Tech News and Rambling from a Surly Little Bastard…
A golf cart is one of two vehicles you should be allowed to drive drunk. The thing goes three feet a minute. If you hit somebody with one, they pretty much deserved it for having the reflexes of a tuna sandwich.
It was a quote from somewhere. No idea its origin… Apparently via Waking Ideas
It’s quite odd. For as long as I can remember, being with my Dad meant beer (usually Coors Lite)… by the case. One after another after another, all night long.
And yet when I was with my Mom, there was always a bottle of some type of whine (usually a White Zin) in the fridge, but it would sit there for years on end, unopened.
Then I turned 21, and started drinking at home. It started off with just me, feeling a tad out of place drinking my beer with dinner on a pretty regular basis1. One night I get home and decide to mix it up. There were several bottles of wine accumulating in the fridge2, and I decided to crack one open. My mom comes home just as I’m cleaning up the mess I made from my first attempt at the use of a cork-screw, and asks whether I’m stealing her muscadine wine. I tell her I’m not sure, I didn’t pay attention, so she takes a sip of mine and tells me nope, that’s not it. She proceeds to open another bottle and pours me a glass of it to taste, along with one for herself. Not bad, I thought… While I finish the rather unpleasant glass I’d poured from the first bottle, she finishes her glass of the Muscadine and pours another. On with dinner and a typical night…
The next night, we repeat almost the same process. I had enjoyed the Muscadine wine from the previous night, and decided that after a rough day, I deserved another glass. She comes home while I’m sitting in the recliner in the living room listening to some soft jazz3 and sipping my wine and accuses me of drinking up all her Muscadine wine, and proceeds to finish off the bottle herself.
Since then, it’s been an odd progression. Now several nights a week, we’ll each have a glass of wine. Sometimes I’ll substitute mine for something else4, but it’s become a bit of a ritual. Whether anyone else is home or not, we’ll get home after a hard day5 and have a glass or two of wine. We’ve also started buying a variety of wine whenever we’re out. If she happens to run to the grocery store one night, she’ll pick up something that looks appealing. Similarly, if I’m at Greens picking up something6, I’ll check out whatever they have in one of their mid-aisle displays and see what I see that might be good and grab a bottle.
Now, I know a lot of friends whose families are just drinking families. Some are more sophisticated and enjoy a glass or two of wine with dinner after a day at the office. Others are quite a bit more liberal, cracking open a beer as soon as they enter the door and not stopping until bed. Then there are those more conservative7 families (like ours usually was) where alcohol is rarely used8. It’s just been a bit of an adjustment for me, getting used to having someone else in the house drinking.
I suppose I’m just a tad worried. Is this how it starts? Am I slowly on my way to becoming an alcoholic? If it becomes a daily ritual to have a glass (or two, or three) of wine a night, is that the first step? When do you start to worry about your alcohol consumption? When you hit a 6-pack a night or a bottle a night? Two? Three? Or is it more focused on whether or not you could go without it or not? Don’t most alcoholics belive that they could stop drinking on a regular basis if they wanted to?
So tell me… Do you drink on a regular basis? If so, how much? Have you ever felt that you drink too much? Do you think I should be at all worried about my current level of drinking, or do you think it’s a normal level thus-far? Are there indications that I’m crossing the line into alcoholism? I honestly don’t think I am, and don’t think I ever will. Still, being the type of introspective, analytical type of person I am, I constantly wonder about these things. Is it really so bad to need two or three glasses of wine (or beer, etc.) a night to relax after work? I mean, if that’s what it takes to keep from flipping out and making a mistake9, is it really such a bad thing? Sounds more like a bargain to me…
But that’s why I’m here, pouring out my slightly-inebriated thoughts on my blog… I know there are far greater sources of wisdom out there than I can offer, so I ask you… What do you think?
The Chain of Love
This past week was one of the most stressful I’ve ever experienced. We were rolling up to our biggest client’s enrollment period (starting Monday), and I was tossed head-first into their enrollment website’s code after we let our other web developer go. After finally accomplishing the impossible and actually successfully bastardizing the system to do something totally unintended, I decided it was time for a relaxing night out.
John and I went out to dinner, and then for massive numbers of drinks. This isn’t terribly unusual - we do it once every month or two. But tonight there was something special…
When we were done, we went to Steak & Shake to get a snack before heading home. We got there and an older woman (probably in her late 40’s or early 50’s) called across the room to me and told me to take a seat and she’d be right with us. When she finally came running over to take our drink orders, she apologized (unnecessarily) for making us wait and explained that all the other waiters and waitresses had skipped out on her tonight.
We instantly felt sorry for her and took every opportunity during our meal to assure her that it was no problem, we were doing just fine. Talking amongst ourselves, we decided she deserved a good tip, not simply because she was having a rough night, but because in spite of it all she was doing a really great job taking care of us. She was clearly running her ass off, and yet she still had a weary smile on her face and boasted an up-beat apologetic attitude I’d never have been able to maintain.
Mid-way through our food, she came over to refill my cup of coffee and again tried to apologize for not taking better care of us. On top of everything else, she explained that one of the groups of teenagers who’d just come from a local high-school football game had run out on their bill and that their $15 tab was going to come out of her pay check.
John and I just looked at each other for a moment, not sure what to say. She finished and ran off again to take care of yet another customer in the bustling restaurant while we again talked about how she deserved an exceptional tip.
As soon as the words had come out of her mouth, I remembered a song, the lyrics to which I just looked up. It was The Chain of Love, by Clay Walker, and the part that stuck in my memory was about a woman whose Mercedes had broken down on the side of the road. After waiting on the side of the road, trying to waive down any number of cars, one finally stopped to help her replace her flat tire. When she offered to pay the kind man, he declined, asking her simply to continue the Chain of Love.
Later on, she stops to eat at a diner. The waitress is 8 months pregnant and dead on her feet. When she leaves to get the woman her change for a $100 bill, the woman slips out quietly after leaving a note on a napkin:
It’s a country song, and while I’m generally not much for country songs about women running out and the loss of old dogs, this one really hit home for some reason. I couldn’t tell you how long it’s been since I’ve heard it, but as soon as I heard about those kids running out on their bill, I knew what I was going to do.
Back in high school a couple of friends and I once went to Steak & Shake. It was exceptionally crowded and as we stood in line to pay our bill, we - somehow or other - decided that no one would notice if we just slipped out. We were lined all the way back up to the door, and after about 5 minutes we did exactly that. I hadn’t given it another thought, until tonight.
I had no idea that our bill had come out of our waitress’ pay check. I don’t even remember what she looked like, but that’s hardly the point. Instead of ripping off a franchise as we’d intended, we ended up ripping off some poor person who was working for minimum wage.
Without a second thought, I pulled out my pen, flipped over the place mat, and left our waitress a note. I expressed our sympathies for everyone leaving her holding the bag and especially for those kids running out on her and leaving her to cover their bill. I wished her a good weekend and stuck the place mat under my coffee cup where she’d be sure to see it while John went up to pay our bill so we could leave.
Before I left the table, I opened my wallet and found the $100 bill that I’d kept in it for over 4 years now. Again I lifted my coffee cup and slid the bill under.
Hurrying up to the counter, I met John and tried to expedite things so we could get out before the waitress finished clearing our table.
As John was signing his credit card receipt1, the waitress finished reading my note and came running up to grab me before I could slip out the door. With tears running down her cheeks, she grabbed me in one of the biggest hugs I’ve ever had and thanked me over and over again before finally letting go. It was all I could do not to cry right along with her…
As long as I live, I don’t know that I’ll ever forget that moment - and I hope that I don’t. Sometimes I lose perspective on just how good my life and my job are and I forget that there are those out there with problems much larger than mine.
Thanks to this amazing waitress, I hope I never fall victim to such perceptions again…