I'm blow away by an event that has transpired over the past 2 days. I arrived home from work yesterday and got my mail and found I had a letter from the Traffic Citations department of Miami. At first I thought it might have been those new video cameras in Coral Gables that had busted me doin' a "California Roll thru a stop sign or something but when I opened it up I found a parking ticket inside. ""WTF?", was the only thought that entered my mind. Not that I'm immune to parking tickets by any means. I get them occasionally when I don't have change or something. This one was different though. I knew I didn't have my car that day.
I went online and found out where the ticket was issued. It was a place I'd only been to once. I had turned in my car that morning at Bimmer Shop, a BMW repair shop located caddy corner from Braman BMW. I had wires on both tail lights short out and needed to replace the whole damn panel. Bimmer Shop repaired it and did a great job. In fact, I was impressed with how nice everyone that worked there was and that they completed the work within hours. However, I guess at some point they had to move my car to a parking spot (their place isn't enormous) and while it was there it was ticketed. I'm assuming they took the ticket and intended to pay it but forgot or something because I never saw it. I knew nothing about it until I got the late notice yesterday in the mail.
I left a voicemail and sent and email to their office because it was after hours. I also called the next morning. The girl who answered the phone was really nice and had just listened to my message. She asked for my tag number and said they would take care of it. Most of the time in Miami this means you have to call the person every day to remind them to do it. Not this company. She called me back within 10 minutes and let me know the ticket had been paid. I couldn't believe it.
Bimmer Shop will definitely be recommended to any and everyone I know. They can do body work on any auto and mechanical work on any BMW and they do a really good job in a short amount of time. The people in both the office and shop are friendly and they showed me that they will make amends to any mistakes they make. Good stuff all around.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
"For a minute there...I lost myself."
Those lyrics from Radiohead's "Karma Police" couldn't better describe the events that transpired around 4:45pm at my workplace today. After years of snide comments, insults, misrepresentations, mountains of disrespect, and casting it all aside, I couldn't accept it anymore. I lost it.
I can't remember ever being that angry ever in the thirty-two years of mornings I've been blessed enough to wake up for. Sure, there have been times where I've been angry but never teetering on the edge of physically assaulting someone without following through with it. At least when I'd get into a fight there would be anger leading up to it but knowing that a scrap would end things right then and there made it easier to not be so angry if that makes sense. Even if I wasn't the victor (and believe me, I've taken my fair share of shots) at least my feelings were communicated in a way that was easy to understand. As time aged on I sought out the path of more reason, telling myself that there was nothing worth getting so worked up about. I let things go and it worked.
But there I was at 4:45pm, hands shaking as rage coursed through my veins causing them to pop out of my forehead and neck, turning my face tomato red. I removed myself from the situation three times because I felt as if I couldn't trust myself to stay cool and, no matter how good it would've felt to communicate my feelings physically, that the repercussions in the end would not have justified the means. Unfortunately, that just fanned the flames. This was my job, my means of living life, and that was being used as leverage against me. I felt trapped. I felt owned.
My buttons had been pressed for years but this time the "out of order" light didn't illuminate. Action was getting reacquainted with reaction. I took all my frustration and anger and I let it go in a verbal way, refusing to give in and turn the other cheek. I didn't curse (I'm still in shock I was able to do that) but instead chose to finally let all my feelings fly with the understanding that my little share session could result in my termination. I didn't care. I was not going to take one more ounce of disrespect and I was there to make sure everyone knew that.
In the end I was a little disappointed that I blew my stack because in a way I felt as if I'd lost the mild mannered person I'd worked so hard to become. Overall, however, I was proud. I was proud of myself for taking a stand, even if it was potentially my final stand. I'd rather starve than feel owned like that. After all, at the end of the day I report to myself, not a boss, not friends, not family, not God. Me.
I can't remember ever being that angry ever in the thirty-two years of mornings I've been blessed enough to wake up for. Sure, there have been times where I've been angry but never teetering on the edge of physically assaulting someone without following through with it. At least when I'd get into a fight there would be anger leading up to it but knowing that a scrap would end things right then and there made it easier to not be so angry if that makes sense. Even if I wasn't the victor (and believe me, I've taken my fair share of shots) at least my feelings were communicated in a way that was easy to understand. As time aged on I sought out the path of more reason, telling myself that there was nothing worth getting so worked up about. I let things go and it worked.
But there I was at 4:45pm, hands shaking as rage coursed through my veins causing them to pop out of my forehead and neck, turning my face tomato red. I removed myself from the situation three times because I felt as if I couldn't trust myself to stay cool and, no matter how good it would've felt to communicate my feelings physically, that the repercussions in the end would not have justified the means. Unfortunately, that just fanned the flames. This was my job, my means of living life, and that was being used as leverage against me. I felt trapped. I felt owned.
My buttons had been pressed for years but this time the "out of order" light didn't illuminate. Action was getting reacquainted with reaction. I took all my frustration and anger and I let it go in a verbal way, refusing to give in and turn the other cheek. I didn't curse (I'm still in shock I was able to do that) but instead chose to finally let all my feelings fly with the understanding that my little share session could result in my termination. I didn't care. I was not going to take one more ounce of disrespect and I was there to make sure everyone knew that.
In the end I was a little disappointed that I blew my stack because in a way I felt as if I'd lost the mild mannered person I'd worked so hard to become. Overall, however, I was proud. I was proud of myself for taking a stand, even if it was potentially my final stand. I'd rather starve than feel owned like that. After all, at the end of the day I report to myself, not a boss, not friends, not family, not God. Me.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Wow, something's wrong with me
I love to gamble. I gamble on sports occasionally, but my real love is the casino. Lately, I've been hitting the blackjack tables but my real love is playing craps. Nothing beats the camaraderie of a table full of people exploding with glee when a point is made or when a shooter gets hot and rolls for awhile. I'm not a big gambler because I like to play for awhile and don't want to get busted early. My conservatism also comes with a slight whiff of responsibility, you know, just in case I get busted. Besides, I gamble because it is fun. I don't gamble like it's a second job because one job is enough for me. Knowing all this, you would think I would be excited to head to Vegas for a week on a basically all expenses paid trip? Truth is, I'm really not that excited.
Gambling has been a real bitch to me ever since 2008 when I raked in about $8500 in winnings on four trips, the biggest being $3200 on my last trip of the year. Since that epic year I haven't walked away a winner on a gambling trip. It's been about two years of losing that has gotten into my head. Yes, I gamble because it is fun but, for crying out loud, losing all the time kinda takes away from the fun. And by "kinda" I mean "majorly". I attribute most of the losses to playing more blackjack than usual after hitting big a few times in 2008. Blackjack can be a very frustrating game. When you constantly get dealt 12-16, the worst hands to be dealt, it's demoralizing. I also blame my decline on my decision to gamble at the Hard Rock in Fort Lauderdale. That place is full of losers and I think their funk has rubbed off on me. The final piece of blame lies in my attitude when I get to the tables. I catch myself nervous about losing and feeling cursed instead of saying, "Win or lose, who gives a crap, let's have some fun!"
On my last trip to Vegas in April of this year, I couldn't believe that I spent less than 30 minutes gambling on my entire trip! And that was a 4 night stay! I think it was good for me though. I got back to having fun in Vegas the old fashioned way, with good ol' alcohol and partying. Maybe that's what I needed? A kickass time in Sin City without gambling to boost my spirits and get back to having fun in Vegas. With a pocket full of cash and a flight that leaves soon, I guess it's only a matter of time until I find out.
Gambling has been a real bitch to me ever since 2008 when I raked in about $8500 in winnings on four trips, the biggest being $3200 on my last trip of the year. Since that epic year I haven't walked away a winner on a gambling trip. It's been about two years of losing that has gotten into my head. Yes, I gamble because it is fun but, for crying out loud, losing all the time kinda takes away from the fun. And by "kinda" I mean "majorly". I attribute most of the losses to playing more blackjack than usual after hitting big a few times in 2008. Blackjack can be a very frustrating game. When you constantly get dealt 12-16, the worst hands to be dealt, it's demoralizing. I also blame my decline on my decision to gamble at the Hard Rock in Fort Lauderdale. That place is full of losers and I think their funk has rubbed off on me. The final piece of blame lies in my attitude when I get to the tables. I catch myself nervous about losing and feeling cursed instead of saying, "Win or lose, who gives a crap, let's have some fun!"
On my last trip to Vegas in April of this year, I couldn't believe that I spent less than 30 minutes gambling on my entire trip! And that was a 4 night stay! I think it was good for me though. I got back to having fun in Vegas the old fashioned way, with good ol' alcohol and partying. Maybe that's what I needed? A kickass time in Sin City without gambling to boost my spirits and get back to having fun in Vegas. With a pocket full of cash and a flight that leaves soon, I guess it's only a matter of time until I find out.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Dear Joe Garcia
Dear Joe Garcia,
Today, for the THIRD TIME I had to send you ANOTHER REQUEST to stop sending me your spam email about your campaign. What does it take to get it through your thick head that I do not wish to be solicited by you? STOP SENDING ME EMAILS ABOUT YOUR CAMPAIGN!!!
There is now absolutely NO WAY I AM VOTING FOR YOU, douchebag.
Today, for the THIRD TIME I had to send you ANOTHER REQUEST to stop sending me your spam email about your campaign. What does it take to get it through your thick head that I do not wish to be solicited by you? STOP SENDING ME EMAILS ABOUT YOUR CAMPAIGN!!!
There is now absolutely NO WAY I AM VOTING FOR YOU, douchebag.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Things That Puzzle Me
Rick at South Florida Daily Blog posted a link yesterday to a website that reviews the most disgusting fat-laden dishes at some of the more popular eateries in the US. With his post he included this image...
Slightly disturbing, wouldn't you say? What puzzles me is...how does this person take a dump? I mean, that chair is clearly bigger than a toilet and it's practically being swallowed by that giant ass. Maybe they make over-sized toilets for over-sized people? Or maybe the person has to spread their butt cheeks around the bowl to drop some cable? That can't be comfortable and I would imagine that an ass that big would basically devour a toilet. What about wiping? That must be difficult and messy. I suppose they could use a bidet but it would have to have the strength of a fire hose to get in there. I can imagine dingleberries are probably an issue too. Their laundry is probably filled with undies that have huge bacon strips in them.
This puzzles me but it also makes me crack up. I am my own best audience :)
Slightly disturbing, wouldn't you say? What puzzles me is...how does this person take a dump? I mean, that chair is clearly bigger than a toilet and it's practically being swallowed by that giant ass. Maybe they make over-sized toilets for over-sized people? Or maybe the person has to spread their butt cheeks around the bowl to drop some cable? That can't be comfortable and I would imagine that an ass that big would basically devour a toilet. What about wiping? That must be difficult and messy. I suppose they could use a bidet but it would have to have the strength of a fire hose to get in there. I can imagine dingleberries are probably an issue too. Their laundry is probably filled with undies that have huge bacon strips in them.
This puzzles me but it also makes me crack up. I am my own best audience :)
Friday, May 7, 2010
Arizona - A Real Problem But What's the Solution?
The state of Arizona has been all over the media lately for the implementation of a law that aims to identify, prosecute, and deport illegal immigrants. The problem with the law is that it requires anyone and everyone to carry immigration papers on their persons in case an officer of the law asks to see them. In a nutshell, it's racial profiling and Hispanics are the targets.
I am a firm believer in the fact that the United States of America has a serious illegal immigration problem. I also believe that something needs to be done to remedy the situation. Digging ditches and building walls is only a band-aid fix. Walls can be scaled or tunneled under and ditches can be crossed. The other day, I was having a conversation with my boss, a stout Republican who leans pretty far right, about the situation in Arizona. He was all for it which I was slightly surprised about but then again not really. I agreed with him that illegal immigration is a problem and denies legal citizens jobs but made the point that the law is basically racial profiling and that I think that isn't right. He asked, "Ok, then what's the solution?" I had no answer.
So, for everyone who gets on their soapbox and bellows about this Arizona immigration law and the injustice it has caused, I have one question... What's the solution?
I am a firm believer in the fact that the United States of America has a serious illegal immigration problem. I also believe that something needs to be done to remedy the situation. Digging ditches and building walls is only a band-aid fix. Walls can be scaled or tunneled under and ditches can be crossed. The other day, I was having a conversation with my boss, a stout Republican who leans pretty far right, about the situation in Arizona. He was all for it which I was slightly surprised about but then again not really. I agreed with him that illegal immigration is a problem and denies legal citizens jobs but made the point that the law is basically racial profiling and that I think that isn't right. He asked, "Ok, then what's the solution?" I had no answer.
So, for everyone who gets on their soapbox and bellows about this Arizona immigration law and the injustice it has caused, I have one question... What's the solution?
Monday, March 22, 2010
Life In the Hands of Strangers
This morning I was up at 4:15am and headed down to the lobby of my hotel to catch a ride to the airport. I was just outside of Charlotte and had a 7am flight to Memphis, so I scheduled a ride for 5am. I got down to the lobby at 4:55am and found the driver, Jerry, waiting for me which was a nice surprise since usually these services run a little late. After helping me with my bags, Jerry got us going. It was early but both of us were wide awake so we made small talk about golf as we made our way up the on ramp of I-85 South.
About 10 minutes into our ride, we passed an 18-wheeler who was in the center lane. We were in the right lane. The next thing I knew, the semi clipped our car on the rear driver's side, sending us into a skid. Jerry jammed on the brakes as we skidded across two lanes heading for the cement divider. Our car had done a 180 and I noticed we were going to hit the wall on my side, right by my door. Luckily, Jerry was able to control the car enough so that we hit the wall at the back bumper of my side and the impact was minimal. We were somewhat safe.
Jerry asked if I was ok and I told him I was fine. The funny part was that I was a little scared at first but it didn't last long. I knew we were going to hit the wall but I knew it wouldn't be bad. My fear was erased at impact and a new fear set in - the fear of missing my flight and having to cancel all of my appointments for the day. That's pretty effed up. Jerry called the police and then called his co-worker to come meet us and get me to the airport. In that short span of about five minutes the driver of the 18-wheeler, who had originally pulled over, took off.
I was uncomfortable with our position because we were facing oncoming traffic on a highway. I asked if the car would start and Jerry gave it a shot. It started up and he straightened us out and then called highway patrol to get them on the lookout for the trucker that hit us. We surveyed the damage on the car and it didn't look that bad. When traffic died down for a minute, I said we should try to get to a safer spot on the other side of the road and Jerry agreed. The car was in good enough shape to get us across the highway to the breakdown lane where we were able to stay safe until the police arrived.
The patrolman took our info and had us write up a statement explaining what had happened. I wrote a nice detailed description because I really wanted to make sure that Jerry was not found at fault. It definitely wasn't his fault. I was also grateful that his instincts kept us from really getting smashed up and that he had called and arranged for a co-worker to get me to the airport so I could have a chance of making my flight.
I'm sitting at my gate now, safe and sound thanks to a stranger. It makes me think about how I basically put my life in the hands of strangers every day on the road, whether it be a cabbie, driver, or pilot, trusting that they will keep us both safe. The driver got me here safe but not without difficulty. Hopefully the pilot will do the same!
About 10 minutes into our ride, we passed an 18-wheeler who was in the center lane. We were in the right lane. The next thing I knew, the semi clipped our car on the rear driver's side, sending us into a skid. Jerry jammed on the brakes as we skidded across two lanes heading for the cement divider. Our car had done a 180 and I noticed we were going to hit the wall on my side, right by my door. Luckily, Jerry was able to control the car enough so that we hit the wall at the back bumper of my side and the impact was minimal. We were somewhat safe.
Jerry asked if I was ok and I told him I was fine. The funny part was that I was a little scared at first but it didn't last long. I knew we were going to hit the wall but I knew it wouldn't be bad. My fear was erased at impact and a new fear set in - the fear of missing my flight and having to cancel all of my appointments for the day. That's pretty effed up. Jerry called the police and then called his co-worker to come meet us and get me to the airport. In that short span of about five minutes the driver of the 18-wheeler, who had originally pulled over, took off.
I was uncomfortable with our position because we were facing oncoming traffic on a highway. I asked if the car would start and Jerry gave it a shot. It started up and he straightened us out and then called highway patrol to get them on the lookout for the trucker that hit us. We surveyed the damage on the car and it didn't look that bad. When traffic died down for a minute, I said we should try to get to a safer spot on the other side of the road and Jerry agreed. The car was in good enough shape to get us across the highway to the breakdown lane where we were able to stay safe until the police arrived.
The patrolman took our info and had us write up a statement explaining what had happened. I wrote a nice detailed description because I really wanted to make sure that Jerry was not found at fault. It definitely wasn't his fault. I was also grateful that his instincts kept us from really getting smashed up and that he had called and arranged for a co-worker to get me to the airport so I could have a chance of making my flight.
I'm sitting at my gate now, safe and sound thanks to a stranger. It makes me think about how I basically put my life in the hands of strangers every day on the road, whether it be a cabbie, driver, or pilot, trusting that they will keep us both safe. The driver got me here safe but not without difficulty. Hopefully the pilot will do the same!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
