be a fracas. A big fracas.

Having multiple wives, on the other hands, seems like overkill to me. If you think one woman talking during the basketball game is a pain in the ass, try having six of them pulling at your pantleg - literally and figuratively - every minute of the day. On the plus side, I'd probably be filthy rich, because I would never come home from work until at least half the spouses were sound asleep. The other three would, of course, be busy keeping my dinner warm...

I do have a solution for this gross mismanagement of the marital blueprint. I think either the Mormon folks should go live in these Indian villages or the Indians should come and settle down with the Mormons. Some kind of system could be worked out wherein the wives are distributed in an equitable fashion - perhaps it could be like a fantasy football draft or something - and a firm guideline for future dissemanation of the females should be put into place immediately. We are definitely not letting the Indians run this one - the last time they tried to manage the female offspring was obviously a royal disaster.

I welcome your thoughts - in the meantime, I will continue to stay on the straight and narrow, mining the single-wife situation the best I can. It seems really easy - especially with her being in another country and all. Try it. Or move to India or Utah - whichever suits your needs.

Monsters - The Skinny

I have been watching a television show on legendary monsters, which only makes me further doubt my ability to manage my time in a responsible fashion. I could be watching the news, learning about the folks who want to take over Wall Street, or about the nuts and bolts of how our nation has gone into the shitter or whether our current choice for the Presidential Punching Bag is good or bad. I could be discovering a cure for cancer, finding a means, illegal or otherwise, to get my wife back into the country, or reading a good book. Instead, I'm watching a melodramatic documentary on the non-existence of the Loch Ness Monster, The Yeti, Sasquatch, werewolves and vampires. The fact that I already know these things do not exist does not dissuade me from watching this fiddle-faddle. In fact, it makes it easier, since I don't have to burn a lot of calories following along and trying to come to a logical conclusion.

On the other hand, every documentary I watch concerning ancient aliens being the brains behind the great pyramids, crop circles, giant drawings of wildlife only visible from the air - not to mention the Mayan timetable and Antikythera mechanism only serve to make me more convinced that we are being endlessly hounded by creatures from another world. What an irony it would be if the unidentifiable other-worldly beings behind these enduring mysteries turned out to be vampires, werewolves or really smart Yetis.

The difference between aliens from another planet and these mysterious creatures of lore is the fact that aliens have the ability to disappear - they simply hop in their space-mobiles and head out. Vampires, werewolves, Yetis, Bigfoot and Nessy do not have this luxury - they are forced to die among us. And the fact that we have never found a bone, dwelling, carcass or piece of scat from any of these creatures should close the book on the matter. The fact that most of the photos, grainy video and eyewitness accounts have proven to be bullshit should further poo-poo the existence of these monstuary icons. The same cannot be said of the aliens, however. It's like believing in God - you can't prove He exists, but you can't prove He doesn't. That said, I've seen a UFO and I have yet to have an encounter with anything even remotely resembling a messenger from The Lord. Unless you count a gal I once met in the parking lot of a Denny's in 1987. She was heavenly, but no angel...

I digress. If you have been paying attention, you may have noticed that I have not mentioned the Frankenstein Monster. I doubt that Mary Shelley was writing an accurate expose on the creation of a man-made monster, but the fact that we haven't seen this one come to fruition at this point does not mean that it won't one day. We are cloning sheep and rats and it won't be long until we clone a monkey, then at some point, a human baby... Frankenstein's Monster may one day walk among us - the fun comes when we find out if it's been cloned from Mother Teresa or Hannibal Lector.

Happy Halloween!