Month: August 2023

Search

Search

8/31/23

I often criticize Florida weather forecasters for being a little too enthusiastic during Hurricane Season. It’s like they’re new parents, and they just can’t help gushing over every little thing their newborn does.

“You should’ve seen what Baby Idalia did today. She turned over all by herself, and now she’s churning toward Florida at 125 mph. Isn’t that adorable?”

No, it’s not. I realize storm coverage is a great opportunity for TV stations to get us hooked on what they’re selling, and they do provide a service by keeping us informed. But there’s a fine between providing coverage and stoking our fears. Case in point is the return of Hurricane Idalia, which sounds like a bad movie sequel, doesn’t it?

When Donna told me that she’d read how Idalia might loop back and strike Florida again, I laughed. It’s been a good week for Florida weather forecasters. We’ve spent so much time in their company, relying on their advice and their information. But can you guys let it go already? Making up new stories to keep our attention is just so clingy.

Then I read this morning that there’s a real chance Idalia, which is currently off the coast of the Carolinas, could make a U-turn in the Atlantic, pick up steam, and strike Florida again. In 2004 Hurricane Ivan followed a very similar path to Idalia, cutting across the Gulf of Mexico, making landfall in Louisiana, moving out into the Atlantic, and then swinging back to scuttle Florida.

But do we really need a sequel to Hurricane Idalia? Here are a few reasons why weather forecasters should be voting against the idea: a) The storm passed too quickly to be a ratings grabber. b) No one knew how to pronounce the name. c) Florida is a damaged state anyway.

From a production standpoint, Idalia didn’t even earn the cachet that it takes to merit a sequel. Just ask the movie reviewers at Rotten Tomatoes, who put together a list of other productions that should never have had a sequel.

Jaws the Revenge

Staying Alive

The Sting II

Speed 2

Caddyshack II

Major League II

Son of The Mask

Teen Wolf Too

Little Fockers

From Dusk Till Dawn 2

I edited the list to reflect the movie franchises that I’m most fond of, but which, sadly, have been most sullied by a sequel.

Which franchise killers drive you the craziest?

I’ll be thinking about movies and other pleasant topics this weekend, so feel free to reach out. But what I won’t be thinking about is the return of Idalia.

#Ichoosetorefuse

Search

Search

8/30/23

Sometime in the middle of the night, we heard a distant explosion. “It sounds like a transformer blew,” I said to Donna. Which meant that someone somewhere nearby had just been plunged into darkness. Hurricane Idalia had arrived.

Before the dawn, the hurricane would attempt to power wash our house with warm, pristine water from the Gulf of Mexico, lashing us with one downpour after another. But our Central Florida home remained just short of Idalia’s reach. The impact of the water and wind was minimal.

But the same can’t be said about where Idalia made landfall, in the Big Bend region, where the Florida peninsula curves to form a panhandle. Idalia, which had ramped up to a Category 4 hurricane before losing some momentum, slammed into the Big Bend as a Category 3. This makes Idalia the strongest storm to make landfall in the Big Bend region in more than 125 years.

In the morning, I ran to my computer to view photos of the damage. But I couldn’t get the darn thing started. Had Idalia taken offense at Funny Travel Tales’ coverage of her?

Please stand by….

Nope, user error. My computer’s fine. But elsewhere the news is much bleaker. Electrical outages are widespread, affecting more than 263,000 customers. And, for coastal residents, it’s not over yet. Rising water levels, known as storm surge, have been forecast to reach up to 16 feet in some areas of the Big Bend. The phenomenon, which can occur before, during, or after a storm, is considered to be the greatest threat to life during a hurricane.

After I’d seen enough photos of the damage Idalia had done, I surveyed the outside of my house. Aside from fallen branches, I didn’t spot much out of place. Then I observed a locust. His posture was expectant, maybe even a little crestfallen. They say the meek will inherit the earth, his eyes seemed to say. Wasn’t that supposed to be today?

I had no idea how to console a despondent insect, so I gave it a wide berth. I don’t like to mess with Mother Nature, but it obviously has no trouble messing with us. Hurricanes love warm water, and warm water loves global warming, and humans love being stupid. What a grand time to be a hurricane.

And maybe that’s true for locusts too. After a few more years of storms like Hurricane Idalia, that insect may have the last laugh after all.

#threemoremonthsofHurricaneSeason

Search

Search

8/29/23

It’s official. Tomorrow morning Hurricane Idalia is going to slam into Florida as a Category 3 storm. You may be wondering, what kind of name is Idalia? If you Google it, you’ll find the name is of Italian origin. Or is it Greek? Or is it Spanish? All of them claim her. I say, you can have her. The name translates to “behold the sun,” which means that on top of being a big, fat, nasty storm, she’s a liar too.

Let’s break down the hurricane categories, which shouldn’t be confused with AAA’s Five Diamond Designations (3 isn’t a good number).

Category 1: Wind and rain

Category 2: Wind, rain, and smatterings of locust.

Category 3: Why does it sound like a giant is beating on the top of my house?

Category 4: Is that a tree in the middle of my living room? At least I’ve still got a roof over my head.

Category 5: I couldn’t sworn the roof was there a minute ago.

The bottom line is that homeowners can suffer a wide range of damage, including the inconvenience of losing power, minor or major structural damage to property (I expect I’ll have to replace my rickety back fence), all the way up to destruction of epic proportions. The danger can drag on for days (if the hurricane is a slow mover), or it can be over in hours. But the worst is when you can’t see what’s happening outside your house (a nighttime hurricane). Objects are crashing, limbs are cracking, and somewhere deep in the night it sounds like a T. rex is screaming its head off.

Donna turns to me. I turn to her. What was that? We’re talking about seconds of indescribable terror. Did a hurricane-spawned tornado just strike?

That’s right. Hurricanes can create tornadoes, which are even scarier because of their unpredictability and the preciseness of their destruction. We’ve never experienced a tornado, but we know someone who has.

I’ll never forget the panic in Donna’s voice as it echoed across the house. It sent me scrambling in her direction, where I found her with the phone clutched to her face. She kept repeating Leah’s name. Twenty minutes away, at Leah’s house, a tornado was marching through her neighborhood. I could hear Leah’s screams through the phone, and Donna kept shouting for Leah to grab the dog and run out of the house. The massive oak tree behind Leah’s house was toppling in her direction (an equally large tree would end up crashing through Leah’s neighbor’s house), and there was nothing we could do about it.

In seconds, the tornado snapped the tree in half and threw it like a petulant child at Leah’s house, lodging it against her bedroom window. But that was better than throwing it through the window. The length of the tree segment spanned the length of her yard. Leah’s tree had died a sudden and ignoble death, but Leah was uninjured.

So, when the weather forecasters say that a Category 3 hurricane is coming tomorrow with winds up to 129 mph, I don’t take that lightly, and I understand why people choose to board up their windows, even though I don’t. Any object can become a projectile, which is why I’ll be walking the perimeter of my house looking for loose objects before the storm comes.

Or maybe I can just poke the hurricane in the eye with my long rake. Isn’t that how they killed Sauron in The Lord of the Rings?

#tropicaldepressionscan’tbecheeredup

Search

Search

8/28/23

You may have heard Alfred Tennyson’s saying about love: “In the spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love…” But the rest of the poem is less romantic: “A few months later that fancy turns to thoughts of survival, so if that woman is not in the hurricane shelter in five minutes, that door’s getting locked.”

That’s the harsh reality in Florida, where emergencies like tax season and hurricane season come back to back. Either can leave you without a roof over your head. Depending on the path of the storm (you’ve never seen weather people so happy to make predictions; it’s like they’re betting on the Super Bowl), this week we’ll either be sitting in the dark for hours or days. (In 2004 we were without electricity for weeks.)

I’ll do my best to stay on the air. (Hurricane Idalia, please be kind to us.) In the meantime, I was flipping through some old photos, looking for uncultivated story ideas, when I came upon these unpublished photos and immediately remembered why I’d never shared them. Consider them Funny Travel Tales Uncut or Funny Travel Tales From the Dark Side. I’m still trying to figure out what I was doing in some of them.

It was such a hot day when Donna took this photo. (Every day is a day in paradise when I’m with her.) I remember her telling me to lean against the tree and hold still. So, that’s why I felt itchy! She’s such a prankster.

Oh, yes. This one I’ll never forget, the infamous trip to Grand Turk and the island of misfit donkeys. When the donkey stopped by a hydrant, I clambered onto its back. I don’t know who handed me the bottle. But I remember someone saying it was Gatorade. I’m really not a drinker.

Oh, gosh. I should probably delete this one before it ends up on TMZ. Making towel animals on a cruise ship is such a fun activity. I remember getting out of the shower really late at night and trying my hand at making a Mer-Teddy (half mermaid, half teddy bear). The internet said it was easy to do, but I fell asleep before I was finished. Donna’s so Johnny-on-the-spot with that camera.

Now for this one, I have to plead the Fifth. As I’ve already stated, I’m really not a drinker, so I can’t tell you how I got on top of that bar or why I’m sharing a moment with the Man in the Moon. (I faintly remember someone betting me I wouldn’t do it.) I also remember dying my hair red later that evening. But that’s all I’ll say about that.

Do I have too much unbridled enthusiasm? According to this photo, I’m guilty as charged. Sometimes I just like to let go and be a menace to society. Other times I…

Damn. I just looked out my window. It’s raining cats and dogs. [Sigh.] I’m afraid it’s a precursor of the weather to come. But I’ll keep on trying to distract myself, and you, and hopefully we’ll make it through this week okay.

#hopeyouhadagoodlaugh

Search

Search

8/25/23

I love doing a good mash-up. In my blog it usually takes the form of a news story mixed with a personal opinion or anecdote. For example, this week I did a story about Stockholm Syndrome (see my post, “Stockholm Syndrome Doesn’t Exist“), which I concluded by talking about the perils of telling a woman to smile, an oddly perfect mash-up considering how angry the Stockholm Syndrome victim was.

Today’s tale is about pushy people, specifically, 28-year-old Lauren Pazienza. This week she accepted a plea deal of 8 years for randomly pushing Barbara Gustern, an 87-year-old Broadway singing coach, onto a sidewalk where she struck her head and died.

Prosecutors said Pazienza was drinking heavily with her fiancé the night she shoved Gustern and had just left Chelsea Park in Manhattan after being told that the park was closing. In a fit of anger, she crossed the street, pushed Gustern to the ground, and walked away, leaving Gustern bleeding from her head.

Millennials, when are you going to realize that that sense of entitlement is not your friend? It’s going to get you in trouble one day. Oh, wait. It just did. But the lesson of Lauren Pazienza applies to everyone. In the span of a second, you can irreversibly alter your life with one bad decision.

The trick to avoiding trouble is knowing when you’re up against it and then backing away from the edge of that cliff.

It was early evening and the sun was still out. We were sitting around watching TV when I picked up my cell phone to make a call and misdialed. My fat fingers do that a lot. But as I hung up and redialed the correct number, I took note of the number I’d dialed.

911.

That’s a funny mistake, I thought. I wasn’t laughing 10 minutes later when the dogs started barking. A police cruiser had pulled up to my house. Oh, boy, I thought. But I figured it was no big deal. It was nice of the police to worry about me, but once I explained that I’d misdialed, we’d all have a big laugh about it.

I stepped out of my house before the officer reached my door. As I did, I turned back and issued a warning to my dogs to keep them from barking. The officer must’ve thought I was trying to do something else. His eyes demanded to know what I was keeping from him inside the house.

“Sorry about dialing 911. It was a mistake. My fingers just hit the wrong buttons.”

The officer cut to the chase. He asked me if everything was okay inside. I was stunned that he was treating my misdial as a potential hostage situation. I calmly told him that my wife was in the house and that everything was fine. But the dogs continued frantically barking. In response, the officer peered through my front windows.

“I need to come inside to confirm that everything is okay.”

He moved his hand closer to his gun, and it was at that point that I realized, as they say, that “a situation” had developed. The officer was actually preparing himself to shoot me if things went south.

I backed up, and without taking my eyes off the man, I reached back and pushed the door open. No sudden moves, I thought. In the span of a second, you can irreversibly alter your life with one bad decision. In one second, I might do something stupid. In less than a second, he might react to it.

“Honey, can you come out here?”

I glanced over my shoulder. Donna was nowhere in sight, but the dog’s barking continued. I swallowed hard. What a inconvenient time for Donna to play a prank on me. The officer’s posture stiffened, and his eyes narrowed as he shifted his body to see around me. Then I heard Donna’s voice.

“Hi. Sorry about the dogs. Are you here because he dialed your number by mistake?”

The officer didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he continued to scan the house. I think he was still checking corners, unconvinced that there still wasn’t “a situation” that needed to be addressed.

The officer exited moments later. But his air of paranoia remained. When I glanced out the window, the police cruiser hadn’t budged an inch. In the dimming light, I could see the officer’s silhouette as he continued to study the house, looking for clues, going through every applicable protocol.

What a pushy man. Twenty minutes later, he was gone.

But I felt confident that I’d handled things correctly. I hadn’t laughed in the officer’s face or said something dumb like, “What’s the matter? Think I got a dead body in here or something?”

Instead, I’d let Donna do the talking, which is probably the smartest thing I could’ve done. (See how smart I can be, honey?)

#onlyafoolpushestheirluck

Search

Search

8/24/23

A day after my post about Russia’s failed landing on the Moon (see “Russia Made a Right When They Should’ve Made a Left at the Moon“), a spacecraft from India made a smooth landing at the lunar south pole. It’s a big deal because no one has ever landed a probe at the moon’s south pole, a region known for it’s rugged landscape, deep craters, and permanent shadows. But it’s also where ice may be found, which can be used to provide water, oxygen, and fuel for future lunar missions. 

So, India not only did what Russia couldn’t, but they took it to the next level (like they did when they made that RRR movie (see my blog post, “Superheroes Come in All Forms – RRR Movie“). That gives India a big leg up on the U.S., which isn’t scheduled to orbit the Moon until 2024. By the time we land on the Moon in 2025, cricket may already be established as the official Lunarian sport.

India will soon deploy a rover to take photos of the lunar surface. But I can do without more images of gray rocks. No one takes better photos of those than us. However, if India discovers any secret UFO bases, please sign me up for the pay-per-view event.

Amazingly, while India was showing off on the moon, at last night’s presidential debate, candidate Vivek Ramaswamy took center stage. Literally. His podium was paired with Ron DeSantis’ at the center spot with three candidates on either side of the pair. (DeSantis and Ramaswamy are polling second and third behind Trump.) Born of Indian parents, Ramaswamy is a Harvard graduate and the youngest person to be a major Republican presidential candidate, which may explain the constant attacks on him last night. The other candidates obviously see him as a competitor to be reckoned with.

I know how that goes. When I was in high school, I worked with a high-achieving Indian at a Pilates studio. I don’t want to give his real name, so let me just call him Wratha Khan. (I can make that joke because that’s one of my favorite movies.)

Our job was to hand out flyers in the neighborhood where the studio was located, which is a lot harder job than it looks. People who hand out flyers are as popular as lepers. I can’t tell you how many flyers were thrown back in my face. And no matter how hard I tried, I could never hand out as many flyers as Wratha. (Whomever handed out the most flyers received a weekly bonus.)

Our boss instructed us to stand at different street corners, so I never actually saw Wratha at work. But you could always tell where either of us had been by the number of flyers in the garbage cans. I know what you’re thinking. So, why didn’t we just dump the flyers in the garbage ourselves and call it a day? Because our boss sometimes walked behind us and inspected the cans for wholesale dumping.

For an entire semester, I bugged Wratha to reveal to me how he always managed to hand out more flyers than I did. But he refused. Finally, after I announced that I was quitting, Wratha felt safe revealing his secret to me. When he was sure I wouldn’t run back into the Pilates studio and rat him out to the boss, he walked me over to a street corner and pointed to the ground. One of our flyers was at the opening of the sewer drain.

“When I get tired, I throw them in there,” he said proudly.

Which is why Wratha was such a genius and why he will always be a winner in my book.

#neverhirehighschoolstudentsforimportantwork

Search

Search

8/23/23

Fifty years ago today Stockholm syndrome was introduced to the world. (Happy anniversary SS. We weren’t sure you were going to make it.) It’s a term used to describe a psychological response to being held captive whereby captives form a connection with their captors and begin sympathizing with them. But not everyone in the medical community agrees that Stockholm syndrome really exists.

In fact, the American Psychiatric Association doesn’t even list it in their manual of mental conditions. So, how did we ever get duped into believing it was a thing?

On August 23, 1973, a notorious safe-cracker named Jan-Erik Olsson walked into a Stockholm bank with a submachine gun, a knife, a transistor radio, explosives, and lengths of rope. The heist turned into a six-day ordeal that transformed the lives of everyone involved, including 23-year-old bank employee Kristin Enmark, the first person in the world diagnosed with Stockholm syndrome.

After several ineffective efforts by the police to free the hostages, Ms. Enmark began to disparage her rescuers. She even called the prime minister of Sweden to voice her opinion that the police were a greater risk to her than her captor. During the call, Ms. Enmark even asked to be appointed prime minister for the evening, so she could be in control of her own destiny. She grew frustrated when her request was denied.

Finally, the police drilled holes in the roof of the building and pumped in gas, which forced the robber to surrender. But even when the ordeal was over, Ms. Enmark publicly slammed the police for putting her life in danger. She also refused to testify against her captor in court.

The pressure was on for someone to explain what the [bleep] was wrong with this woman. That’s when police psychiatrist Nils Bejerot stepped forward to offer an explanation. I wasn’t there, but I’m sure it went something like this.

“Um, well, the reason she isn’t grateful about being rescued is….no, it wasn’t insanity. Give me a minute. I wrote it down in my notes somewhere. Oh, yeah, she’s the first person to have what I call Stockholm syndrome. Case closed. I’ll give you the definition later.”

Those may not have been his exact words, but the psychiatrist’s explanation satisfied a public clamoring to understand why someone would trust her captor more than the police. Stockholm syndrome became just one more way to explain the inexplainable actions of a woman.

Sheesh. I could’ve saved the medical community 50 years of debate if they’d just asked me for an explanation. She was angry after the ordeal because some misguided man probably told her to smile.

Never tell a woman to smile.

#Iwantmyownsyndrome

Search

Search

8/22/23

In my lifetime, the Russians have never been our friends. But there was a time when they were, most recently between the years 1941 and 1945. That period was marked by a great degree of cooperation between the United States and the Soviet Union, a relationship that was essential to defeating Nazi Germany. In fact, we liked Russia so much, the U.S. Department of Defense issued posters like the one shown below.

But the friendship didn’t last long because both powers wanted to sit next to the same girl in the cafeteria. Her name was Luna, and she had a reputation for being hard to get. But that didn’t stop the U.S. In 1955 they announced that they were going to launch satellites into space to impress Luna.

Not to be outdone, however, Russia beat the U.S. to the punch in 1957, successfully launching Sputnik 1, the first Earth-orbiting satellite in history. It forced the U.S. to revise its poster, and the competition for Luna was on.

Of course, the U.S. eventually won the space race. But as time wore on, they got tired of launching things into space to impress Luna. By 1972, after landing six Apollo missions on Luna (the aeronautical equivalent of getting to first base), they decided to take a break from her.

Fast forward to the present. Ever think about that certain someone in high school who always got you revved up? Ever wonder, “What would’ve happened if I’d put some real effort into that relationship?”

Well, that’s where the U.S. is today, lost in yesteryear, wondering if they can get back with Luna and make up for lost time. We’ll know if the flames of romance can be rekindled by 2025, when the first Artemis mission is scheduled to touch down on Luna. But other suitors may not be far behind. China, Japan, Israel, and India have set their eyes on Luna too.

But there’s only one suitor the U.S. is worried about, the same suitor the U.S. used to argue with in the cafeteria, when Luna was young and slim.

Russia.

So, when Russia’s Luna lander had an accident this weekend, I don’t think the U.S. was particularly upset. That’s right. After 47 years away from Luna, Russia attempted a reunion with their old heartthrob. But, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. Russia’s spacecraft slammed into Luna’s icy, indifferent surface on Sunday and “has ceased to exist” (a broken-hearted admission if I’ve ever heard one).

Such is life in the fast lane, I suppose. But like I said, not everyone is sad about the accident. When reached for comment, representatives from NASA issued a one-sentence statement.

“Russia was a simple country boy, you might say a cockeyed optimist, who got himself mixed up in the high-stakes game of world diplomacy and international intrigue.”

But I think Pat Benatar said it best. Love is a battlefield.

#Russia’slastgirlfriendUkrainewashappytohearthenews

Search

Search

8/21/23

Yesterday, while I was driving on Semoran Boulevard near the Orlando airport, I entered a time warp. At least I thought I had warped. How else could I explain the prices posted at two gas stations on opposite sides of the road, Sun Gas and Suncoast Energys? Had I traveled to a future where a trip to the gas station was the equivalent of shopping for an engagement ring?

Then something in my head clicked. I hadn’t traveled to the future. I’d traveled to the past. The almost $6 per gallon signs I was looking at were new, but the scam the gas stations were participating in went back to the days when Fred Flintstone was getting fill-ups.

For those unfamiliar with Orlando, Semoran Boulevard is strategically located on the east side of city and is the primary route leading north from the Orlando airport to such destinations as Downtown Orlando and the University of Central Florida. It’s a gateway of sorts. For me, about 12 years ago, it was a gateway to hell.

I remember driving on Semoran Boulevard in my rental car at the conclusion of a family vacation. I was a sweet, innocent lad back then. But as I turned to Donna, I was frustrated.

“Drat and double drat. Why didn’t I check the gas tank before now? Gee whillikers, I sure hope there’s a gas station near the car rental place.”

You see, I had agreed to return the car with a full tank. But as we approached the airport, there was nary a gas station in sight. Then, I spotted one on my side of the road, about a quarter of a mile from the airport entrance. It was a miracle. It was bright and clean and, for some reason, we were the only customers in the place.

There was no signs advertising the gas prices, which is probably why I plunged right into the transaction. Gas prices back then were about $2 a gallon (at normal gas stations). But as the numbers on the pump whirred by, I noticed the $6 price tag and broke into a cold sweat.

As comedian Katt Williams once said, “You are not supposed to be at the gas station making life decisions!”

I’m sure the penalty for returning the rental car without a full tank would’ve been less than what I paid. But I swallowed my pride, paid the near $100 tab, and drove off.

“What a scam,” I said. “How does the city allow this?”

Fast forward to yesterday. The gas station I’d visited now had a sign advertising its insane prices (as did the station across the street). So aren’t the signs proof that the stations are engaging in price gouging?

The answer is no. It turns out that the city is cool with the $6 price because the law only compares prices over a 30-day period to see if they’ve risen. Only a “gross disparity” between the prior price and the current price is considered price gouging. Since the two gas stations have been charging that same $6 price for years, they aren’t doing anything illegal.

These two gas stations have been in the news for as long as they’ve been in existence. And they continue to thrive too. For example, while I was taking photos at one of the stations, an enormous limousine pulled in. (The SUV stretch limo was so big, I couldn’t even capture it all.)

The driver dashed inside before I could warn him, but corrupt gas stations beware. You crossed the wrong guy when you ripped me off all those years ago. I’m no longer the gullible young man you first encountered. I’m a seasoned veteran of life now, a cold-as-ice blogger who doesn’t pull any punches. So, you just watch yourself, or Funny Travel Tales may yet have the final say in the matter.

#howmuchdotheychargeforbathroomvisits?

Search

Search

8/18/23

My favorite news story of the week comes out of Denver, where a United Airlines pilot took out his work frustrations on an employee parking lot arm barrier. The man supposedly claimed he’d just reached his breaking point and wanted to help his fellow employees exit the parking lot faster. Talk about random ax of kindness.

Authorities have charged the pilot with misdemeanor criminal mischief. Let me get this straight. A 63-year-old white male brings an ax to work, destroys property, has to be physically subdued, and then receives a slap on the wrist. Sounds about right.

But to me the real crime is that it took him 23 whacks to break off the arm barrier. Did he forget to sharpen his ax? Did he not study the proper barrier-chopping techniques as employed by Jack Nicholson in The Shining? (“All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. Also, you have to bend at the knees and chop with the grain.”)

We’ve all had bad days at work, and sometimes you do have to wait a long time to exit a parking facility. It’s called life. But you can’t let your frustrations get the best of you.

I’m sure the delay that this man experienced doesn’t compare to what the airline industry puts passengers through on a regular basis. (Earlier this week a Delta Airlines plane was stuck on the tarmac for six hours, depriving passengers of food and water but giving them plenty of overflowing toilets.)

Can you imagine the levels of despair those passengers must have experienced? The flight was only an hour and a half long, and they couldn’t exit the plane for another six hours? But not one of them grabbed an ax afterward and said, “We’re really frustrated about what happened, and now we’re going to break some bleepin’ [expletive] to show you how we feel. And by the way, your in-flight snacks leave a lot to be desired.”

I remember having a bad day at work one time (probably more than one time). It was back during my high school days when I worked as a proofreader in a sweatshop. Literally, there was sweat everywhere in the shop. It was particularly hot in the tiny room where I sat.

One day, while I was just sitting there sweating, my boss had the nerve to start shouting at me in front of everyone about a mistake I’d made. (I probably couldn’t see from all the sweat in my eyes.)

“Do you know how much your mistake is going to cost us?” he angrily said. “Three thousand dollars! I should take it out of your paycheck.”

Do you know how long it would’ve taken me to pay back $3,000 at my minimum wage salary of $3 per hour? No, seriously. How long would that’ve taken? Math was never my strong suit, which is why I worked as a proofreader.

Anyway, the boss never made good on his threat. But the sharpened point of my story is that even though I was angry and frustrated about treatment that I considered unfair, I was never once tempted to go to my locker, grab my ax, hone it to a brilliant shine, take a few practice swings, and then return to my desk to destroy it.

People, grow up!

#don’tbeapainintheax