Author: anthony Page 5 of 72

I work to the sound of sirens.

And thunder and lightning.  The siren was a tornado/severe weather warning and it was pouring down rain as I put on my glasses and peered out the window.  The dogs were already awake but I woke up Jim and we grabbed our phones and headed to the basement.

The dogs are not normally allowed in the basement and it was a challenge to convince them it was okay, even after we took down the gate.  The cat, who normally spends a lot of time in the basement, needed to be bribed and then carried down – then shut in the bathroom down there for his own good. 

We unfolded a couple of chairs, tried to settle the dogs, and opened up competing weather apps on our phones.  Mine had static radar images, but also included lightning strike distances.  Jim’s had animated radar on a loop, but was not as easy to read.   Both agreed that the alert was supposed to end at 2 am, so we had about a half hour to wait it out. 

Between storm tracking and settling the dogs, it occured to me how amazing it was that we could sit safely in our basement – tracking a storm with technology that would have seemed like science fiction when I was a kid.   I doubt even Mr. Spock’s tricorder could have been so informative. 

We sat quietly till the alert expired, checked the position of the storm on the maps, then crept back upstairs. I put away the flashlight and lantern I had brought with us – forgetting that the generator would have restored power if we’d lost it.  Jim let the dogs out to use the bathroom because it seemed like the thing to do and then it was time to turn in – again – and try to get some sleep before the new day began. 

It wasn’t that long ago that a tornado warning sent me to the basement alone – except for my cat – and how anxious I’d been.  This was just something to be done and then it was over and everything was fine.   Best case scenario instead of an imagined worst.

Friday before last, our “house-call” lawyer came back to finish up the paperwork for our wills and powers of attorneys. Our retired neighbor was happy to be on call as a witness and his part only took a few minutes.  The rest of the time was in re-reading all the documents – looking for key phrases like “immortal soul” or “all your base are belong to us” – and then signing.  Felt like all the paperwork when we closed on our house, but uncomfortable.  I’m generally not too bogged down by mortality – figuring that when I’m gone, my worries are over – but it was a little different to see it spelled out.   I was particularly hung up on the “vegitative state – sounded pretty terrible.

But, it was the right thing to do and I’m glad we did it. 

The lawyer left the signed copies with us and I got them scanned and sent back digital copies to him to file.    Our copies go in the safe and we’re a bit more “politically secure” than we were before.

Our city, though, is less so.  A young black man was killed by police recently and Akron has seen protests over the killing, vandalism in the downtown area, and a curfew.    The University of Akron is right in the middle of this area and we’ve been instructed to work remotely on key days when it might not be safe to go onto campus.   I support the protesters and the right to protest  – though I’ve never understood the vandalism that some folks choose to do.  It’s added another layer of tension to an already terrible situation and it may be a while – if ever – before we find out the truth of what happened.

That, along with the continuing mass shooting around the country, has me a little more wary that I normally would be.

Jim and I had decided to go to an Arts and Crafts festival today at a nearby park and while we were looking forward to going, there was an undercurrent for me that I didn’t mention.

Was this where the next shooting would be?  As we browsed through the pottery and stained glass, were we going to be targets?

These were just idle thoughts.  Not enough to prevent us from going and enjoying the day.  It’s just felt like for all the faults of Akron, I never expected anything really bad would happen here.   I mean, we’re basically a pop-culture trivia question.    Once Buffy closed the Hellmouth in Sunnydale, her friends remind her there’s another one in Akron.  The Deep from the TV show “the Boys” gets sent to beautiful Sandusky – “not like that shithole Akron”.    And the folks in South Park get Qannon messages from Dave Harris in Akron. 

We should be too ridiculous to have anything bad and real happen here – but in that park today, I kept my eyes open.

And yet…

There were deer in our yard yesterday evening.  And I bought some really great handmade soap today.  Our retired neighbor – our witness – played the cello with open windows while Jim and I worked in the yard.   And our friend Jenny came over to watch Stranger Things with us.

And those things are normal and okay and just…reasonable. 

My heart weeps for the family of the young man that was killed.  And I worry about how kids all over the country get through their days when a gunman might target their school.   Our rights are in danger to create political turmoil and there are wars being waged on distant shores tonight.

We cling to the normal like a life raft in a sea of uncertainty.  Worried that the terrible problems in the world might end up at our doorstep. 

It seems selfish to be happy.  To sleep safe and secure each night.  When the problems of the day are late emails and a shortage of pop tarts. 

We keep those we care about close.  And we wave to anyone that drives down the street to remind them that things are okay here. 

And we hope. 

Even when hope feels like defiance. 

Jim and I had been dating a few years when the subject of marriage came up.  Sort of a casual “hey, we should do that,” but not a sense of urgency.  Things were good, we were good, and it seemed a bit like a formality to what we already knew was going to be a long term relationship – as the saying goes.   Also, I don’t think either of us knew who was supposed to do the asking.  

And we talked a few times that if the supreme court ever started getting stupid – i.e. full of people that liked to take other people’s rights away – that we would get married to get this “on the books”.  And then plan a fancier ceremony later on. 

The reasoning being that it is much harder to take something away from someone than it is to keep them from having it in the first place. 

So, in November of 2020, as the high court was being stacked, Jim and I decided the writing was on the wall.    We got our license, got married, and we were official.   And felt a little more secure in the political validity of our relationship.

Fast forward a bit to two weeks ago.  Jim needed to have a document reviewed by a lawyer and he thought it would be a good time to update his will.  I didn’t have one yet and we decided we could get both of those done – along with powers of attorney and all that.

We made an appointment with a lawyer who didn’t mind a house-call – and met with him the Friday before last.   I was ready with my checkbook and pen, but this was just a planning meeting – he would need time to prep the documents.    

So, we planned for another meeting this past Friday and asked our retired neighbor to be a witness.  While we were waiting for the lawyer to arrive, we saw the news about Roe vs. Wade being stuck down – and how the reason behind doing so could also open the door for other rights – including gay marriage – to be struck down as well. 

We were glad again we’d made the decision to get married when we did and also glad we were making the decision on the wills and other documents to support that.    Things we’d maybe started to take for granted now seemed a little less certain.

And then the lawyer was late.  Then very late.  Jim texted him and the guy had a family emergency and forgot us.  He didn’t have the paperwork with him and it just wasn’t going to work out.  So, we rescheduled for this coming Friday.

Jim and I were both anxious yesterday evening and neither of us slept well.

We’ve made good and smart long term decisions for us and the wills are just to reinforce what our marriage provides.  And the odds are against some ruling coming down in a week to nullify that before we can get our wills done.  And the odds are also against anything happening to either of us in the next week before things are signed.

And yet… best laid plans.

——-

Years ago, on two differnt occasions, I knew young women who had abortions.  They were difficult decisions, painful decisions, but the right decisions for these women at that time in their lives.   For one, I drove her to the provider and waited for her in the waiting room.    I was self-conscious as I sat there – like I needed to tell the other men there that I wasn’t responsible.  Not my finest moment – even just in my head.   

For the other, I checked on her afterwards when her boyfriend brought her back from the appointment – and then gave her the privacy she needed.   Feeling a little helpless that I didn’t know how to make a difficult situation any better. 

Now, the rights those women exercised over their own bodies are in jeopardy.  In some states, I could be arrested for what I had done by helping them – even just by driving or not “reporting”.

Would I have had the courage to still support them?

——

I sit here in the room that my husband and I have labeled “the conservatory” in our castle.  The sun is shining in our quiet neighborhood and I have good wifi and a strong cup of tea.  I have a good job, a good car and a good home.   I have good neighbors and a family that loves me. I am as lucky and safe as I can be. 

But I’m still anxious.  With all that is bad in the world, people in power seem determined to make things worse for everyone else.   And writing about it isn’t helping make much sense of it this time. 

No wisdom today.  No clever answers or observations. 

I think about those women and what they went through all those years ago.  Difficult decisions then, now perhaps impossible ones.   

And I worry for my husband and I  – and what comes next for us.

Everyone has a story.

But some of those stories are quite stupid.

Let me set the scene…

Jim and I decided to try a different pizza place this evening for dinner.  He called the order in and I went to get it – arriving 1 minute, 30 seconds ahead of the estimated completion time.  

That time isn’t really relevant – other than to note that, as usual, I have my shit together.

The woman that walks in just ahead of me holds the door open for me – which is nice.  We’ll call her Woman One.   The two of us wait in the very small lobby for a moment while the clerk takes a lengthy to-go order on the phone.  While we stand there, another woman walks in – we’ll call her Woman Two and she’s talking on her phone.

But not just talking on her phone.  She’s got the phone on speaker and she’s holding it up to her face horizontally – like she’s having a conversation with a saucer about what happened to her tea cup. 

(For clarity, people that do this are MONSTERS and deserve whatever horrible fate that befalls them.)

This conversation, though, is about a business deal that a family member wants her to get involved in.  More on that in a moment…

The clerk is still working on the phone order and before she gets done, Woman One leaves the lobby and goes outside.  No pizza, no jo-jos, no cheese-sticks.  She just leaves.  When I later go to the parking lot I’ll discover that she has left completely.  For now, though, my place in line has bumped up.  

Woman Two has continued her conversation.  The amount the family member needs is $20,000 and of course she could get that – obviously – but isn’t sure she should.  The person on the other end of the conversation isn’t sure she should do that either.

The clerk finishes and I give her the name for the order.  She disappears into the back for approximately 9,000 years. 

Woman Two now relates that she was instructed to go to the bank to get help with the paperwork and that she has $20,000 in equity in her home.  

Which, gentle reader, one should note is not the same as having $20,000 readily available. 

Now the conversation goes back to the merits of the business venture and if she is willing to put her house on the line for it.  The consensus between Woman Two, her caller, (and mysel)f is generally “no”, but still open for debate. 

The clerk comes back with my order and while I’m navigating the payment screen someone asks Woman Two what order she’s there for.  She dramatically sighs at having her conversation interrupted, then pauses the conversation long enough to give them two orders – the second of which she’s uncertain of the pronunciation. 

No sooner has she uttered the names, she too leaves the restaurant. 

The other clerk tries to get confirmation on the names, but she’s gone.  I finish paying, get a receipt and take a moment to wonder:

“Does no one know how this works?”

1. You walk in.
2.  Give them your name.
3.  They give you food.
4.  You pay for the food.
5.  AND THEN you leave.  

If you don’t follow that simple sequence, it doesn’t work. 

As I walk out, thankful for my food and my wits, I see Woman Two heading back towards the restaurant – carrying her DoorDash bags to pick up the orders. 

I am not a financial expert, but I think perhaps that Woman Two should consider very carefully her options before investing in a business venture with a family member.  Though, given the way she was talking on the phone, who am I to say?

Woman One, as I mentioned, was nowhere to be found. I hope she figured out her error with steps 2 through 4 and eventually came back for her order.

And the pizza?

It was okay – if maybe a little pricey.

Back in April, I wrote about how our house didn’t explode – but that the yard got a little torn up when the gas company did some digging and replaced part of the line.  This was also around the time that several heavy trucks had driven through the grass at the edge of the street.  The yard was a bit of a mess near the street all along the property and worse right at the mailbox, but we had been assured that “someone would come back” and resolve that. 

Who that would be and when they would show up were left up in the air.

Our next door neighbors also had their yard damaged and they didn’t wait.  As soon as the threat of frost was done, they were out there with dirt, grass seed and straw.  I took my cue from them and bought some dirt, grass seed (two kinds) and a bail of straw.   

Which turned out to be ⅞ of a bail too much straw.

I spread the dirt and raked it, spread the grass seed and watered it well.  Spread the straw over that and watered again.  And then I watered any day that it didn’t rain until the grass started coming up.

I cleared away the straw and kept an eye on the new growth.  It wasn’t 100% coverage, but it looked like I had put some effort into it and figured it would fill in eventually.

Fast forward to today when a truck pulled up while I was fixing my lunch.  I was done with my yardwork for the morning and watched from the window to see how the pros would handle this.  

Would they use a special fast growing seed?  Straw, mulch or some other material?  I didn’t see a water tank – would that be up to me or was the seed coated in a water retaining gel?

The guy got out of the truck and got a bucket from the back.  He reached into the bucket and then tossed some grass seed on the patch near the mailbox.  He did this a couple more times, then put the bucket back in the trunk, then got in and picked up a clipboard.  I saw him check off something on the clipboard as they drove off.

And that was it. 

3 months of waiting for a couple handfuls of grass seed.

I left my lunch in the microwave and headed back outside with straw…

(Seriously, does anyone need some straw?  I’ve still got 3/4 of a bail.)

…and a watering can.  I covered the small patch of very ordinary looking grass seed where it hadn’t quite filled in with some straw and watered it well.  Then I went back inside to eat my lunch.

There are two possibilities.  

1. I had already done such an amazing job that all they felt they needed to do was help things along with a little grass seed. 

“Good job, Anthony! You did great with your yard and the neighbors would be proud of you.”

2. Since they didn’t have straw, fancy water-retaining grass seed, or any way to water it – this was all they could have done.  No one came to the door to let me know it was done so the birds would likely have wiped out the seed if I hadn’t seen them come and go – and gone out to finish things up. 

What would have been more helpful would have been a pamphlet with some guidance on what to do to restore the yard when the gas company left. 

Instead, we got the standard – substandard – treatment.   I could be cross about it, but it was just a classic example of bruacruary.   We were told someone would come out and someone did – and they worked on the yard that had been torn up when our house didn’t explode.

And it still hasn’t exploded.  So, I’ll tend to the bonus grass seed and wait for the re-greening of the yard.

It started with a Commodore VIC-20.

This was the first computer in our house – purchased by my parents when I was a kid.  It was a computer-in-a-keyboard with a cassette-tape player for the programs and was connected to the TV by an A/V switch for the monitor.

It wasn’t very powerful by today’s standards, but it was a marvel in our home.  It came with a BASIC programming guide and a couple games – one of which I managed to halt, then reprogram so that I could always beat the game.  Mom was amazed. 

The neighbors had an Atari and the Space Invaders didn’t stand a chance against us.

Years later was a Nintendo and hours of Metroid, the Legend of Zelda, and enough Tetris to support the entire Russian economy. 

From there, a Playstation with Crash Bandicoot, Mortal Kombat (FINISH HIM!), and extreme vertigo playing Tomb Raider for the first time. 

There was a brief flirtation with a Wii – until a minor injur-wii – and I wouldn’t pass up a chance to play Xbox, but I was a Playstation man through and through. 

(Hundreds of hours on the PC with Minecraft, notwithstanding.)

And from the Playstation 2, 3, and 4, I explored the far reaches of space and the depths of the ocean.  From unimaginable future adventures to the ancient past to modern car chases, I ran, jumped, double-jumped, and soared.  

It was amazing.

Until it wasn’t.

It started with Subnautica – an underwater exploration game that I had really loved until a second playthrough revealed a bug that I couldn’t get past.  The only option was to abandon my cool base and nearly completed sub and start over.  

I opted instead to play the sequel and enjoyed it until I encountered an objective that I couldn’t get past until I checked a guide on the internet.  The solution was not intuitive and later on the ending was…uninteresting. 

I switched to No Man’s Sky and a new update where you could help save an outpost – until a glitch made the outpost unplayable.  Even with a literal galaxy of worlds to explore, it stopped being fun – like a kernel of popcorn stuck in your teeth that you just can’t get loose.  By the time you do, the rest of the popcorn is cold.

I bought the DLC (downloadable content) packs for Dead Cells and found them to be more of the same.  Something was wrong – not with the games, really, but with me.

The final straw was Assassin’s Creed Odyssey.  I had made some progress in the game and unlocked the larger map and instead of being excited about new areas to explore – it just seemed…exhausting.   How many hundreds of hours lay ahead of me? One camel trip after another to find some trinket in the desert – over and over again. 

I canceled out of the game and turned off the playstation for the night. 

Over the next few days I tried to play other games from my library, but the spark was gone.   And I realized too that over the past few years, when the stress of just…you know, existing, got to be too much, I was playing games not to pass the time, but to make the time pass.  As just a way to get through the rest of the day so that I could go to sleep instead of something to be enjoyed. 

And none of that is very healthy.

So, I made sure my password was stored safely, then I fired up the playstation for the last time and ran the Initialization.   This resets the system to the factory defaults and takes hours to run.  And while it was running, I packed up my games and carefully cleaned all the components. 

When it was done, I put everything into a couple of bags and set them in the hallway. 

And then I waited for two weeks, to make sure this is what I really wanted to do. 

Today, I loaded everything up and took the games and the system to Gamestop to sell everything.    I got some cash that will go into the bank and went home to do more yardwork.   

Over the past two weeks I’ve been reading more and finding my attention span getting better again.  And I’ve almost figured out how to knit – though the instructions for casting-on could be a little better.  Also, a lot of yardwork.  So. Much. Yardwork.

I haven’t really figured out what will replace the hole left by the bright pixels on the screen, but I know reading and learning something new are far better for me. 

And maybe someday, when a playstation 7 or 8 rolls around, maybe I’ll pick up a controller again.  

For now, though, I need to take better care of my head and make better use of my time – for my own sake. 

I miss the rush of firing up a hyperdrive or teleporting to a rooftop.  Of standing alone against an army of monsters and emerging with a blood-soaked blade and a new scar.  Of just-one-more level before bed and one last mystery to solve. 

But there are other adventures to be had in the real world, I suppose.  And the robots, zombies, trolls, heroes, and aliens will have to get along without me.  

I got a text yesterday morning from Jeff’s sister and learned that their Aunt Peggy had passed away.   It had been quite a while since I’d seen or talked to Peggy and I knew she was getting on in years, but it was still a blow to find out.  I wanted to take some time and process the news, but work consumed my day and then continued through the evening with a last minute project. I went to bed and still hadn’t really taken time to grieve. 

So, tonight, I’ve decided to write down my memories of Peggy and try and sort out the confused mass of feelings that always pile on when I lose someone. 

I met Peggy at a family function with Jeff not long after he and I started dating.  She was famously known for having bad knees and for telling very long and detailed stories to anyone that would listen.  To the point where her family members would sometimes set down the phone and just let her talk – checking in every so often to see if she was done.  If it became clear they weren’t paying attention, she would tell the story again.

Jeff had her over for dinner once and she cornered me while he cooked.  Instead of tuning her out, I engaged in the conversation and contributed – and she was delighted to have a fresh audience.  On another occasion she tried to repeat a story to me again, but I countered early on by recalling some of the details – proving that I had been listening.  She was pleasantly taken aback and the rest of her family was amazed at my skill of, apparently, just paying attention.  

Peggy had us over to her house sometimes since she lived near Jeff  or we would meet up for dinner. She was very matter of fact about accepting Jeff and I and I think she doted on us a bit. 

When her husband Cliff passed away, she tried to be the strong matriarch, but it was clear she was hurting and missing him.  Jeff and I went over to her house with Cliff’s ashes after the service – Jeff was a funeral director – and Peggy offered us some tea on her sun porch while Jeff was dividing the ashes, some to be buried and some to be spread.  We declined, but when I saw how rough this was on her, I took her up on the offer since that took us into the kitchen.   I stood so that she had to face away from the window to talk to me and we chatted while Jeff did his work outside. 

At one point she stopped and looked me right in the eye and said, “I know what you are doing,” and I knew it meant a lot to her. 

I smiled, shrugged, and told her it was good tea so she could keep up her brave face since I knew that was important to her.

When we left that day, she thanked us both for being there and we got fierce hugs.  I think it was one of the best things I’ve ever done for someone.

Kindness isn’t a thing to be repaid, but years later she did anyway.

When Jeff passed, I was at the calling hours with his family – alternately forcing myself to keep it together and by turns completely falling apart.

One of Jeff’s friends came up to me and suggested, not very subtly, that it was my fault that he died alone.  When they saw the horror on my face they tried to back-pedal, but the damage was done.  

Peggy took me aside – as I had done for her when she needed it – and gave me a hug, and told me that they were completely wrong and none of this was my fault.   She wasn’t part of my family, but for the moment she was. 

With her kind reassurance, I got through that terrible day.

I visited her a few times after that, but we were both busy with our own lives and drifted apart.   As it happens.

I hope she understood and remembered what she had done for me.  Funerals are about the dead, but they are for the living.  I think we both understood that and it was part of our unconventional friendship.

So, the grand dame and matriarch Elizabeth “Peggy” Queen is gone.  I hope she has a good audience now – she has a lot of stories to tell.

She was kind and accepting – and I miss her.

Today was the Service Awards reception for employees celebrating a milestone anniversary working at the University of Akron.  And while my official date isn’t for a few months, I was recognized for working at UA for 25 years.

Crazy.

A quarter century working at the University of Akron.  From a student assistant in Telecommunications (switchboard operator and office assistant) to the IT helpdesk to 2nd tier support and lab support.  Then the webteam, as a developer, then Assistant Director (and manager of the switchboard, ironically) and now Director of Web Services.  Or, unofficially but far cooler, The Webmaster (™)

I’ve weathered several re-orgs, including the one that moved the Webteam from IT to Communications and Marketing.  As well as two major staffing cuts, a pandemic, and remote/hybrid work.

There is one person in my division that has been there at least as long as I have, but he’s retiring at the end of May.  Making me the “elder statesman”, as I’ve been called.

While we were waiting for the program to start, I caught up with some folks that I hadn’t seen in person in a while – talking about how we got started at UA and missing folks that were gone.

When it came to be my turn to go up on stage and have my photo taken with the president, a few people in the crowd cheered for me – enough that the president remarked on my fan club.   I got a “fist-bump” from my VP as I made my way back to my seat.  And afterwards, several people sought me out and came up to me to thank me for all the help I’ve given them over the years – including some I’d never met in person but knew me only from email. 

Getting recognized for the years was nice, but getting recognized by my peers was pretty amazing.  Made me feel like I was really making a difference.

——

I also had a more personal milestone to celebrate this week – 1500 haiku/tweets.  

When I started my twitter account back in 2009, I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it since there was a strict character limit and I’m…well…verbose.

But, I liked the format of a Haiku and thought the syllable limit of those meshed well with the character limit of a tweet.  So, I decided that all of my tweets would be in the form of a haiku.

I did a few, then I stopped, then I decided that I would write one every day.  And, this week, I hit 1500 Haikus on my twitter account.

It’s been a challenging hobby to come up with something new every day and then compress it to the bare bones of a story.   I share these on my website and on facebook – and a few folks will respond in kind.  

Tiny stories – but a lot of them. Doing my part to make the internet a little less terrible.

I think that, if you’re going to talk about a situation where your house could have exploded, you should start off with some clarity.

The house didn’t explode.

So, the story:

Last Friday was the scheduled appointment for the gas company to come to the house and check the gas meter in the basement.  I had this done at my prior house and it seemed like a huge waste of time. The technician takes this hissing box with a hose on the end of it to the basement where he waves it around near the gas meter and then that’s it.  The appointment window is 4 hours long and you have to be home – and be a responsible adult.  

Which, for me, seems like a lot.

But I work from home on Friday’s and set the appointment up.  The dude arrived right after I let the dogs out so that worked out.  I guided him to the basement and he did the “wave the hissing box with a hose around” for a bit, and then went “humph” when it beeped.  It kept beeping whenever he waved it near where the pipe came into the house. 

The box had found something. 

He did a little more testing, then told me that he thought that there was a leak in the service line and that the gas was traveling along the outside of the pipe into the house.  Not a lot, but enough that it needed to be addressed.

He went outside and tracked down where the service line was, next to the mailbox.  He did some more checking, then turned off the gas entirely. 

So much for my mac and cheese on the stove.

He then made some calls and told me that a crew would be out to replace the service line – hopefully today. 

Then was on his way. 

I let the dogs back in and got back to work.  Jim had a half day in the office and when he got home he came upstairs to my office and asked if we were getting a new gas meter.  Apparently, the crew had shown up with no prior call this time and were already digging up the front yard.  And one of the guys had followed Jim into the garage to get access to the basement. 

We went out and talked to the crew and got the gist.  They would need to dig up the lines near our mailbox and on the other side of the street and would replace a section of the line.  Then, another technician would come out later to turn everything back on. 

I got back to work again and Jim took a nap.  When the crew was done they gave me the update and were on their way. 

When I logged off for the day I let the dogs out again and the last technician showed up.  He checked the new gas meter, lit the pilot lights on the furnace and gas heater, and then came up to light the stove.

And here is where I thought we would have an explosion.  He turned on all the burners and left one of them on “light”.  And then we waited.

He stood right there at the stove and as the burner continued to click I started to step back.  Then I started to smell gas and wondered what I would look like without eyebrows.

Still, we waited.  By this point, I was at the door to the kitchen and wondered if I would hurt my shoulder when I dove out of the doorway from the inevitable explosion.  

And then, a quiet “whump” and all the burners lit.  He turned them all off and was on his way. 

The yard is a little torn up, but the house didn’t explode at all.   

Call it a win.

Jim and I were both off work around lunchtime today and decided to stop at what had been a cheese, deli, sandwiches, and wine shop.  The place had been closed and reopened as a cheese, deli, sandwiches, and wine shop – but with a new name.

We went in and went up to the deli counter, straining to read the menu board.  The couple in front of us tried to order sandwiches and were told those could be ordered at the bar.  They were escorted back past the front door to a small bar and given menus. I got menus for us and glanced at it and decided on a turkey wrap – and noted that it came with chips.  I grabbed us cokes from the cooler and we set those down on the counter of the bar to save seats while we went and picked out our chips. 

With chips and drinks, we sat down at the bar to order our sandwiches.   The clerk at the bar seemed surprised that we were sitting down and said we could sit there if we wanted to, but that there was more seating in the back and that the bar was for waiting for the to-go orders.  We asked if we could order and take the sandwiches back to the seating area, but were told that there were waitresses there. 

So, we got up and headed to the back seating area where we were told we could sit where-ever we wanted. 

Note that this was the first thing we had done that we couldn’t have gotten wrong – though we did get some dirty looks from the guy at the table near the one we picked once we started to – gasp – talk quietly to each other.

The waitress comes over and we’re ready to order, except that the sandwiches come with chips and the bags we picked out could not be substituted.  We could get the bags of chips as well, but would be charged separately.    I offered to put them back but the waitress said she could do that.  She asked if we had already paid for the bottled drinks, since we should have ordered those with our meal instead of bringing them with us from the front of the shop.   She offered to add those to our meal.

We agreed to that and noted that this whole experience had been confusing – she said that a lot of people get confused. 

Jim and I sat quietly, brooding as she went to put the order in.  Both of us wanting to vent, but were mindful of the small restaurant and the proximity of the waitress.  

Our food arrived and we cracked open our sodas and started on the sandwiches.  We ate in peace for the most part, though the waitress kept coming over to see how things were  – but I think secretly hoping we would wrap things up and leave soon. 

The to-go box she brought over for Jim at his request was almost too big for the table and my card didn’t work at the register – she had to take it to another machine to run it.  

When we were done, I considered the tempting door near us labeled Exit, but decided to track back through the shop to the way we had come in – that near Exit was likely a fire escape or something.   I also kept my receipt in hand in case we were challenged on our illicit sodas.  

We got out to the car and remarked that while the food was good – if a little pricey – the experience of being so wrong about everything for so long meant we weren’t likely to go back anytime soon. 

Though I guess since I’ve written this down we should be prepared for the next trip. 

Maybe we’ll get it right – or maybe they will have put up some signs in the meantime.