digital pen, digital paper.

Sour apples. Tasty experiment.

[Via an email to friends, edited and updated.]

I may have mentioned the crazy lady that I recently finished a house for. She is ridiculously germaphobic, obsessive compulsive to a fair extent, and certainly has an anxiety disorder. She spent hours wandering the jobsite making my life hell for the last four or so months of the project. By hours, I mean anywhere from three to five hours per day. Hell.

It was a huge relief to have mostly finished the house about two weeks ago. The number of phone calls dropped from a minimum three per day, to a modest few per week. However, I still generally refuse to answer the phone when she calls. I know she wants to complain about something, and she can leave me a voicemail rather than catch me off-guard. Yesterday’s voicemail was a bit different, however.

“Ya hi, Jon. I was wondering if you were in the neighborhood. Maybe you can stop by. Um. <hesitation> I <hesitation>. I just wanted to say hi. <small creepy laugh> Please call me back.”

To give you a better idea of who this woman is, think Mr. Burns. But as a middle-eastern woman in her late 50’s. Same posture and wringing of the hands.

My subsequent return call was pretty much the same. She said she could come by the construction trailer on the opposite side of the neighborhood, but I quickly made it clear that that would not be necessary. The last thing I need is for that shrew of a woman thinking it would be acceptable to drop in on me at the trailer whenever she needed to complain that the painter missed a wall. And, for the record, she has actually made this claim. Twice. He supposedly missed a bedroom wall, and an entire closet. She ‘knew’ this because the wall felt rougher there than in other areas which had clearly been painted. (CrAzy!)

Having arrived at her house, she answered the door with something in hand. I had a feeling of what to expect, but these people were so damn tight with their money (arguing over a $50 cost when building a two-million dollar house?!), and they complained and nit-picked about so much, I had a hard time believing I could be right in my suspicions. But there it was in hand. She presented me a gift bag, and thanked me for the work I put into the house.

The polo shirt was from the neighborhood’s golf apparel shop, expensive though ugly, and could be exchanged for a different size or color if needed. It was, and I did. There was also mention of something else in the bag, but I didn’t want to go riffling through whilst standing there and appear greedy. I simply thanked her and shoveled on a pile or two of bullshit to make it sound good. In actuality, a small part of me was a tiny bit upset that after everything this lady put me through, she turns around and acts all sweet and takes away my excuse to hate her. She is certainly not a bad person, she just has some MAJOR issues. But again, it was a sweet gesture.

Of course, it was not until I delved deeper into the gift bag before realizing just how much of a gesture it was. Inside was a second bag whose origins were instantly recognizable. A white bag with a gray apple on it. The small colorful image inside was, at first glance, a gift card. When extracted, I found myself holding a brand new, 16gb, touch-screen, iPod Nano.

I immediately contacted my brother. As you know, we hold the same job title, but run separate projects for our mostly-family business. He has been kept abreast of my ongoing misery throughout the project and heard every reason that I call this lady crazy. And yet, he was unsurprised by gift. You see, my dad’s Business Partner had also received a gift. He told my brother about it, but neglected to say anything to me. Why? Perhaps it would ruin the surprise of my gift? Or, more likely, he did not want me to know that they had given him an iPad 3G.

This Partner did next to nothing for this job, but he was friendly with the homeowners and was the one who got the contract originally. I imagine he didn’t want me to compare effort and reward between the two of us, and I think he also neglected to mention it to my father for the same reason. What I haven’t yet found out, is if my Cousin knows about the iPad. My Cousin being the third partner of the business. The one who put significant work in, but was not liked by the homeowner because he was the one constantly battling over money. He did not receive any gift.

My good feelings of amazement and wonder, soured into disgust and resentment, never would have done so had my Cousin been the one to receive the iPad. He certainly deserved it more. Really, the poor painter deserved it more than the other Partner.

Salting the wound further, the iPad gift was originally left in the neighborhood’s real estate office for the Business Partner to pick up, except it was stolen before he could. So the one he received was a second purchase. AND, unknown to the homeowner, he had purchased not one, but two iPads for himself and his wife about a month earlier! So now, he has three iPads, and I cannot help but to wonder how much use any of them get.

Now, I am not aiming to diminish the significance of my Nano, but the iPad just makes me angry. I don’t need the iPad for any reason, and I don’t even have a use for one, but it was received undeservedly. Truthfully, I don’t have any use for an iPod Nano either. I have an 80gb iPod that I rarely use anymore because my iPhone carries enough music to satisfy my ears.

Also, while I did want to comment back-handedly to the Business Partner to make him feel bad out of spite, I felt there was nothing that could have safely been said. And the impact of my words would have carried less weight than intended anyway. However, I did formulate an experiment.

During his next site visit, which are generally few and far between, I made certain to mention my new Nano to him. This gave him the opportunity to gloat, which he will always jump on, and I was able to deliver a prepared response.

“Wait, don’t you already have an iPad?”

That’s right. I played dumb. Like I had never spoken to my brother about it. That was when Business Partner told me it was destined to be re-gifted. The moral thing for him to do would have been to offer it to my Cousin or myself. This was the experiment, to cajole him into an act of kindness. But no. It was better to re-gift so that he could dawn the visage of a generous gift giver.

As we walked, I delivered a second prepared comment. I casually proposed a trade, seeing as I had little use for the Nano, and he had little use for the iPad. His reaction was no reaction at all. He made no comment, and did not even begin to glance back at me. He simply kept walking.

Realizing fruitlessness, I resorted to plan-c. I waited until just prior to his departure and made a inquiry. Could I possibly purchase the iPad at a discounted rate? Having hit road blocks, I opened another set of avenues. I have yet to find out which direction he will take. He was unable to ignore me twice, but dropped the ‘ask my wife’ line in order to avoid further discussion.

If he takes the moral high road, he could either give, trade, or sell at a significant price reduction. If he takes the low road, then he may knock only a small amount off value, seeing it as financial opportunity for gain even though he comes from money.

Then again, he may choose no road at all. He may simply keep walking.

Home Movies That Take Your Breath Away

An old friend, one I have not seen nor spoken with in 17 years, just sent me an email. I am not one who enjoys small talk or catching up with people’s lives through direct questioning (So, what have you been up to?), so I was pleased to find he was only indulging me in a bit of nostalgia.

Quite simply, and as informally as if we had just spoken some days before, he asked, “remember Hamenhoff’s List? :) I hope so”

At first, my thought was no, but upon reflection, I had vague recollections of a movie we made using his parents’ VHS camcorder. Only two parts of filming came to mind, but the general WWII theme involved a Rambo-Jew inflicting vengeance against the Nazis.

Violence was of course the main attraction for us boys. 9-year olds tend to not pander to those of high-brow wit, but we were certainly creative with our craft. Blood was obviously a necessary prop, so we used a combination of food coloring and a bit of Hersey’s syrup to capture the effect.

Playing the part of the Rambo-Jew, I laid upon the bathroom floor, camera angled upward from next to me. Within the shot, one could see the shower head as to mimic a gas chamber. Stepping into frame was my friend, playing every other part in the movie. His role in this scene was that of a Nazi soldier, standing over my body to laugh at my demise. He was unaware that I had survived, and I kicked my leg up and into his groin before escaping out the door.

Following the filming process, we dubbed over the action with dialogue and sound effects. My friend held the microphone in one hand while I clapped mine together at the exact moment of impact during this pivotal scene. At the last minute, he thought to open and slam the cabinet door of the entertainment center. The timing on the loud CRACK! could not have been more perfect, and the replay result left us gasping for air after a long bout of laughter.

Untethered.

I went with a few friends to Sea World this past Friday. Several of us went there roughly six months ago, and the tickets we purchased at the time were upgraded to Seasonal, good through the end of the year, for only an additional four dollars. This trip last Friday cost us nothing to get in, but for fourteen dollars, we purchased Sea World’s version of the “fast pass” which basically lets you skip all of the lines. Wait times for us were never more than three minutes.

Sea World has two coasters. Kraken has been there for quite a while now, but Manta was new as of our visit when we purchased the tickets. The new and exciting concept of Manta is that instead of sitting in your bucket seat and riding above the track, after you strap in, the seats flip up toward an overhead track so that your body is face down, and you fly like super-man… or like a Manta-ray, same number of letters.

Unfortunately the ride was experiencing technical difficulties when we first arrived, so instead we started with Kraken. After a couple back-to-back runs on Kraken, we walked around a bit and saw Manta had started up again. Another couple back-to-back runs on Manta, but on our second go around, my friend Erin looked at me from my left, exclaiming something about Alex’s phone. Alex, on my right, passed back a confused look. He had his phone in his pocket. Erin revealed she had seen something fly away from the coaster. It appeared to be Alex’s Blackberry phone. I began fearing that she did indeed see a phone go loose, but it certainly was not Alex’s. His was safely in his front right pocket, the same location that I kept my iPhone.

Front right pocket.

Which was now empty.

Our other friend in the row behind us called forward. Who in row one or two lost something?! Erin replied for me. Jon’s iPhone had slipped out of his pocket.

I immediately walked to Guest Services to find out what could be done. They added my name to a form where I gave some brief information on what had been lost and where. After the park is closed, employees walk the grounds with flashlights searching for lost items. I will have to call back the following day to see if it is found.

Like some high-schooler or college flunky who is making near minimum wage will actually put forward any significant effort to find a black iPhone on a cold, dark night amongst the bushes and shrubs under the coaster?! I wanted to search for it myself, so we did our best to narrow down exactly where it might have landed. Certainly it would be cracked and broken, but I needed closure. I also might need the pieces in order to file an insurance claim for a replacement.

Erin and others were trying to bolster my confidence. She had witnessed it cascade toward some bushes, so perhaps it would not be broken. Calling the phone resulted in four rings before voicemail, another sign that the phone was still powered and functional. Even still, it would have to be located. A working iPhone lost in a theme park does me no good come work on Monday. We decided to ride Manta another couple times to try to narrow down which bushes it fell to, which actually turned out to be quite helpful. We had it figured to two specific areas, both under the coaster so that it was unsearchable without getting ejected from the park. I searched nonetheless, at least in the sections that were more accessible, but with no luck.

Returning to Guest Services, I asked if I could remain after the ride had shut down, to search the specific locations where it likely had landed. They were unable to allow it, and urged that I let the overnight maintenance crew search as the do on a nightly basis, scouring the park at any time around midnight to retrieve lost items. Could I add a note to the report I filed to help guide them in the right direction? No, because they do not see the reports. They search and deliver all findings back to the lost and found department. Reports are only used for purposes of making a claim.

I would have to wait until morning.

We did our best to make light of the situation throughout the day. I subscribe to the adage of laughter being the best medicine. My friends joined in on the fun, of course not for my sake, but the sake of mocking me in a loving manner. We also tried calling my phone throughout the night in the event that it might help the maintenance crew hone in if they happen to be in that area, but it always hit voicemail after the fourth ring.

I called in the following morning from a friend’s phone, fully anticipating that nothing was found. The woman with whom I spoke declared a Blackberry had come in that morning, but would have to check for an iPhone, and placed me on hold. I knew I would have to ask for a manager for access to the park immediately after close. Would they deny me the opportunity to search for my own phone when I had the knowledge of where it might be found?

Sir? We did have an iPhone come in. It’s black. Sixteen gigabyte. It’s in one piece? And works? Unlikely it would be mine. Mine had no case on it at the time. This one has no case, sir. Can you look at the picture, the wallpaper image that is on the phone? Is it… a fat horse?

Yes. It IS my phone! I cannot believe it survived.

Thank you, fat horse. Thank you.

Consumerism is a drug.

During my college days, my roommates and I would always joke about the way we lived. The college lifestyle that we led lent itself to the eventual destruction of all but our most personal affections. Following each folly, which typically involved alcohol, we would survey the damage and quote the following.

This is why we can’t have nice things!

Those days have passed and I am now compelled to discard the hand-me-downs that have endured our wrath and replace them with new and shiny appliances and furniture. I feel it is finally time that I be allowed to have nice things. And yet, these things that I have collected over the years have actually maintained a reasonably high quality of condition. Most were inherited from my parents and are, in fact, already quite nice. Truthfully, the only complaint I could stand to make is that they do not necessarily match in color and style.

But I must buy new furniture. New appliances. New electronics and toys. I have a job. I make money. I can upgrade my belongings. I can have nice things. I should have nice things. I deserve the luxury of spending my cash on the items I need.

Need? Why did I say need?

I know they are not needed, but the reality is, these belongings have woven themselves so seemlessly into my everyday life, they have become fixtures. I am accustomed to having them, and now feel I not only need them, but need to improve upon them as better versions become more financially available to me.

Consumerism is a powerful force, but how can you not love the things that make life so much easier and more enjoyable? I still smile every time I unpack a purchase from the store or receive a delivery. It’s like Christmas, except Santa is in all brown and makes you sign for your gift.

However, there is a piece of me that has always wanted to slough off the everyday items that chain me down. It has almost become difficult to keep up with the consumerist mentality. The constant passive search to find and replace everything given to me or purchased more than a few years ago has become more aggravating with every swipe of the credit card. The enjoyment is fading, but the compulsion lingers.

I want to walk away from it all. Not permanently, but at least long enough to feel some amount of release and perhaps also to prove to myself that I do not need all of this to live a happy life.

I have always wanted to attempt homelessness. I know, it sounds weird, but I think I could survive it. In any case, since living out of a van for a couple months in New Zealand, I have wanted to lock up my home, put my ID in my shoe, and live on the streets for a period of time. At least 30 days. No food. No money. No place to sleep. Only the clothes on my back and the will to survive.

I think the first few days would go pretty quick and would involve a lot of roaming. A lot of time would be spent learning the ropes. I would probably find a couple other homeless to ask advice from. Like where is the soup kitchen? I would have to break a number of personal barriers as well. I am sort of a germaphobe and love a hot shower. Eating others’ leftovers and washing the dirt from my face with water from a fountain would be a difficult adjustment.

Of course, after the initial transition, I’m unsure of what I would do with my days. Do I just bum around town and play chess in the park? Sounds like a good life, but maybe I make better use of my time by offering to take on small tasks for local business owners in trade for whatever they choose to provide me, be it a meal or a little cash. Not that I really expect to find anything. Besides, is there even such a thing as commerce between the homeless and the working class citizen? I would like to think so, but it seems there would be a very narrow market for that sort of thing. And I imagine those few who have managed to carve that niche have little interest in sharing.