Thunder of Wade

The envelope looked official and came with a delivery of anxiety.  I was being summoned for jury duty for the Akron Municipal Court.

I’ve served once before and been called without serving, but for some reason this time had me freaked out.  Too many unknowns and nebulous but dire consequences for mistakes.

Like taxes, actually.

The notice said I had 5 days to respond to the survey and I waited a day before hopping online to complete it.   Except, it had my residential address wrong – though the mailing address was right.  So, I wasn’t allowed to complete it online and had to send it in.  And I had already wasted one of my 5 days I was allowed to reply.  So, a little worrying there – though I later learned that as long as it’s before the week of the duty it’s not a big deal.   And that you can call in if the week is inconvenient to get the obligation moved.  Interesting.  

I got that completed and in the mail and then waited until it was my week to start calling to see if I needed to report.  My summons color was Yellow and my group was 3 – and the week of March 20th was my week. 

The Sunday beforehand, I got some anxiety.  What if I missed something in the directions? What if I couldn’t find the right entrance on the terrible map?  What if I set off the metal detector?  If I was called, who would let the dogs out at lunchtime?  And when would I get to eat?  Would there be enough time?  Should I pack lunch?  What if I was late?  What if I got lost?  How long would the trial last?  What if I did something wrong in the trial? Would I go to jail?

With my brain melting down, I talked to Jim who gave me some calming techniques.   He noted that people usually can’t think of more than one thing at a time and making the mind/body connection could help – though, he said that if anyone could think of more than one thing at a time, it would be me.  I took that as a compliment. 

Settled down a bit, I called the number Sunday after 5 and was off the hook – no potential jurors would be reporting for Monday.  Monday night I called again, this time it was Purple, groups 1-12 for Tuesday.  Tuesday night’s call for Wednesday was Purple, groups 13-19.  

As I was leaving work on Wednesday I got a text and an email – I was due to report on Thursday at 8 am.  I called after 5 to confirm and got the instructions – and then bought lunch meat for a sandwich for the next day.  I also sent an email to my co-workers and set up my out-of-office message. I packed a lunch, a book, and some paper – along with the paperwork – and decided what I would wear.  I was as ready as I could be and that helped a little.

This morning I was up early and got to the courthouse at 7:30.  I did set off the metal detector despite my careful planning – it might have been my belt – but the guard let me through anyway. I guess I didn’t look like a bad guy.  

I found the right room and got checked in. (No, I didn’t need my parking validated nor did I need an excuse for work.)

Folks started to roll in after that – including a few that got there after 8.  Which would have just killed me if I was that late.  One guy was putting his belt back on as he walked in.  I guess he looked like a bad guy.  

And then we waited.

At around 9, one of the bailiffs for Judge Larson came in and called our names to be moved forward in the process.  I was picked and assigned #10.   We followed him through the courthouse building through a path I could never have duplicated, then took us up to the jury room in two groups.  There were doughnuts, but I figured I didn’t need any sugar.  Just before 10 am, we were brought in order to the courtroom for the “voir dire”  (which I somehow got right just now) as the potential jury review.

Both the attorneys asked us questions and we learned:

1. It would be a jury of 8, with one or two alternates.
2. The defendant was accused of disorderly conduct during the Jayland Walker protests/riots in Akron.
3. The trial wasn’t expected to last even the full day. 
4. The witnesses were University of Akron police officers. 

Interesting.

There were a few potentials that had poor opinions of law enforcement, were related to police officers, or had work hardships. 

I wasn’t the only UA person there – a guy from the Carpentry shop knew both of the officers.    When they asked what I did at UA, I told them I was the Webmaster – which is not my official title but sounded less pretentious in context than Director of Web Services.  

(The woman sitting next to me whispered, “cool title”. Which it is. )

I noted that I wouldn’t have a problem with a Not Guilty verdict – against the officers’ testimony – since I didn’t know them, but might have trouble with objectivity with the defendant depending on where the crime took place since I’ve worked at UA for 25 years and got my degree from there.  I’m a little protective of UA.

The defense asked a lot more questions of nearly everyone.  Two of the guys had prior criminal records and one lady had been involved in a peaceful protest.  And another woman was a federal court clerk that knew one of the attorneys.  One guy said he had cognitive issues because of Huntington’s disease.  And someone didn’t smell great – though that was just something I noted and not part of the questioning. 

It was close to 11:00 before the voir dire finished and the judge and attorneys went to the chambers to figure out who would stay for the trial and who would leave.    I got out some paper while I was waiting and this sparked some conversation since they had seen what I worked on in the assembly room.  I folded a small person and noted that this was the most complicated thing I knew how to do. Then I said,

“If I make 7 more of these, none of us will have to stay,”

The potential jurors around me thought that was a great idea and laughed – then one asked if they thought we could get away with it.

“Maybe,” I said, “If I used legal-size paper,”

That is pure comedy gold right there, folks.

The baileff said it might take a while and we were sent back to the jury room for a bit – I had a doughnut since I didn’t know when lunch would be and I was getting a headache.

Not long after, though, it was back to the courtroom.  And both myself and the other UA guy – along with a few other folks – were “thanked and released”.  (Sounds like something you would do with a fish.)  No real surprises in those that were released – we were either too involved or too extreme in one direction or the other. 

The UA guy and I talked as we headed back to our cars – speculating on what had gone on and wondering why we had even been in the initial pool.  

I got home around noon and had my lunch – and checked in with my boss with the news that I would be online tomorrow. 

I had to call again after 5 and it was back to the Purple summons  – I was done with this round of service.   It all turned out to be interesting and not as stressful as I expected.

Civic duty = completed. 

Back in 2019 I did “something” to my foot.  I thought I had over extended my toes and it was enough that I was limping and needed a cane. 

I made an appointment with a podiatrist who was able to get me in right away. He did an exam, did an x-ray, and decided that I had “capsulitis of the middle toe”.  The doctor taped my foot and put me on a prescription – and sent me on my way. 

It got better in a couple days and since then I’ve tried to be careful on how I move my foot.  If I moved wrong, I might have to tape my foot for a few days, but recovered quickly each time. 

Fast forward to a few weeks ago, when I moved “wrong” again.  It was worse than before, far worse, and enough that I couldn’t sleep. 

I called the podiatrist to make an appointment – but that doctor was not available until March.  They suggested another doctor in the same health system who could get me in that week, but his office was in Cuyahoga Falls.  (The original doctor was 3 minutes from my house. Sigh.)

I set the appointment, got my cane back out, and hobbled my way through the days – trying to reduce the alarming swelling and taking ibuprofen for the pain. 

The day of the appointment I arrived early, hobbled into the lobby, and found the office.  And then, of course, an irritating amount of completely useless paperwork.  I mean, really, no one is ever going to look at that shit again. I filled out everything and then sat to wait.

The assistant saw me right away and I listed my symptoms as I carefully removed my shoe. When the doctor came in, things went downhill pretty fast.

He poked my foot for a few minutes until I said “ouch”.  He decided that it was mostly on my big toe and that capsulitis rarely happens on that toe.  I agreed that it was different than last time – hence my visit – and he next guessed it might be gout.    Emphasis on “guessed”.

He would next need me to have an x-ray done to learn more about what was going on – but his office didn’t have an x-ray machine.

“There’s just no room,” he explained, as though the very notion was absurd.  I didn’t point out that the other doctor at the other office had managed to find room for an x-ray machine, but I was deeply annoyed when he suggested I could just get one done “anywhere”.

“like the post office?” I thought to myself, but he was already ushering me out of the exam room. I got the printout with the order for x-ray and a prescription for a complicated anti-inflammatory.  The clerk at the desk suggested that I could have it taken at the hospital down the street. 

I got to the hospital, parked out front, and limped my way inside and to the front desk.  I told the guide there that I needed radiology and she told me that it was…at the back entrance to the hospital.  When I visibly deflated, she quickly told me that I could go through the hospital to get there.  She gave me directions and I got lost midway there anyway.  I got more directions, found the radiology office, and had more paperwork to fill out before I got checked in. 

Then sat down to wait.

When I finally got called back, the radiologist was a student trainee from the program at Kent State.  (UA used to have a top-notch program, but they got rid of it.  Sigh.)

The trainee and their supervisor did a good job and were compassionate when it hurt as I tried to put full weight on my foot for the scan.   When they were done, I got sent back to the lobby to wait on the disk with the x-ray of my foot – that I would need to take back to the doctor for my follow up appointment a week later.

I managed to limp back to my car without incident and then went to the drugstore to get my prescription. 

And then, before heading back home, I stopped and got two doughnuts and some hot chocolate. Because I needed it.

At home, I started the medicine and fed the dogs.  And then went on into work.

The swelling went down a bit over the next few days as I worked my way through the complicated prescription.  (6 pills the first day with 2 at breakfast, 1 at lunch and dinner, and two more before bedtime. Then 5 the next day with 1 at breakfast, 1 lunch, etc.)

The day of the follow-up appointment, I hobbled my way into the office and waited with CD-Rom in hand.  The doctor was able to bring this up online so that disk was a waste, but you just know if I hadn’t had it I would have needed it.  

Nothing really showed up on the x-ray, so, “might be gout”.  I got another prescription order and was sent on my way – without much guidance.  

I went to the drugstore – and they were out of the medicine. Of course.  I signed up for the text messages and waited. 

Jim went with me when I got the message to pick it up so we could go to KFC afterwards – and while I was getting the prescription filled the only good part of this whole thing happened.

It was $.75   For the the 30 day supply of the anti-inflammatory.  Even the clerk was taken aback.  I paid with cash – which I haven’t used in ages – and started it the next morning.  I’m halfway through the supply and it’s done its job – my foot is better and I’m not limping.  

So, I’ll save the rest for the next flareup and spend some time on the internet trying to figure out how to prevent this or minimize it when it does happen.

I’m also not going back to that doctor – it was a frustrating experience and I can get better care elsewhere. 

$90 in co-pays, 6 bucks in medicine between the two, and 1 total sick day.  Along with 2 weeks of not sleeping well and…being slow.  

And there we have it.  I might have gout. 

It began with the age old question – what to have for dinner. I suggested chicken, but…from where?  Maybe Canes, but Jim didn’t want to go all the way to Cuyahoga Falls for dinner. He decided to check the internet for suggestions. 

I got ready to go while he was doing that and he narrowed it down to a few places – we eventually decided on KFC.  While he was getting ready, I asked where there was a KFC and, a little puzzled, he asked me to look it up on my phone since he’d been looking at the menu and not the address. 

“The closest one is in Cuyahoga Falls,” I said and he sighed – but I followed up with “Google says it’s only 5 miles away,”

“Really?” he said, “Seems like it would be farther than that, but I guess if we go through the valley…”

He trailed off as we put our coats on and we headed out the door.  I did a search on the GPS and found the location – though the address number was maybe different than what I had remembered from google.  It should be fine, right?

We headed down to Market street and the GPS took us to a couple of side streets before putting us on Sand Run road – though she pronounced it SANDRUNROAD.  A little odd since you can get on Sand Run right from Market, but I commented that she’s gotten me out of some rough situations and I like to indulge her occasionally.

We went down Sand Run for a bit and then suddenly – with no warning we knew of – the road was closed.  It was open to “local traffic”, but we had no way of knowing how far that would get us.  The only option was to turn right. 

The GPS recalculated quietly and kept trying to get us to turn around and head back to Sand Run.  We kept looking for a spot to turn left and get back on track, but it’s the valley and there aren’t many options.  

Eventually, the GPS decided we weren’t going to turn around and plotted a new route going forward.  There was a lot of “turn left in .5 miles” and then “turn right in 300 feet”.   Our “5 miles from home trip for chicken” seemed to take a lot longer – though we didn’t keep track. 

At one point we had to make a left turn and then quickly get over into the right lane to make the next turn.  The car in front just drifted on over – I quickly checked behind me, then gunned it to make it over as well.

“Did you cut that guy off?” JIm asked.   “No,” I replied, “I looked, there was plenty of room,”

“In other words, you did cut that guy off,  but we’ll let it go because you’re hungry,” he said.

Finally, we were in the valley and on more familiar ground as we made our way to Cuyahoga Falls and finally State street.  I joked that we could just go to Donato’s and get pizza, but Jim insisted that we’d come all this way and we were damn well going to get chicken.  

And then, KFC wasn’t there.  The GPS was clear, but the building was closed and dark.  Flustered, we kept going a bit while I looked for a place to turn around or at least stop and get our bearings – and it was suddenly up ahead.  

They had moved to a new and better location – hence the discrepancy on the address – and we pulled in.

We both got the chicken tender meals with fries and biscuit – buffalo sauce for me and honey for Jim.   We ate our meals and joked about the strange trip for our simple meal.  The chicken and fries were really good and Jim ordered a Chicken Pot Pie to go for lunch tomorrow.  As we got in the car to go I asked, warily,

“So, how do you want to handle this?”

“We’ll just follow her back and if she has us turn on Sand Run, we’ll just go down the next road,” JIm replied.

And then off we went.  We back-tracked part of the way and then the GPS had us turn right on Sand Run Parkway.  To the left, it was Road Closed.  We speculated that we might have been able to get through after all, but we were both a bit turned around.

Neither of us spoke as we headed up the completely dark and deserted road – hoping the way through would work, but also irritated at how much time we had lost getting there if it was open far enough. 

We rounded a corner and went up a slight hill and I had just enough time to see the sign “Ford impassable when…” and thought, “what if you aren’t driving a Ford?” when we suddenly drove through a stream that was running across the road.

There was some loud and colorful swearing involved – mostly me – but we made it through unscathed.

Slightly shaken, we continued on through the dark until we reached an intersection.  Left was SANDRUNROAD – but it was closed.  So, that answered the question. A right turn would take us further from home.

We went straight on through and the GPS quickly found a new route – which had us back on familiar streets again and home in no time. 

Hell of a trip just to get chicken tenders.  Remind me to tell you about the time we tried to go to Tom and Chee and it was closed forever.

It was good chicken, though. 

I’ve noticed that my attention span has bottomed-out as of late.  Even as I started to write this, I stopped after writing the title to visit two websites, fix myself some tea, and get some music going in the background.  I can’t pay attention like I used to in a good book – having a device containing all the knowledge (and opinion) of the world in my pocket is a difficult temptation to resist.

Still, though, I’ve found the occasional activity that takes up my attention in a very mindful way and provides a little mental peace.

One is, strangely enough, peeling oranges.  I got together with my family for an early Christmas at a rented cabin and we had to bring food for the weekend.  I brought a bag of oranges as a snack, but we ended up not opening them since we had so much of everything else.   I took them back home and wasn’t sure if I could eat them all before they went bad.  They were small so I would sometimes peel a couple in a single sitting.

Peeling an orange takes two hands and some concentration to do well.  I have an orange peeler tool with a hook to cut the skin in a neat line.  The other end, or a fingernail, pulls the edge away from the fruit – slowly working it loose until the peel comes off in as big of a single piece as I can manage.  Moving on to the rest of the peel until it’s all removed, then some clean-up of the rind – never perfect but not needing to be.  Then careful study to find the line between two slices that will separate the fruit evenly.   Each segment removed individually and studied for a moment in the light before being eaten – like tasting sunshine on a clear day.

Each step is distinctive and requires separate techniques – but all fit together to accomplish the goal.  And if the segments of fruit can be shared, all the better.

I finished the whole bag and enjoyed the quiet focus of peeling them almost as much as I did eating the fruit. And a little extra vitamin C doesn’t hurt.

—

That same trip, my family exchanged Christmas gifts and I got a quill pen from my folks.  It was something I had asked for – something interesting to try – and the feathered pen came with ink, a stand, and several nibs. It took some time for me to find the right nib for my writing and even longer to get used to the timing to dip into the ink. 

My handwriting is terrible and I started with printing to get used to it.  When I switched to script I had to look up a few of the letters again and bought some lined paper to work on my spacing.

Should be less surprising that this activity too is very mindful – the Japanese culture and script makes writing into an art unto its own – but it surprised me at how much I enjoyed practicing this.  I got a little lost in filling page after page with writing – even digging into books to find quotes to copy out so I’d have something to write about. 

No phones, no TV, just a little music in the background or some comfortable silence. 

If I’m careful and take it slowly, focusing on each letter at a time, my script is getting towards…passable.   I’m a long way from “elegant”, but zoning out and getting lost in the rhythm of dipping into the ink is welcome.

So, that’s it.  Peeling oranges and writing quotes from “Dune” with a quill pen.  Those are pretty much the main things keeping my head together these days.

My home computer is also my work computer when I’m “remote” and while it has served me well for many many years, it wasn’t cutting it anymore.  I would click to open a program – even something simple like Notepad – and it would grind away for a few moments before responding.  And rebooting was a chore. 

I saw ads that said both Best Buy and Dell were having “early Black Friday” sales and I checked both sites to try and compare prices. 

Which wasn’t easy – it was a struggle to find laptops that matched, even among the same general specs.  

Of the two, I figured direct from Dell would be easier and I’d be less likely to accidentally get a refurbished computer.   (I had that with my chromebook and the screen was bad.)

So, off to Dell.com and their deals. It took me a bit to narrow it down and even mostly knowing what I’m looking for didn’t help much.  I finally decided on one and added it to the cart – where I noticed that there was free priority shipping as well.

“Even better,” I thought, with a slight twinge of guilt for as I placed the order for a replacement computer on while using “old unreliable”

Except, no, even with the Free Priority Shipping box checked, I was still getting charged $55.00.  

I considered switching to regular shipping and paying less for that – but I instead took a deep breath and clicked the chat.   You never know which way that will go.

I got a response in a moment and tried to ask a question, but the automated system had half a dozen prompts before it routed me.  I finally got to a person named Joyce – or at least a near-Turing equivalent. 

I asked about the Free Priority Shipping and after a moment I was asked if I was a member of the loyalty program.

I rolled my eyes so hard that I accidentally saw what I was thinking.  And it was not pretty.

There was enough of a delay in my response that “Joyce” realized a sale was in jeopardy.  “She” popped back in with an offer for a coupon code to get free shipping. I copied the code out, thanked “her” for the code and politely stated my disinterest in a loyalty program. 

“She” understood and asked if I would fill out a survey at the end of the chat. (I guess Joyce was a human after all.)  I agreed to do so and continued on with the transaction. 

I put in my credit card number and as I hit Next the screen connected to my bank to send me a text message to confirm.  I selected my phone number, got a text a moment later, and entered the code.  

Within a few minutes, I was through the transaction and got an email confirmation of my order.  As I closed out the chat the survey popped up and I rated Joyce highly – and noted that I likely wouldn’t have made the purchase without help.    Which is true – it was starting to feel like a bait-and-switch to me and there are a lot of ways to buy a computer.

I started to get back to what I was doing and my cell phone rang with an unfamiliar, but not recognizably spam, phone number number. I answered it and got the bank’s automated fraud protection system.  It asked me to verify some info, then walked me through confirming my recent purchases – fast food, target, fast food again, and then the computer.   

Okay, I get it – it was an odd-ball purchase and the verification was good – if a little tedious.  Though, I would have thought the bank connection during the transaction would have handled that. 

I finished the call and as I hung up I noticed that I had a text message from my bank as well.  Same deal and verifying the same transactions. I followed the prompts and confirmed this again.  

And I found it a little ironic that human beings have had to build all these computer systems to protect humans from other humans using computers to steal information – while trying to buy a computer. 

The priority shipping wasn’t messing around.  This was on a Thursday and I was expecting two business days later – Monday.    I’d be working from home and would be around in the evening.  Instead, I got notices on Friday that it would be arriving that day – sometime before the end of the day.  Not knowing when that would be was a little worrying since we had plans that evening, but the computer showed up mid-afternoon before any appointments or plans.

Over the weekend I did some set up work and this past week I’ve been using both machines as I transfer my files between them. 

It’s been well over a week since I’ve gotten the computer and yesterday I got an email and a text from Dell that my computer had shipped and was out for delivery.  I had to check and make sure it wasn’t a duplicate order – but the online info confirmed it had been delivered in the past. 

Odd.

So, I’ve got a shiny new Dell laptop and my inner geek (and my outer geek as well) thinks all is right with the world – even though it took some doing to convince the computers that I’m actually who I claim to be.

[Edit: I wrote this yesterday and just now got another Dell email and a text letting me know that my computer has been delivered. Sigh.]

I started my Twitter account back in 2009 and at the time I wasn’t quite sure what to do with it.  There was a very strict character limit and I’m known for being…wordy.  It occurred to me that I could do something fun with this if I only tweeted in Haikus.  I had learned about that form of poetry in school and liked the concise nature of it – the syllable limit seemed a good fit for the character limit.

The challenge would be to share a story or idea and compress it down to the barest limit and still make it clear what I was trying to say. 

And I would only tweet in haikus – nothing else.  I did a few here and there – some that I’m really proud of – but not with any regularity. 

A few years ago I decided to really challenge myself as a writer.  I would write a haiku and post it on twitter every single day.

And so I did.

Some days it was difficult to come up with something unique to talk about.  Other times the story I tried to tell was too big and it was difficult to compress.  But, every day I did a haiku.

I didn’t have many twitter followers but I found a way to automatically cross-post these to Facebook.  So, in and among my regular posts, my little snippets of poetry started to appear.

And people liked them.  I started to get comments and likes from my friends and some people would write their own haikus back in response.  

It was really rewarding to be able to share, even to my small circle of friends.   And a good intellectual challenge to assess my day and find something to talk about.

Facebook changed the rules at some point and my cross-posting became manual.  Irksome, but not the end of the world.    And all the while, my archive on twitter continued to grow.  

I wrote haikus to mark the occasional milestone or important event.  And when I hit 1500 tweets, I decided to export them.  I used the twitter tools and requested a file and it was ready for download the next day.  I tucked away the zip file and kept on tweeting.

When the pandemic hit it got harder to write.  I didn’t go anywhere or do anything and I was working from home.  But I kept on writing every day – sharing my hopes and struggles. 

My twitter account continued to grow, but then recently the company was bought by a lunatic and things started to fail.  I kept an eye on the social media about the social media platform and got worried about my archive.  I had those 1500 tucked away, but had written almost 200 more since then.  If the platform failed, I would lose those.

I was within a few haikus of another milestone and early this week I wrote enough to bring me up to 1700.  I posted those on twitter and requested a new archive – hoping that the archive system wouldn’t fail before it was processed. 

As the days passed I kept checking to see if the archive would finish and manually posted the “pre-tweets” to facebook.

Yesterday, I decided I couldn’t trust that the archive would work at all.  I went to my twitter account and started to copy|paste out the tweets – scrolling through the past to find them. 

But, it only let me go back so far.   And when I looked back at the archive in the zip file, I was missing several months in 2020.    I saved what I could to a document, then headed to facebook.  

I started scrolling back to find those missing months – not looking forward to picking out the tweets from the rest of the posts – but I could only go back to mid 2021 before the page would fail and force a reload.

It was looking like I would lose some of my poetry, but then I remembered that facebook too has an export feature.  I found that, limited it to just my posts, and set a date range to slightly overlap my twitter zip file archive. 

It was processed in a few minutes and I downloaded a file.  And it was exactly what I needed.

With a literal sigh of relief, I turned my attention to a new long-term online archive where I could preserve what I had downloaded – as well as my future haikus.

And then this morning, I got an email that my twitter archive of 1700 tweets was ready to download.

Sigh.

I’m not a sentimental person, but this one really bothered me.  I guess it was a difference between deciding to toss or delete something  – on my terms and for my reasons – versus losing it because of someone else’s actions. 

And I know this is a bit silly.  Just a pile of very small poems with a lot of careful counting – doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things, but it mattered to me.

I’ll back up the archive to my google drive and keep this on my new computer as well.  And I’ll still keep tweeting on Twitter and posting to facebook – but I’m going to add an extra step and save them locally as well.  Just in case.

If twitter survives the lunatic, I may pull another archive a hundred Haikus from now.  

I still have more stories to tell, after all.

This year, Jim and I marched in the Akron Pride festival parade with the University of Akron team of students, faculty, staff, and administrators.  It was nice to see my colleagues and also nice for once to actually know more people than Jim.  He’s better connected in Akron than I am and better at social situations.

We got there not long before the parade started so we didn’t have to wait in the sun too long – and got to march along with our girl Zippy – everyone’s favorite kangaroo.

Jim and I joined hands as we set out and wondered at the freedom to do that simple thing as we walked down the middle of main street.  We whooped and cheered along with the Zips and had a joyful walk in the sun.

The parade route seemed longer than last time and when it ended we started our walk back along the route to all the vendors and booths.  I don’t normally do well in crowds, but everyone was so chill it didn’t bother me as much.   We saw a few more of our friends and got pictures of the giant pride flag along the way.

The only damper on the day was a small group of protestors.  We had seen them on the parade route – strategically located near the entrance to the venue – and then again as we were leaving. 

Three guys, one with a megaphone, and all holding signs.  One with a mass of text and a bunch of hurtful and made-up “statistics” – in rainbow colors, naturally.  One had the classic “homo sex is sin”.  The third had some bible verses taken out of context.  

Predictable. And almost cliche.  Like the signs were mass produced and the tirade scripted.

They had a crowd of people around them – shouting back at the amplified venom.  It was all just so pointless.  I mean, nothing they could have said could have changed anyone’s mind.  And nothing the crowd could have shouted back would have influenced them.    Jim wanted to take pictures – I just wanted to leave.  

I don’t understand hate.  I understand being annoying or not liking something.  I don’t generally like country music – so, I just avoid it.  I’m not going to a country music festival with a mic and a speaker and force people to listen to Britney Spears.    

So, they shouted at us and some of us shouted back.  And it was the only cloud on an otherwise sunny day.

It was Pride Day in Akron and we celebrated with our community.

On Saturday, Jim and I set out on a trip to visit my family for my younger niece’s birthday. We’d only been on the highway a few minutes when we noticed a vibration and sound coming from the right front tire.  We pulled over and checked and while nothing looked wrong, it was worrying enough that we headed home and switched to Jim’s car for the trip.

When we got back I made an online appointment to get my car checked out at National Tire and Battery – just down the street from the house.

I took the car in on Monday afternoon and while I was waiting to get checked in I noticed some origami on the front desk – an open lattice cube that I’d made the last I was there.  I didn’t say anything about it then, but I had paper and did some more folding while I waited in the waiting room in the back.

By the time they finally came to give me an update, I had filled a table with small paper creations.  I got the bad news on the amount and the timing – they couldn’t get parts and it wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow – and then headed back to the lobby with a small solid cube in hand. 

I picked up the open cube in my hand and popped the smaller cube into it – explaining to the guy at the counter that I had made that the last time I was in. 

He got very excited and told me that folks notice this all the time new employees ask about it – but they didn’t know who made it.    I told him I’d left a bunch of new things behind in the waiting room – then left to walk home.

The next day I got the call that my car was done and Jim was able to drop me off.   I walked in and saw that most of what I had made the day before had been added to the front desk.  When a different employee from the day before came up I said I was picking up my Civic.  She grabbed a chart off the wall and asked, “Todd?”

“Anthony,” I replied and she lit up.  

“You’re the guy that made all these!” she exclaimed and we chatted about origami while she rang me up.

No discount, alas, but still a nice encounter.  Something a little out of the ordinary really caught their attention and I was glad to share.

—-

Today, I drove my newly repaired car (hydraulic lines, calipers, and brake pads) into work and went to McDonald’s for lunch.  I went through the drive through and the same woman from before was working at the window.  She recognized me again as she handed me my order and told me that she had saved some of the things I had made from before.  

I told her that I thought it was really cool that she had recognized me last week from the origami and that I made her something.

I handed her an octahedron that I had made from blue scrapbook paper and she took it reverently in both hands.  

“I will treasure this for always,” she said and I smiled behind my mask and told her I was glad she liked it.  I wished her a good day and then I was on my way.

Such a simple hobby and the unexpected delight is a wonderful reward. 

And not a bad thing to be known for.

It’s been a week and it’s only Wednesday.   Terribly busy and utterly devoid of fun. But there has been one bright spot so far.

Back in the pre-pandemic days, I used to occasionally take myself to the McDonald’s near campus.  I’d go in and order the “impossible to screw up” chicken nuggets meal  – along with a diet coke and sometimes a chocolate shake if I was having a bad day.

While I was waiting, I would pull out some paper from my pocket and fold some cranes or dragons – or if there was a long wait, a more time-consuming person or a cube.  When my order was ready, I would leave the “creative litter” behind and be on my way.

I’m not on campus for work as much anymore and my trips to McDonald’s are even less frequent.  Today, though, I made my way there and went through the drive-thru.  

The shake machine was, unsurprisingly, not working and it took longer for the nuggets to materialize, but something delightful happened.

The woman at the pick up window asked me, “Are you the man that did all those little folding things?”

I said yes and she reached out to touch my arm through the window.

“I miss seeing those,” she said and then handed me my food and sent me on my way.

I was wearing a mask and the context was different  – though the food order was the same since I’m a creature of habit.  Maybe she recognized my voice – or my haircut – but it was remarkable nonetheless.

I forget, sometimes, the wonder these little paper creations bring.  For me, just a square of paper and half a thought – mostly muscle memory anymore – and there’s a crane to leave behind.  I rarely give much thought to what happens to them afterwards, but sometimes I am surprised by their fate.

So, I’m going to make something complicated and interesting and keep it in the glove box of my car for my next trip to that McDonald’s.  If she’s at the window that day, I’ll have a surprise to share.  

I hope it brightens her day as well. 

So, it was a bad day. Not terrible, but bad.  Stupid people with stupid ideas demanding stupid things.  A bad day.

I got home, dealt with some horrible bureaucracy by phone, and decided to go get dinner.  It wouldn’t be ready for an hour, so there was time to stop at the drugstore on the way.  Jim needed some aspirin, I wanted to get some tweezers – nothing major or complicated.

I stopped at the drugstore with plenty of time to get these small items and still be at the restaurant to pick up food on time.  This is very important to me.

I found the aspirin and the tweezers and also decided on a bottle of soda and a candy bar.  I had a bad day, as I may have mentioned.

I get in line and there’s a guy ahead of me and a woman at the cash register about to pay.    Her cart is full of bagged items and the cashier announces the total – $114.27

The woman then opens her purse and pulls out a card to use.

Up to this point, everything is fine.  We all know our place in the universe and what is expected of us.  My job is to wait a few moments, hers is to pay for her purchases.

And then…

“I’m not sure this card will work,” she says, “I don’t think it’s activated,”

And then she tries the card anyway.

Now, it’s 2022 in Akron, Ohio.   There is no earthly way someone can know how to use a credit card, know that they have to be activated, know that it’s not activated, and STILL think trying the card will work.   It is simply and utterly impossible. 

The card, unsurprisingly, fails. 

Now it’s back to the purse to look for another form of payment.  I don’t know if she’s trying to run some “confused little old lady” scam thinking they’ll just let roll out with a free cart of items if she’s just a silly-billy long enough – or if she’s bored and is “playing” at not knowing how things work, but no one was going along with it.  

No one.  

While she digs through her purse and I stand there feeling myself age, the cashier shows us mercy and calls for backup.  She also tells us that we can use the self-checkout if we want.

The guy in front of me hesitates .000437 nano-seconds and I assume that he’s going to wait for back up.  I make a beeline for the self-checkout and scan my first item – the bottle of aspirin – and toss it in the waiting bag.   25% done already.

Except, the bag is hung-up and not fully deployed.  The bottle isn’t heavy enough to pull down far enough to trip the “thing is in the bag” sensor and I get an error:

“Please place the item in the bagging area,”

I remove the bottle, adjust the bag, and hurl the bottle in again.  This time, the bottle hits the bottom sensor and registers.  

The bottle of soda follows easily as does the candy bar.  Heavy enough to not require hurling.

I scan the tweezers and toss them in the bag.  Not heavy enough.

“Please place the item in the bagging area, dumbass,”

I try again, with more force.   Nothing.

There’s a button on the screen that suggests I can skip bagging.  Perfect!   I mean, why does it care where I put the item once I’ve scanned it?  Bagging area, up my sleeve, up my nose, whatever, right?

I hit that button with triumph – which turns to ashes.

“Help is on the way!”  the screen tells me.

I make the following sound, recreated and saved here for posterity.

The backup cashier, finally having made her way to the front of the store, sees my plight and takes pity on my poor and wretched soul.

She sidles up to the self-checkout, swipes her badge on the scanner like a benediction, and the screen clears.  

Card.

Buttons.

Receipt. 

Out the door. 

I assume the woman is still at the register, perhaps having shifted into some Dante-esque purgatory where she digs out card after card only to be declined over and over.  

Forever.

I, though, have acquired my food.  And her fate is no longer my concern.