Sample Saturday

Don't you just love Costco? Who doesn't, right? Especially on sample Saturday. So many wonderful and delicious samples to try. My mouth is watering just thinking about it. Sample Saturday almost makes it worth the masses of people you have to fight through in order to get from one aisle to another.

What is it about the samples that cause people to swarm? We're like moths circling the blue glow of the electric lights and then...zap! You can always tell when someone got too close.

The problem that I see is that there are no rules when it comes to sampling. No formal etiquette. We all just kind of stand around waiting for the samples to finish cooking. Everyone just hangs around, all of us pretending to be shopping or looking at an item right next to the sample table, when in fact we have no real interest in anything but the sample. Nobody makes eye contact with one another because we don't want our cover blown. We're just trying to act as normal as a shopper can, occasionally even lifting an item from the shelf to examine it when...DING! The sample is done and everyone swarms. Children are pushed aside. Old people are trampled. It's every man for himself.

There are no rules like those on a sinking ship...women, children and the elderly first. No way. Absolutely not. I waited just like everyone else and want my sample and I'll be damned if I let someone else in before me. It's free and I'm hungry.

I also find it fascinating that we feel the need to create idle conversation with the employee behind the sample table.

"So how long should I cook this for?"

"It's on the box."

"Oh, you mean the box it comes in?"

"Yes."

"You don't say. Very interesting."

In our tiny little consumer minds we think our acting skills might actually convince the employee behind the table that we're actually interested and considering buying the sample. When in fact we have no intention of buying it at all. And even if we were, the employee could care less. It's not like they work on commission, so then why in the world would they care? Still, we all find ourselves in these awkward conversations and it never really occurs to us that the employee has probably heard the exact same conversation 500 times already that day.

Just once I wish someone would say what we are all really thinking.

"Look I really have no plans of buying this. I'm just hear for the free samples. So I won't bore you with any small chit chat pretending I'm interested in buying it. Really, it's better this way...for both of us. Please don't take it the wrong way because you really are doing an incredible job of handing out these samples. It's not you, it's me. It's just that I'm cheap and really only wanted to try it because it's free and I'm hungry since I didn't eat breakfast or lunch today."
I would say it myself if I wasn't afraid they might kick me out of the store.

Another thing about sample Saturday that bugs me is how uncomfortable I feel about taking a second sample from the same table. We have to act all sneaky about it by grabbing it quickly when the employee behind the table is distracted by someone else creating idle conversation. I have even come in from behind the table and grabbed the sample without even looking back so that the employee wouldn't be able to identify me. Sometimes we try to explain, thinking the person recognizes us and realizes we're taking a second sample.

"I'm just getting one for my wife. She didn't get one the first time. It looked so good she just had to try it. Really it's not for me. How long did you say to cook these for?"

I have yet to see someone reprimanded for taking more than one and yet we are afraid to do so thinking we might be the first.

"Sorry sir, only one sample per person. It's clearly written on the sign when you walk into the store. I'm going to have to ask you to hand that back please and leave the store immediately. You really should be ashamed of yourself. Taking seconds when there are starving people in China."

I have noticed a few crusty stares from other customers when doing so but I'm sure it's just because they're jealous because they wish they could have done the same but didn't have the courage to do so.

Yep, you gotta love Costco. It's really what the American dream is all about.

All Cracked Up

Rumor has it that the easiest way to judge a great carpenter is by the size of his carpenter's crack (this also applies to plumbers, but for the sake of simplicity, we'll focus on the carpenter's crack). Supposedly you can tell a great carpenter simply by looking at his nether regions. The bigger or more pronounced the crack, the better or more highly skilled the carpenter is. Hey I’m not making this stuff up, I’m not that good. I’m just telling you what I've heard...and there is no need for me to tell you the circle of friends from which I've heard it.

I know it seems like a tall tale and a bit hard to swallow – especially when you think about actually looking at someone's carpenters crack in order to judge their skill level – but ask yourself these two things: 1. Who would really make something like this up? and 2. How could something this far out there possibly not be a fact?

As I’ve begun some investigation into this phenomenon, I’ve come across some people who would want us to believe that there is no significant correlation between the size of one’s crack and their skills as a carpenter. Then again, these are those same people, who would lead us to believe there is no significant correlation between the size of a person's head and how smart they are. They would try to tell us that bigger heads do not mean smarter people, which is completely false. We all know that people with bigger heads are definitely smarter then those with tiny ones. It's only logical.

These same people will try to persuade you that crack differences could be merely caused by outside forces such as: A) The carpenter's pants are just too big and accordingly expose more of the cheekage (if you’ll allow me to use that word) than necessary; or B) the carpenter's tool belt is overloaded and heavy and therefore causes a downward force over the buttocks. These claims are just not factual, and I have not thus far found any science to back them up.

However, I must make one side note. This rule does not apply to women of the trade. A woman who exposes her carpenter's crack while working is just considered trashy and such actions are frowned upon by others inside and outside of the business. Call it a double standard if you want, but that's just life.

But if what I've heard of male carpenters is true - and I wholeheartedly believe that it is - and bigger really does equal better, then it would behoove members in such a trade to consider enhancing their cracks. No, I’m not talking about natural enhancement by working out, which takes excruciating amounts of time and effort, or about any of those miracle creams you rub on at night before going to bed that guarantee to double your size. What I’m talking about is going under the knife…getting a butt augmentation…you know, a butt job, thus enhancing the crack cleavage, so to speak, for the purpose of attracting more business.

This would be a smart business move. It could be considered not only a business investment but a write-off as well. Logically, this makes perfect sense.

In fact I wouldn't be surprised to find out that such things are already happening in the industry. How could they not be? If carpenters' skills are judged solely on the size of their butt cleavage, then surely methods for increasing such said cleavage must be happening.

How horrible is that? Talk about false advertising. But what other options would you have as a flat-bottomed non-cracked carpenter? I don't blame the carpenters. Nope, not at all. Quite the contrary, in fact, I feel sorry for them. They must feel like a piece of meat up on display for the whole world to look at and poke while trying decide if it's something good enough to take home. The poor carpenters are a product of society and are left with few choices to make in the matter...go big or stay home. Because we all know they won't be finding work any time soon if they don't.

Take a guy like me for example, who has a relatively flat bottom. All right let’s be honest, I’ve got no butt at all. If what has been said is true and I happened to be a skilled carpenter, people might look at me and laugh, simply judging me by my butt crack and assuming I was a complete dud. My business would suffer because of it. I would be the perfect candidate for a butt augmentation procedure. I think I would at least want to look into what kind of enhancement options were available to me. You know, go into the plastic surgeon's office to look at some different crack pictures before choosing the perfect one for me. I'd probably want to stand up in a mirror holding the pictures to my rear end to see what they'd look like on me. Then after finding the right one, handing it back to the doctor and saying:

"That's it Doc, that's the one for me."

"Are you sure? Don't you want to look at any others, just to be certain?"

"Nope. This is the one. It has me written all over it."

I can only imagine what the guys would say after showing up to work with my new cracked out fanny and of course a brand new working wardrobe to show off my new assets (no pun intended).

"Oh my gosh...check out Jared's crack. It's huge!"

"Yeah, he just got it done."

"What do you mean? It's fake?"

"Yep. Top of the line implants. He says it's really increased business for him."

"Wow. It looks amazing! So Real."

"Yeah, it really does."

Now that I think about it I'm so glad that I'm not a carpenter and I don't have to worry about being judged by the size of my crack. I have a whole new respect for those who choose to follow that career path. It's a man eat man world out there and it seems clear that the man with the bigger crack, always wins.

I'll Cry if I Want To

There are very few things that make a grown man cry. In fact I can only think of five. Here they are in no particular order:

• The movie "Old Yeller" (come on, it is a movie about a man's best friend)
• Watching your favorite sports team lose in a close, hard fought game.
• Having to buy your wife or girlfriend feminine products and then to running into someone you know while at the store with said products in hand.
• Finding out the person you're in love with is a vegetarian.
• Discovering a new all-you-can-eat buffet where you live.

Yep, I think that about sums it all up.

Wrong Number

Have you ever been so bored sitting at home that you actually get excited when the phone rings? Then you find out that the person on the other end accidentally dialed the wrong number but you still try to keep them on the line just so you don't have to go back to being bored?

"I'm sorry you have the wrong number but do you want to talk anyway? Please just talk to me for a little while. You don't understand, I'm bored. No, No, wait, I'm only kidding. This is Bob, I was just joking with you. I swear it is. What's my last name? Come on you know what my last name is. No, please don't..." CLICK! "...hang up."

It's no wonder 1-900 numbers get so much business. You're bored out of your mind sitting at home with absolutely nothing to do...and...well...

"Helloooo, this is Rachelle. What's your name?"

"Umm, err, this is Bob, and don't ask me my last name."

Homeless and Poor

He held a sign that read “Please Help, Homeless and Poor.” I sure was grateful that he cleared up the confusion by adding the part about being poor, because if he had been Homeless and Wealthy I was just going to roll down my window and yell, “Go buy a damn house, then!”

I suppose I am a little uneducated in the homeless department because I had always just assumed that if you were homeless it was because you were poor. Then again, you can be poor and not homeless, so maybe you can also be homeless without being poor. Now all of a sudden I started feeling bad for the guy because he had it really bad. Double whammy…homeless and poor. And to think for a few seconds there I was going to offer to pay him 5 bucks if he would let me add the words “and lazy” to his sign.

I often wonder why these guys aren’t working to make some money. I know some people say that they have a disability or something that prevents them from working, but I mean come on…they are already standing for 10-12 hours a day holding their signs! They would make ideal Wal-Mart greeters. I mean, they are already seasoned in standing in one place for long periods of time. If it was too uncomfortable to actually greet the Wal-Mart shoppers, perhaps they could just hold up a sign that read, “Welcome to Wal-Mart.” I’m sure it would go over great for Wal-Mart’s public relations perception. They could even change their slogan to “Wal-Mart…putting America’s homeless to work.”

I know for sure that these guys could get a job for at least four months of the year with Liberty Mutual. It would be a perfect gig for them, holding up a sign and waving it at passing vehicles on the side of the road. Isn’t that really what they are already doing anyway? Liberty Mutual should just run around the city and dress the homeless in Lady of Liberty costumes and pay them to hold up their signs. Besides the cheap advertising, think of what a great tax write-off they could get.

The only other question I had about the homeless people that stand around holding signs is, where in the world do they get the markers to make their signs? I know at my house I can never find a marker when I need one, so how the hell are these guys getting them if they don’t even have a home to begin with? Plus, the markers they use aren’t those cheap ones. Oh no, they aren’t those flimsy old fine point ones. They use those “fat boy” ones that make lines big enough for passing vehicles to see. Those markers aren’t cheap! If they were smart, they would be selling the markers they use to people like me who can’t find them anywhere in my house to save my life. I would pay a pretty penny for one of those.

Needless to say, even after the homeless guy got me thinking about all these things, I still couldn’t help but feel bad for him and I gave him 5 bucks. As I was walking away I realized that he probably made more money than me if everyone that passed by felt the same way I did. But then again, his sign did say Homeless and Poor…so probably not.

Trust me. I'm an Expert.

In the game of golf there are good golfers, there are bad golfers, and there are Experts. A person who is good at golf is someone who can score really low...period...and a bad golfer is one who typically scores quite high, but who will score low enough just often enough to keep his golf habit alive. But one of the things I most love about golf is that a person doesn't have to actually be good in order to be an Expert. An Expert at golf is someone who can coach or critique others in the sport but may not necessarily be good themselves. I've noticed through the years that there are a lot of Experts in golf. I should know...I am one myself.

When someone hits a bad shot it is easy to point to something that may or may not have contributed to the genesis of the poor shot. The mere mention of these observations of another's swing is what makes one appear to be an Expert. You see, the golf swing has hundreds of components and pieces that must come together with perfect complexity in order to make the right connection of the clubface hitting the ball and therefore creating what we call in golf lingo, a "good shot." It takes just one of those pieces to be missing or misplaced and you end up with what golfers would call a "bad shot," which also goes by other creative pseudonyms such as, "damn it", "why?", "where did that come from!", "I hate this game", or for the worst of all bad shots, "I quit."

There is never a shortage of reasons for why the bad shot happened, nor is there ever a shortage of fellow golfers who are willing to point out what caused it. Your stance was too narrow. Your stance was too wide. You had your clubface open at impact. Your clubface was closed at impact. You're swinging too far away from your body. You're swinging much too close to your body. Your arms were too bent. Your arms were too straight. Your weight was all on your toes. Your weight was back on your heels. Your head popped up, your butt was out too far, your hips swung out...blah, blah, blah. Oh yeah, and blah.

Never mind my score. Forget the fact that you are actually beating me. What I'm telling you will change your game and take you to that next level. Trust me, I'm an Expert. I have an eye for these things.

That's why I think being a caddie would be such an easy job. You're not playing, you're just telling the player what to do.

"Go pitching wedge. Definitely pitching."

"Are you sure? I was thinking a strong nine. I don't think I'll get there with a pitching."

"Trust me, it's the pitching wedge you want. It'll put you right in the center of the green."

"All right."

The ball is struck and falls ten yards short of the green.

"See. I told you I should have gone nine."

"No, it was the right club. You just had the clubface closed a bit at impact and were swinging off of your toes. Trust me. I'm an Expert."

Would You Like Fries With That?

There are, in this universe, established laws of science that are considered universal and invariable facts of the physical world - laws so irrefutable that the mere mention of disproving them would bring scorn and ridicule from even the lowliest of scientists which helped to establish them. I'm talking about laws such as the fact that the earth circles the sun and not vice versa, that gravity is the force that causes the apple to fall to the ground instead of floating off into space, E=mc2...and the fact that french fries have a limited window of time in which they must be eaten before they are no longer deemed edible.

In my years of college, mission, and as a young newlywed, I've become quite a connoisseur of "fast food" (AKA: I'm too lazy to make my own meals, food) and therefore, quite the connoisseur of french fries, or "fries" as I will refer to them through the remainder of this article in hopes of appealing to the cooler crowd who might happen upon this blog entry.

If given even the slightest period of time to consider this most important law of nature, most, if not all of you reading this will probably agree that fries have a very small window of time in which they must be eaten. You all know what I'm talking about - the inevitable shift from hot, crispy, salty deliciousness to tepid, rubbery, unsavory awfulness. From the time you first receive your little carton of goodness into your loving hands, the stopwatch has already begun its inevitable countdown. And unfortunately for all of us proud owners, fries have a very short lifespan.

Sure, it's no big deal when you're dining in. Anyone can eat their fries within the allotted time it takes to snarf down lunch at the local greasy burger joint and never worry about reaching that awful point of no return. But it's a different story for the many of us who get it to go and therefore waste precious minutes transporting the precious cargo home to eat. The way I have it figured you have 12, maybe 15 minutes tops, from the time they're almost too hot for your mouth to inedible and disgusting.

My problem is that I live at least 10 minutes away from the nearest McDonald's, which leaves me and my family very few minutes left to devour our fries before they turn. I've had many nights of heartburn and upset stomach as a direct result of having to swallow my fries whole in attempt to eat them within the time constraint. This happens even if I tell them at Mcdonald's that I want the fries to be loaded at the last possible second. Even if I tell them I want them fresh out of the fryer, molten hot. Even if I tell them to eliminate the middle man (the fry tray under the heat lamps) and to just load them directly from the fryer into the fry carton. All of that might, and I stress the word might, save me an additional three minutes on the drive. Which, don't get me wrong, I'll take whatever additional time I can get, but it still leaves me in a serious race against the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I would be lying to you if I told you that the thought of running a red light or calling in for a police escort has never crossed my mind. I mean they do it for organs being taken to a patient all the time right? Isn't this equally important? After all, I paid good money for those fries.

The only thing known to man in the slowing down of mother nature when it comes to the aging of fries is of course the heat lamps they're placed under when they first come out of a fryer. Unfortunately my car doesn't have one of those, but I do believe it should be an option on all newer vehicles. Could you imagine the time and heartache you'd save if your car had one of those babies tucked right in under the stereo?

I once had a friend tell me to just pop them in the microwave when I got home...as if that somehow would magically rejuvenate the limp and lifeless fries. Uh, yeah. No. Let's just say he is no longer my friend. I mean these things are like nachos. They can't be reheated! French fries are untouchable that way...it doesn't matter how badly you wish they could. And let's just call a spade a spade. The microwave...it's just an appliance. It's not a miracle worker.

Nope, once the fries have met their time limit, it's best you pass on them and just chalk it up as another loss to the fry gods. They're gone. They're toast. They've given up the ghost and no matter what you try, you'll never resuscitate the things. And even if you could, what would be the point? It would be like trying to resuscitate a 95 year old man who died peacefully in his sleep. In the end he's still 95 and pretty much dead.

Nope, my suggestion to you is to enjoy them while they're hot. I know we're all busy with life and that things get hectic - so busy in fact that it seems like we never have time to stop and enjoy the fries, so to speak. Might I suggest to all of you, when it comes to eating these heaven-sent strips of potato, salt and grease, to stop, take but a moment of time (12 to 15 minutes) out of your busy life, and allow yourself to enjoy the fries.