Mr. Comeback

We've all thoroughly enjoyed the stories that Bryce brings home from his hours of dealing with the public as a cashier at our local Menards store. People are funny. Bryce is funny. Put them together with his comedic telling of the tales and it's downright entertaining.

Last week he came home with a story that beat all others, hands-down. Better than breaking up a fight in the check-out line. Better than the woman who sent employees running and searching for 15-minutes so she could save $.06 (yes, as in 6-cents). Better than a customer demanding the head cashier come find cough drops.

Here's the story:

A gentleman came through Bryce's line with his items and when the total rang up the man asked, "Don't I get a discount?"

Bryce, understandably, looked a bit confused and asked, "Um, what kind of discount?"

The man just repeated, "A discount, don't I get a discount?"

Bryce politely queried, "You mean like a senior citizen's discount?"

"Oh, so you think I look old, huh?" the man countered.

Bryce just laughed and said, "Well, not necessarily, but I know that some stores do that so I figured that's what you meant. But we don't have a senior discount."

The man just handed Bryce his driver's license and let him inspect the identification. Bryce took it, looked down, and saw the name John Menard on the ID. John Menard, as in the 74-year-old entrepreneur and billionaire from Eau Claire who founded the Menards chain, which Bryce had learned about in the training video just 3 weeks prior.

Bryce knows how to think on his feet and this was no exception. He glanced up at the man, looked down at the card, and made a show of studying it. Then he looked up again with an expression of a dawning understanding and said, "Oh, I see, so you DO want a senior discount."

I think Mr. Menard's day was made.

It Works! & Medical Mistake

If you check in here with any regularity you'll know that I've posted very little in the past few months. Blogger's new format had a lot (OK, everything) to do with that. I was not able to post from my home computer and when I did access it from another computer I wasn't able to insert paragraphs or other basic features that just made it a very frustrating experience. I was considering moving to a new host when I discovered I could press on button and get my old blog format back. And this one works.

If you're even looking at this post then it means you didn't completely give up on me, so here's a thought to leave you with:

I went in for routine blood work yesterday and the technician (phlebotomist?) greeted me with, "Hello, I'm a new hire here." That was my first tip that something was out of the ordinary. I've never had anyone in the medical field admit to being new.

She then asked me, "Is it all right if I look at your arm and draw some blood?" Second tip that things were not as usual. It would seem obvious that it's "all right" with me to draw blood...since that's why I'm here in the first place.

Thirdly, she kept showing all of her work to another gowned woman for her to OK. Third tip that she was definitely a newbie.

But the final proof that made me questing my own sanity at remaining in the chair was the nametag--"Cathy P, Inventory Clerk".

Memo to the hospital--have the new nametags ready when employees switch jobs!

Final note--she did a fantastic job, perhaps because she was so meticulous. I didn't bruise at all and barely have a mark today. Still, fix the nametag!

You've gotta love a small town

I called the bank today to verify an automatic deposit and to confirm that my name has been put on the account with my husband. I gave the usual information--name, address, birthdate. Then I was asked a question to verify my identity,

"Did you ever have any kids in show choir?"

It turns out the teller was a classmate of my daughter. (And yes, they were in show choir together.)

And that's a GOOD thing?

One of my married children recently shared an observation with me,

You and Dad have really done a great job at raising all of your children to be really excited about getting out of the house.

It was supposed to be a compliment.

Not working

Aunt Susie called me on Saturday. This was our conversation:

Susie: What would you think about me going on a memory pill?

Me: You're already taking a memory pill.

Susie: I am? Oh yeah, I forgot.

What a coincidence

Nicole stopped by to meet Dana before heading out with some others for a bride/bridesmaid dress-alteration trip. It's almost like being in Jr. High, except they didn't plan it!

In the long and the short of it...

...this is the short of it.

Senior Texting

In many techno areas of my life I would be lost without my teenagers. I'm frequently heard saying, "Boys! Can someone show me how to do this?"

My dad, however, is on his own.
My dad is 74.
My dad just got texting on his cell phone (which he wouldn't even have if my loving sister, Kari, didn't get for him because she worries about him in his aging years).

The other night I texted Dad about a genealogy item we'd discussed, just to test out his texting to see if it would be a feasible way to keep in touch--send pictures, give baseball game updates of the kids, etc.

To my rather informative text, Dad replied, "Hi"

My teenagers chuckled. I thought nothing more about it...

Until, my phone started blipping at about 6 am the next morning. After 4 or 5 blips and dreaming that Keith was texting for work I realized it was my own phone. I will let the following text log between me and my dad speak for itself: (all texts are incoming unless otherwise noted)

6:10 Upspps
6:12 Ups
6:15 Hi
6:16 Hi
6:17 Hi
6:17 Hi
6:18 .
6:18 Hi
6:20 Act
6:21 Dad
6:22 (I replied) Good morning Dad
6:23 Hi
6:28 Hello
6:30 (I replied) I think you have the greeting part down
6:36 Ups
6:46 Gee

A few minutes later the phone rang. It was Dad. "I can't figure this thing out." Hmm, I was rather under that impression already, but thanks for confirming my suspicions.

But, Dad, why the "ups" and "act" and "gee"? Because, he said, he thought it was kinda cool that he put in something that was 'real' and figured he may as well send it.

When I was little Dad would wake me up by tiptoeing into my room, getting right up to my ear, and whispering "peeka peeka peeka". It was kind of funny but a rather annoying way to wake up. I think it beat getting "ups" texts.


Kari, next time you see Dad--texting lessons!

Spinning

I finally decided to try to get some use out of our YMCA membership. The children get their money's worth, but I'm definitely a cash cow for their marketing department (interpret that any way you like). I looked through the options. Although I feel it would be right up my alley, the "Silver Sessions" were not available to me, I didn't even think twice about joining "Boot Camp", and "Flower Planting in Pots" would not work with my colorless thumbs.

But I did see one class that caught my eye--"Spinning". I have several friends who raise animals and spin their own wool. I've watched them do it and have thought it might be fun to try. I figured it would also give my arms a workout and I could count it as exercise so I signed up. I showed up yesterday for my class and was greeted by Overzealous Sue in spandex and leather gloves. Before I could open my mouth she had me mounted on a stationary bike and was yelling at me to "adjust to a phase two", "increase a full turn", "set the tension high and pedal while standing for 50 turns", and "remember to breathe"! Maybe I only pretended to turn the dial and counted by twos but I made it through that 60 minute 'spinning class'.

Does panting count as breathing?