My boss always came across a little harsh. Not harsh like he was mean. But harsh like a father who is distant and authoritative, unsure of how to show love or kindness when those emotions crept up on him.
I imagine he would've made a great J. Jonah Jameson in the Spiderman movies. Tough, quick, chaotic. His hair began to disappear years ago, and he had long since went to the buzz cut. I bet he enjoyed that day. He finally had an excuse to not mess with his damn hair everyday. I'd never seen him smoke, but I think if he didn't have to go outside to fire up, he'd probably have a cigar in his mouth like he was born with it there.
Today was like every other. I came in. Sat down at my tiny cubicle just outside of his office. I'd been trying to move up in the company for three years. Hoping to do that one great thing that gets you noticed and promoted so fast your head spins. I'd had some good ideas. Ideas that really grew the business, but nothing that blew the right people away forcing them to sit up and take notice.
He came around the corner so fast it startled me. He moved through the office like a freight train on an unpredictable track. If he could only smoke that cigar he wanted so badly, he'd even have the essence of steam rising through the sky during his train-like gait.
"JOHNSON!" he yelled. "GIT OVER HERE!"
Frank Johnson was the new guy. Got a business degree about 6 years ago. Just got his fancy pants MBA, and he sure was proud of it. I'd always wanted to get my MBA, but I needed one promotion before the company would reimburse me while I got it.
"Yes sir," he nervously mustered.
"The Stinson Account just called. They have a big grand opening, and we have to come up with the promotion plan. They were using someone else, yada, yada, yada, they want us now. We have two days to put together an idea, pitch it and execute it. We need excitement for this event. Time to put that degree to work."
"Two days isn't enough time..."
"IT DOESN'T MATTER! We need this account."
"When do you need the idea?"
"By the end of the day."
I had overheard the whole conversation. This was my big chance. There was no way Johnson was going to come up with a serviceable idea by the end of the day. Time to shine.
At 10 after 4 I approached my boss. "Sir I couldn't help, but overhear your conversation with Frank earlier."
"Who?"
"Johnson."
"Oh. Right."
"I thought I might could be of some assistance. I called in a couple of favors at two local radio stations and a television station. They said if we can get a spot filmed, or taped of course for radio, they would work late tomorrow night to make sure it gets on the air in time to promote the big grand opening. I've also designed a spot that I think captures our clients attitude and reaches out to their target market, but will still be easy to produce."
My boss picks up his phone. "Jenny. Get Johnson in here right away."
This is it. He's gonna tell Frank that the problem is solved. Frank will be relieved. Or pissed. Either way, I'm getting promoted!
"Yes sir."
"Johnson, have you come up with anything yet. I've got an idea on the table and I'm ready to run with it."
"Well, sir. Picture this: A giant inflatable gorilla."
"Giant inflatable gorilla?"
"Yes sir. With a sign that reads 'Grand Opening' on it's t-shirt."
"It's wearing a t-shirt?"
"Yes sir. Kind of a tank top."
"How big's this gorilla?"
"Huge. 30 feet tall. Hands up in the air like he's swatting at army aircraft."
This is beautiful. My boss leans back in his chair, pensive. Trying to find a way to shoot him down without making him cry. I can't wait to see this.
"That's brilliant, Johnson. Hell of an idea. You deserve a promotion. Jenny get me a giant inflatable gorilla. Make it blue. With a green tank top. Put a sign on it that says 'Grand Opening'."
He looks at me. "What are you doing here? Get back to work. Johnson, great job. That MBA came in handy after all. You want to get together for dinner Thursday night and talk about your future with the company?"
"Yes sir. Thank you sir."
Thursday, July 26, 2007
Monday, June 25, 2007
A big wheel with plastic tires on a hill in the rain.
Life is full of metaphors. Sometimes they're right in front of you. Sometimes they're obvious. Sometimes they take a week or two to hit you.
Sometimes you're sitting right on them.
Lately, life is a big wheel with plastic tires on an asphalt hill in the rain.
I have to go back about three weeks for this to start to make sense. This was the time Stacie and I purchased a couple of Trek Hybrid bicycles. We decided in Ft. Lauderdale that we liked to ride and that we could get into that as something we could do together for fun and exercise. While searching for the bikes online I noticed an ad on Richardson Bike Mart's website for an Urban Assault Race.
It caught my eye, and though I knew there was no way we'd be ready to race in the short two weeks remaining until this race I wanted to check it out. It looked awesome.
Basically there are 6 checkpoints in the Dallas area that they give you. The other 3 are secret checkpoints that you have to figure out based on clues, the first of which is given the week before the race. You race in two person teams to the checkpoints in any order, but you have to get a bead from every checkpoint saying that you were there and that you completed the obstacle at the checkpoint.
At this point I was sucked in...we had to do this. It sounded too fun to pass up. The estimated mileage for the race is 25-30 miles. No problem, I think. If we can ride around White Rock Lake (approx. 9 miles) about three times by the time the race arrives, we're golden.
Well, I entered us in the race. We got our bikes, helmets, flat fixing equipment, water bottles, etc. Took a class to learn how to fix our flats along with some common safety tips. We're rockin' and rollin' at this point. We even rode the bikes a couple of times (we didn't quite reach the goal of 3 complete times around White Rock, but whatcha gonna do..?)
I start checking the weather about 4 days prior to race day and it doesn't look good. It looks rainy. At first this disappoints me, but then I realize it may actually be to our advantage...you see, when I entered the race it was, "Let's do it Stace. It'll be fun. Who cares if we win, let's just have fun and finish." Well, she cared. My wife wanted to win. And by this point she had convinced me that if our strategy was spot on, we could win this sucker. So, fun and finishing went out the window, naturally to be replaced by fun through winning.
Come race day, I was nervous. I mean, it had been a while since I had been in real competition. It felt like a Friday night, many, many moons ago. Right before walking out the field house door down to the sign with the velcro gash in the middle that my teammates and I were about to demolish. It felt good. And to be extra dorky, I even had trouble sleeping the night before.
Once we get to the race site, Stacie and I start sizing up the competition. We only have to be better than the other co-ed teams. Aside from a couple of teams, I feel extremely confident in our chances based on my snap judgements. And just as I expected, right before the start it begins to rain. Pretty consistently.
The powers that be decide to go ahead as planned. It's just rain. No thunder. No lightning. Unless you count my left and right quads, flexed and ready to barrel out of the gate...
Anywho. The air horn sounds and off we go. Our strategy was to head to to the western most checkpoint first because we were fairly confident with our knowledge of Dallas that the two mystery checkpoints we had yet to uncover would be back towards the starting line. We make our way to Chipotle on Lemmon Ave. At this checkpoint, we have to walk on plastic stilts a certain distance to receive our bead. Plastic stilts in the rain...tricky, but manageable. We get our bead and head to our next stop, Subaru of Dallas.
We weren't allowed to ride on Lemmon Avenue so I had mapped a route that kept us on a road one off of Lemmon. What I hadn't accounted for was the big wall that they conveniently don't show on the map that blocked pretty much all the streets in my planned route. Finally, after 5 or 6 lost minutes we decided that the sidewalk on Lemmon is not technically Lemmon.
At the Subaru dealership is where our metaphor is found. I wouldn't realize it until days later, probably because I was embarrassed and pissed off. Pissed off at the big wheel. Embarrassed at the shouts of encouragement and advice through laughter.
You see, in my haste, I apparently picked the smallest big wheel. Which, just because it has one wheel larger than the other two does not make that wheel "big". You had to stay on the big wheel with your feet on the pedals for your lap to count. I started out fine. Straight for about 10 yards. Then left down a hill. You see, at this point I should have realized that if you're riding in a circle and you go down a hill, you have to go back up at some point. Nope. Just thinkin' about finishing and how awkward and uncomfortable a big wheel is.
Straightaway. Left turn. Straightaway. Left turn. Straigtaway...Oh crap. Hill. Okay. Get some speed. Thunder and Lightning mustered as much speed as they could to prep for this hill. This asphalt covered hill. This slick, rain-soaked, asphalt covered, unsurmountable, might-as-well-be-made-of-ice hill. I made it about 5 feet from the finish line when my feet let me down. As the plastic tires spun out on the slick surface, my feet slipped off the wet pedals. And down the hill I went.
I backed up, got some speed and tried again. Same result.
Three more times I attacked. Three more times my assault was denied. Laughter. Advice. Encouragement. More laughter. Camera flashes. More laughter.
Finally, I see my escape. If I can make it up the hill just a few feet, I can bail off the asphalt and onto a grass and dirt covered knoll. It's my only hope. Sure it's out of bounds, but if they don't give me the damn bead because of that, I might make sure they're riding this big wheel permanently, if you follow.
I gather my speed. I tell my feet not to fail me now. I hit the apshalt, I climb to the edge of the knoll and make my way onto it. Just a few more feet...tires spinning out...feet holding on...the nose of the tire just inches past the plane of the cones. Count it. Let's get outta here...
And that is like life. A big wheel with plastic tires on a hill in the rain. It is for me anyway right now, but maybe it's time to look for my grass and dirt covered knoll. If you know what I'm talking about, you know. If you don't that's cool...you can probably find some metaphorical genius of your own in there somewhere.
Back on the race route, Stacie and I know we have to make up some time since I have cost us several minutes now. If you're keeping score at home that's: Lost Time for Ty: Getting Lost 5 min, Big Wheel Mess: 8 min. Lost Time for Stacie: None.)
Stacie knows uptown very well and maneuvers us down to Dick's Last Resort, the first mystery check point. We get our bead and the clue to the second mystery point which we immediately recognize as a mural in downtown. As we head to this mural the skies open up. It's raining buckets. Thunder and lightning are frequent (not my quads this time, the actual thunder and lightning.) We get our bead from the second mystery checkpoint and the clue to the third. This clue was not as obvious to us so we head to Fountain Place to get out of the rain and make a couple of phone calls to figure it out. We finally decide it is either close to West Village (which is where we started and where we'll end) or the Arboretum (which we have to go by on our way to another checkpoint.) So we begin to head through downtown to White Rock Lake to hit the next checkpoints.
I'll spare you the details but if you're keeping score at home: Lost Time for Ty: Getting Lost 5 min, Big Wheel Mess: 8 min., Getting Lost Again: 6 min. Lost Time for Stacie: None.)
Once we get onto La Vista Drive, I know exactly how to get to our next checkpoint. We are making some really good time. The rain has slowed down which is good (turns out, rain's probably not so much of an advantage for us) when we hear someone call out to us. And then they say, "The race is cancelled!"
We pull in and find out that proabaly 20 minutes ago when we were lost in downtown someone sent out the notice. Disappointed, we all return to the starting point to eat some free food and hopefully win some door prizes.
Well, we ate free food, but we won no door prizes. We did have a really good time though. And we were chock full of awesome the way we rode around Dallas in a downpour. We probably rode a total of 20 miles.
And if you ask me, I'll tell you we were winning. And would have won. Everybody else was just glad it got cancelled. Or something like that.
Sometimes you're sitting right on them.
Lately, life is a big wheel with plastic tires on an asphalt hill in the rain.
I have to go back about three weeks for this to start to make sense. This was the time Stacie and I purchased a couple of Trek Hybrid bicycles. We decided in Ft. Lauderdale that we liked to ride and that we could get into that as something we could do together for fun and exercise. While searching for the bikes online I noticed an ad on Richardson Bike Mart's website for an Urban Assault Race.
It caught my eye, and though I knew there was no way we'd be ready to race in the short two weeks remaining until this race I wanted to check it out. It looked awesome.
Basically there are 6 checkpoints in the Dallas area that they give you. The other 3 are secret checkpoints that you have to figure out based on clues, the first of which is given the week before the race. You race in two person teams to the checkpoints in any order, but you have to get a bead from every checkpoint saying that you were there and that you completed the obstacle at the checkpoint.
At this point I was sucked in...we had to do this. It sounded too fun to pass up. The estimated mileage for the race is 25-30 miles. No problem, I think. If we can ride around White Rock Lake (approx. 9 miles) about three times by the time the race arrives, we're golden.
Well, I entered us in the race. We got our bikes, helmets, flat fixing equipment, water bottles, etc. Took a class to learn how to fix our flats along with some common safety tips. We're rockin' and rollin' at this point. We even rode the bikes a couple of times (we didn't quite reach the goal of 3 complete times around White Rock, but whatcha gonna do..?)
I start checking the weather about 4 days prior to race day and it doesn't look good. It looks rainy. At first this disappoints me, but then I realize it may actually be to our advantage...you see, when I entered the race it was, "Let's do it Stace. It'll be fun. Who cares if we win, let's just have fun and finish." Well, she cared. My wife wanted to win. And by this point she had convinced me that if our strategy was spot on, we could win this sucker. So, fun and finishing went out the window, naturally to be replaced by fun through winning.
Come race day, I was nervous. I mean, it had been a while since I had been in real competition. It felt like a Friday night, many, many moons ago. Right before walking out the field house door down to the sign with the velcro gash in the middle that my teammates and I were about to demolish. It felt good. And to be extra dorky, I even had trouble sleeping the night before.
Once we get to the race site, Stacie and I start sizing up the competition. We only have to be better than the other co-ed teams. Aside from a couple of teams, I feel extremely confident in our chances based on my snap judgements. And just as I expected, right before the start it begins to rain. Pretty consistently.
The powers that be decide to go ahead as planned. It's just rain. No thunder. No lightning. Unless you count my left and right quads, flexed and ready to barrel out of the gate...
Anywho. The air horn sounds and off we go. Our strategy was to head to to the western most checkpoint first because we were fairly confident with our knowledge of Dallas that the two mystery checkpoints we had yet to uncover would be back towards the starting line. We make our way to Chipotle on Lemmon Ave. At this checkpoint, we have to walk on plastic stilts a certain distance to receive our bead. Plastic stilts in the rain...tricky, but manageable. We get our bead and head to our next stop, Subaru of Dallas.
We weren't allowed to ride on Lemmon Avenue so I had mapped a route that kept us on a road one off of Lemmon. What I hadn't accounted for was the big wall that they conveniently don't show on the map that blocked pretty much all the streets in my planned route. Finally, after 5 or 6 lost minutes we decided that the sidewalk on Lemmon is not technically Lemmon.
At the Subaru dealership is where our metaphor is found. I wouldn't realize it until days later, probably because I was embarrassed and pissed off. Pissed off at the big wheel. Embarrassed at the shouts of encouragement and advice through laughter.
You see, in my haste, I apparently picked the smallest big wheel. Which, just because it has one wheel larger than the other two does not make that wheel "big". You had to stay on the big wheel with your feet on the pedals for your lap to count. I started out fine. Straight for about 10 yards. Then left down a hill. You see, at this point I should have realized that if you're riding in a circle and you go down a hill, you have to go back up at some point. Nope. Just thinkin' about finishing and how awkward and uncomfortable a big wheel is.
Straightaway. Left turn. Straightaway. Left turn. Straigtaway...Oh crap. Hill. Okay. Get some speed. Thunder and Lightning mustered as much speed as they could to prep for this hill. This asphalt covered hill. This slick, rain-soaked, asphalt covered, unsurmountable, might-as-well-be-made-of-ice hill. I made it about 5 feet from the finish line when my feet let me down. As the plastic tires spun out on the slick surface, my feet slipped off the wet pedals. And down the hill I went.
I backed up, got some speed and tried again. Same result.
Three more times I attacked. Three more times my assault was denied. Laughter. Advice. Encouragement. More laughter. Camera flashes. More laughter.
Finally, I see my escape. If I can make it up the hill just a few feet, I can bail off the asphalt and onto a grass and dirt covered knoll. It's my only hope. Sure it's out of bounds, but if they don't give me the damn bead because of that, I might make sure they're riding this big wheel permanently, if you follow.
I gather my speed. I tell my feet not to fail me now. I hit the apshalt, I climb to the edge of the knoll and make my way onto it. Just a few more feet...tires spinning out...feet holding on...the nose of the tire just inches past the plane of the cones. Count it. Let's get outta here...
And that is like life. A big wheel with plastic tires on a hill in the rain. It is for me anyway right now, but maybe it's time to look for my grass and dirt covered knoll. If you know what I'm talking about, you know. If you don't that's cool...you can probably find some metaphorical genius of your own in there somewhere.
Back on the race route, Stacie and I know we have to make up some time since I have cost us several minutes now. If you're keeping score at home that's: Lost Time for Ty: Getting Lost 5 min, Big Wheel Mess: 8 min. Lost Time for Stacie: None.)
Stacie knows uptown very well and maneuvers us down to Dick's Last Resort, the first mystery check point. We get our bead and the clue to the second mystery point which we immediately recognize as a mural in downtown. As we head to this mural the skies open up. It's raining buckets. Thunder and lightning are frequent (not my quads this time, the actual thunder and lightning.) We get our bead from the second mystery checkpoint and the clue to the third. This clue was not as obvious to us so we head to Fountain Place to get out of the rain and make a couple of phone calls to figure it out. We finally decide it is either close to West Village (which is where we started and where we'll end) or the Arboretum (which we have to go by on our way to another checkpoint.) So we begin to head through downtown to White Rock Lake to hit the next checkpoints.
I'll spare you the details but if you're keeping score at home: Lost Time for Ty: Getting Lost 5 min, Big Wheel Mess: 8 min., Getting Lost Again: 6 min. Lost Time for Stacie: None.)
Once we get onto La Vista Drive, I know exactly how to get to our next checkpoint. We are making some really good time. The rain has slowed down which is good (turns out, rain's probably not so much of an advantage for us) when we hear someone call out to us. And then they say, "The race is cancelled!"
We pull in and find out that proabaly 20 minutes ago when we were lost in downtown someone sent out the notice. Disappointed, we all return to the starting point to eat some free food and hopefully win some door prizes.
Well, we ate free food, but we won no door prizes. We did have a really good time though. And we were chock full of awesome the way we rode around Dallas in a downpour. We probably rode a total of 20 miles.
And if you ask me, I'll tell you we were winning. And would have won. Everybody else was just glad it got cancelled. Or something like that.
Wednesday, April 18, 2007
A Thought, Random to you Perhaps
So, I had to drive through about 3 school zones today, and every time I drive through one I think, "Slow down. Don't want a ticket here...that'll cost you big time."
So, then I spend the entire time in the school zone looking at the needle on my speedometer to make sure it hovers around the 20 MPH mark. Would you say it is more safe for the children for me to continue going 30 while paying attention to the road and my surroundings? Or do you think it is safer for me to stare at my gauges while only going 20?
I'm pretty sure my DeWalt pickup would leave a decent mark on someone even if I'm only going 20.
And, no, I didn't get a ticket or anything. But I could someday, and this will be the discussion I have with Officer Safety-Pants.
So, then I spend the entire time in the school zone looking at the needle on my speedometer to make sure it hovers around the 20 MPH mark. Would you say it is more safe for the children for me to continue going 30 while paying attention to the road and my surroundings? Or do you think it is safer for me to stare at my gauges while only going 20?
I'm pretty sure my DeWalt pickup would leave a decent mark on someone even if I'm only going 20.
And, no, I didn't get a ticket or anything. But I could someday, and this will be the discussion I have with Officer Safety-Pants.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
Sometimes all it takes is the right t-shirt.
That's the answer to the question. But what is the question, you ask? I'm glad you asked.
The question is one that is posed to me on quite a regular basis. I guess people just get a sense that I might know the answer. Or at least point them in the right direction.
The question is, "What does it take to be a total rock star?"
Have you ever walked through a crowded arena, with nearly every eye darting to you and your entourage? Then, as you pass by, they dart again to look once more? Then they whisper to their companion, "Did you see that?"
Have you walked by a group of strangers while they shouted accolades and cheered you on as you made your way to your destination? Have you had people come up to you and pretty much ask, "How can I be like you?"
My friend, have you ever been a rock star? Maybe all you're missing is a simple t-shirt. Allow me to illustrate. After all, a picture is worth 1000 words;10,000 if those words are from a rock star.
You see folks. About 9 months ago, the NBA finals were being played. Our Dallas Mavericks had a commanding 2-0 lead. Then, Miami showed a bit of heart and tied the series at 2. It was then, in a critical game 5, that the worst call in the history of the world was made.
The Mavericks were up by 1 and Miami had the ball. Dwyane Wade had the ball, barreled over a couple of Mavs before pulling up for a shot. Dirk Nowitzki contested the shot but multiple replays show clearly that he doesn't come close to touching Wade. Wade misses. Game over...or so we thought.
But one Bennett Salvatore blew his whistle and sent Wade to the line for game-ending free throws. We have since discovered other character issues with Salvatore through the beauty of Wikipedia, but we will stick to the issue at hand.
The Game 5 win, along with dubious game 6 officiating which treated D Wade like M J, sparked Miami to a 4-2 series victory and the NBA championship. So as we made our way into the AAC to watch the Mavs take on the CHeat. We became rock stars. The backs of our shirts had the number 15, Salvatore's number, along with Salvatore's name. And plenty of Mavs fans got our message.
Many of them wanted to be us exclaiming, "Where can I get that shirt?"
To which we replied, "Sorry, we made them."
And now, like all budding rock stars, we are waiting for our big break. If the Mavs and CHeat were to meet again, it could only be in the NBA Finals. If that were to happen. We will sell our shirts to the masses, so that we may all rock out together. And of course to make buttloads of money. Like any good rock star would.
*References for poor officiating if you so desire:
http://www.82games.com/game5refs.htm
Great clips here of phantom fouls (caution: if you are a Mavs fan you will be re-pissed off):
http://www.ericfolkerth.com/wheneftalks/files/themavswererobbed2.html
Oh...and never hand out a snack called "Hot Nuts" to grown men. Of course we are going to act like 12 year olds.
The question is one that is posed to me on quite a regular basis. I guess people just get a sense that I might know the answer. Or at least point them in the right direction.
The question is, "What does it take to be a total rock star?"
Have you ever walked through a crowded arena, with nearly every eye darting to you and your entourage? Then, as you pass by, they dart again to look once more? Then they whisper to their companion, "Did you see that?"
Have you walked by a group of strangers while they shouted accolades and cheered you on as you made your way to your destination? Have you had people come up to you and pretty much ask, "How can I be like you?"
My friend, have you ever been a rock star? Maybe all you're missing is a simple t-shirt. Allow me to illustrate. After all, a picture is worth 1000 words;10,000 if those words are from a rock star.
You see folks. About 9 months ago, the NBA finals were being played. Our Dallas Mavericks had a commanding 2-0 lead. Then, Miami showed a bit of heart and tied the series at 2. It was then, in a critical game 5, that the worst call in the history of the world was made.
The Mavericks were up by 1 and Miami had the ball. Dwyane Wade had the ball, barreled over a couple of Mavs before pulling up for a shot. Dirk Nowitzki contested the shot but multiple replays show clearly that he doesn't come close to touching Wade. Wade misses. Game over...or so we thought.
But one Bennett Salvatore blew his whistle and sent Wade to the line for game-ending free throws. We have since discovered other character issues with Salvatore through the beauty of Wikipedia, but we will stick to the issue at hand.
The Game 5 win, along with dubious game 6 officiating which treated D Wade like M J, sparked Miami to a 4-2 series victory and the NBA championship. So as we made our way into the AAC to watch the Mavs take on the CHeat. We became rock stars. The backs of our shirts had the number 15, Salvatore's number, along with Salvatore's name. And plenty of Mavs fans got our message.
Many of them wanted to be us exclaiming, "Where can I get that shirt?"
To which we replied, "Sorry, we made them."
And now, like all budding rock stars, we are waiting for our big break. If the Mavs and CHeat were to meet again, it could only be in the NBA Finals. If that were to happen. We will sell our shirts to the masses, so that we may all rock out together. And of course to make buttloads of money. Like any good rock star would.
*References for poor officiating if you so desire:
http://www.82games.com/game5refs.htm
Great clips here of phantom fouls (caution: if you are a Mavs fan you will be re-pissed off):
http://www.ericfolkerth.com/wheneftalks/files/themavswererobbed2.html
Oh...and never hand out a snack called "Hot Nuts" to grown men. Of course we are going to act like 12 year olds.
Friday, January 26, 2007
FEES! They're everywhere! Save Yourself!!!!
A few weeks ago, I went to an Eleven Hundred Springs show at the Granada. Craig and Jaime went, too, and so did my wife, extremely begrudgingly, I might add. Our plan was to walk down my street, since we're only a couple of blocks off of Greenville, eat at Snuffer's and then go over to the show. It was kind of a last minute plan, but tickets were only $12, and we had nothing else going on.
Our plan to walk was soon thwarted by the rain that had been flooding us all day. I guess we thought nature would finally relent and go back to serving us a drought and keeping us from freely burning our garbage in the middle of Dallas. No big deal; we'll just drive.
Yeah, turns out to park a mere 3/4 of a mile from my house costs $8 on a Friday night. I was tempted to drop everyone off, go back home, button up and just let nature do her best as I walked back in the rain. Then I realized I'd have to do that again to pick everyone up, and Stacie said there was no way that was happening, so I handed over $8. Also extemely begrudgingly.
We get our grub on at Snuffer's. Watch the Mavs game. Try and figure out if our waitress is more into one of the guys or Stacie. (I still think it was Stacie.) Then we make our way over to see some Eleven Hundo.
It's pretty cold, so after Craig buys his ticket, he goes inside and Stacie follows telling me she'll wait for me inside. So, I hand the dude my card, he hands it back and then hands me tickets. I hurry inside.
As I get inside, Craig has this look on his face that says, "What the hell?" Then the mouth on said face says, "What the hell? My $12 ticket cost $14."
I look down at my receipt. Sure enough. My $24 worth of tickets cost $28. Now my face says, "What the hell?" And as I look back at Jaime coming in, his face says to my face, "What the hell?"
Our receipts tell us that we have paid $12 for the tickets but there is a $2 fee.
We then ask tattooed-up ticket-tearer man, "What the hell? What is this fee for?" To which he says, "Don't know." We proceed to ask a couple of more people what the fee is for. Same response.
I know it's not a convenience fee. I had to drive 3/4 of mile in a downpour, pay $8 to park, stand in the freezing cold and fork over 2 extra bucks for my tickets. I don't see anything convenient about that. I did all the work to get those tickets.
Well...Eleven Hundred Springs did their job and put on a great show. If you've never heard a really good fiddle player play Orange Blossom Special and Rock Island Line in the same set, then you really haven't seen anything.
We only stayed for Eleven Hundo, but I wish we had stayed for at least part of Unknown Hinson after that. I didn't know who he was, but I looked him up later and I am very intrigued.
Now, fast forward with me to last night. I guess that's actually rewinding, but from the point we were at in the story it's a fast forward. Don't get all symantical on me.
Jaime, Craig and I have decided we are going to Arizona to watch a little Spring Training baseball this year. We are extremely pumped, so last night we sit down to get our hotel room and tickets to some games.
You know where I'm going don't you. Sure enough, our $103 a night hotel room actually will cost $118 a night. No big deal...taxes and what not.
Our tickets have a $4.75 fee attached to them! Now granted, ordering the tickets online is very convenient compared to my Granada scenario, but do I really have another choice. Unless I walk up to Surprise Stadium and physically purchase the tickets, I'm getting nailed with this fee. And that is undoubtably inconvenient.
It's really not that I care so much about the final price paid. It's that the price is deceptive. If you want $24.75 for your damn ticket, just charge me that. If you want $14 for your damn ticket, same thing. Don't spring it on me last minute because now, I'm not a happy concert-goer/Spring Training ticket buyer.
So, my friends, this long, long story is here for one reason only. To warn you: beware the sneaky fee. It may be closer than you think.
Our plan to walk was soon thwarted by the rain that had been flooding us all day. I guess we thought nature would finally relent and go back to serving us a drought and keeping us from freely burning our garbage in the middle of Dallas. No big deal; we'll just drive.
Yeah, turns out to park a mere 3/4 of a mile from my house costs $8 on a Friday night. I was tempted to drop everyone off, go back home, button up and just let nature do her best as I walked back in the rain. Then I realized I'd have to do that again to pick everyone up, and Stacie said there was no way that was happening, so I handed over $8. Also extemely begrudgingly.
We get our grub on at Snuffer's. Watch the Mavs game. Try and figure out if our waitress is more into one of the guys or Stacie. (I still think it was Stacie.) Then we make our way over to see some Eleven Hundo.
It's pretty cold, so after Craig buys his ticket, he goes inside and Stacie follows telling me she'll wait for me inside. So, I hand the dude my card, he hands it back and then hands me tickets. I hurry inside.
As I get inside, Craig has this look on his face that says, "What the hell?" Then the mouth on said face says, "What the hell? My $12 ticket cost $14."
I look down at my receipt. Sure enough. My $24 worth of tickets cost $28. Now my face says, "What the hell?" And as I look back at Jaime coming in, his face says to my face, "What the hell?"
Our receipts tell us that we have paid $12 for the tickets but there is a $2 fee.
We then ask tattooed-up ticket-tearer man, "What the hell? What is this fee for?" To which he says, "Don't know." We proceed to ask a couple of more people what the fee is for. Same response.
I know it's not a convenience fee. I had to drive 3/4 of mile in a downpour, pay $8 to park, stand in the freezing cold and fork over 2 extra bucks for my tickets. I don't see anything convenient about that. I did all the work to get those tickets.
Well...Eleven Hundred Springs did their job and put on a great show. If you've never heard a really good fiddle player play Orange Blossom Special and Rock Island Line in the same set, then you really haven't seen anything.
We only stayed for Eleven Hundo, but I wish we had stayed for at least part of Unknown Hinson after that. I didn't know who he was, but I looked him up later and I am very intrigued.
Now, fast forward with me to last night. I guess that's actually rewinding, but from the point we were at in the story it's a fast forward. Don't get all symantical on me.
Jaime, Craig and I have decided we are going to Arizona to watch a little Spring Training baseball this year. We are extremely pumped, so last night we sit down to get our hotel room and tickets to some games.
You know where I'm going don't you. Sure enough, our $103 a night hotel room actually will cost $118 a night. No big deal...taxes and what not.
Our tickets have a $4.75 fee attached to them! Now granted, ordering the tickets online is very convenient compared to my Granada scenario, but do I really have another choice. Unless I walk up to Surprise Stadium and physically purchase the tickets, I'm getting nailed with this fee. And that is undoubtably inconvenient.
It's really not that I care so much about the final price paid. It's that the price is deceptive. If you want $24.75 for your damn ticket, just charge me that. If you want $14 for your damn ticket, same thing. Don't spring it on me last minute because now, I'm not a happy concert-goer/Spring Training ticket buyer.
So, my friends, this long, long story is here for one reason only. To warn you: beware the sneaky fee. It may be closer than you think.
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