The Passing

I got passed while driving my pickup the other day. Happens a lot more often lately. But this time was a bit different. Happened early in the morning about six thirty. But that’s not the unusual part. It happened on a stretch of a two lane highway. Guess my going the speed limit wasn’t fast enough for that younger man in a hurry.

Used to be I was in a hurry all the time. Then I retired. It’s been about six years, and it’s taken some time to transition into a slower pace. I no longer live in the rat race. No longer have to face the grind that I used to call everyday living. Don’t usually know what time it is anymore as I’ve stopped wearing a watch. Most of the time I couldn’t even tell you the date. Or the day. But those are good problems to have. Retirement. I recommend it highly.

There was some construction going on not too far from the house so sometimes I’d drive the long way home. It takes me through Hart Park which is very big. I forget how many acres big. It’s a great place. Probably spend more time there in the last six years than all other parks I’ve lived close to put together. I often wonder who is responsible for enforcing the speed limit there. Apparently nobody. I could very well be the only one in Bakersfield if not all of Kern County that actually drives the speed limit through that park.

When riding my bicycle through the park I don’t use Alfred Harrell Hwy anymore. The shoulder along the road is virtually nonexistent. Drivers unwilling to obey the speed limit and share the road make it too dangerous for me. Had one too many close calls with drivers on their way to the soccer park. One soccer mom in a Sherman Tank came just a little too close. Well, her SUV sure felt like a tank as it zoomed past. Mere inches from the handlebars. I didn’t realize her passengers were on the way to play in a World Cup competition. But thanks to her I now ride through the park on the street that parallels the river. I hope her team won.

It’s not often that I drive during rush hour. That’s what we call it here. Try the L.A. freeways at three in the afternoon. Now that’s a rush hour. But it’s all relative. We’re in just as big a hurry here. To get to the TV at home. To watch another reality show. Then go to bed. To get up and do it all over tomorrow. I won’t tell you to stop and smell the roses. Or the coffee. But only because no matter how many times someone gave me that advice, I never took it either. I was in too much of a hurry. Passing people.

Senior Discounts

Was told by a friend the other day, that when buying mattresses and box springs you can actually haggle over the price. Didn’t know that. But I mentioned that when in the mood, I will ask if the business offers a “Senior Discount.” Saying that phrase out loud is always a bittersweet moment.

There are lots of places that offer a discount, however nominal, to us old folks. All you have to do is gather up the courage, face the fact that you’re old, have become your parents and ask. All the person on the other end of the question can do is follow Nancy Reagan’s advice and “Just say no.” But I wonder where else I might be able to save a couple of bucks.

Haggling is pretty much a given in some industries. Take buying a car for example. Even though it is a lot less nerve racking these days, it still can be quite daunting. But it’s expected. Or at least un-American not to go back and forth with the salesman. Two heavy weights. Taking shots, blocking shots, quick jabs and finally the big roundhouse; getting up and telling the wife that it’s time to leave. And actually heading for the door. My Dad was very good at that, much to my embarrassment.

Makes me wonder where else I could save some cash simply by negotiating. Maybe next time I go to breakfast at some local coffee shop I could try this ploy when placing my order: “I see that your number one breakfast is listed at $6.99. Will you take five bucks? And throw in a free cup of coffee?” Do you think that would work?

Of course I’m always leery about buying stuff from businesses that will haggle over their stated prices. Why not just list the lowest price? Probably because for the one brave soul that asks and actually receives the good price, there has to be at least 100 of us suckers that will just fork over the full price for the product or service. Capitalism at its finest.

When I was a Home Improvement Specialist, which is just a politically correct title for a Handyman, I rarely if ever gave discounts. I did give better prices to some people, mostly single Moms or widows. But I never gouged anyone because I felt that since they lived in the better part of town and in a fancier home that they could afford it. When asked if I could do better on my quote, I always said that it was my best price (which it was) and if they could find someone to do it cheaper AND better, that’s who they should use. Rarely lost any jobs and the ones that went elsewhere, I was better off that they did. I learned that the haggling doesn’t usually stop at the original quote.

There are plenty of places, so I’m told, including major fast food chains that offer senior discounts just for the asking. So go ahead, scrunch up your courage and ask. And keep your fingers crossed that the teenager across the counter from you doesn’t yell over their shoulder “Hey, this old fart wants to know if he can get a discount.”

Class Action

We’re all suckers for get rich quick schemes to one extent or another. Just look at all the states that run a lottery. Or those emails from some Liberian, Nigerian or even Iberian Prince.
While in college a bunch of us knuckleheads came up with a rather ingenious plan. It came after unsuccessfully trying to return a defective item of clothing with a lifetime guarantee. The return policy was so complex and time consuming that it was better to just toss whatever it was that had been purchased. We thought maybe using that same concept and selling socks, that it would make us a bundle of money. Fortunately it turned out to be just a bunch of hot air. We should have become lawyers and just cashed in on Class Action Lawsuits. We could’ve made huge amounts of money. Legally.
My first victory against big business came over Levi Strauss, but not as a member of any lawsuit. They agreed to a settlement without admitting to price gouging. All I had to do was send in my name and address with a statement as to how many pairs of Levis I had purchased. Based on that number, we would all get a piece of the settlement pie. Problem was that it was left to the honor system. No proof of purchase required. Seems we all claimed to have purchased more pants than Levi Strauss had ever sewn together in its entire history. I’m still waiting for that money.
I’ve been a member of several class action lawsuits. Of course I joined, just like you. After all, we were united against those meanies otherwise known as corporate America. Faceless entities we love to hate. My first successful lawsuit was against AT&T. I eagerly tore open all envelopes from attorneys until one day the notice came. I read it, hands trembling a little. We had prevailed! Our attorneys had brought AT&T to its knees and forced them into a multimillion dollar settlement. Way to go. Not sure what I was going to do with my share. Maybe a new car, but not too fancy.
Turns out my winnings consisted of choosing one of a couple options. One, I could upgrade to a bigger memory card for my cell phone. Two, I got a whopping ten percent discount on my next purchase over $25 at any conveniently located cell phone store. OK, it’s not a new car but it was a moral victory. Seems that’s really all it was since my cell phone already had the big memory card. And I didn’t understand how me spending money to save money was much of a victory.
One settlement actually reminded me of my college scheme. I was notified by attorneys that my next opponent was Home Depot. With much anticipation I joined the other plaintiffs. Once again, I was part of the winning team. Hooray! A little less eagerly I opened the envelope explaining how to claim my share of the millions my attorneys were able to wrangle away from the big orange box. Let’s see if I remember correctly. On my next purchase over a certain amount all I needed to do was send my receipt along with the enclosed post card to the address listed. Then ten percent, of my purchase would be refunded to me. What?
It has taken me a while, but I think I’ve got this class action lawsuit stuff figured out. OK, here goes. I’m the one that has been allegedly screwed over. My money has been taken, shall we say, just a bit on the shady side by big corporations. Then, when the lawsuits are won by attorneys and million dollar settlements are made, all I get are lousy discounts? From the same people that I sued for taking my money in the first place. So just who gets those millions? Just like you, I’ve figured that out too.
The bright side is that it didn’t cost me anything to join the lawsuits. It’s tough not to want a part of the American dream; hitting the legal lotto. And there are no hard feelings on my part. I still have an AT&T iPhone, buy Levis and shop at Home Depot. As an added benefit I now I know where part of my money goes. From my pocket to their registers to attorneys. Mine and yours. Brings a tear to my eye. But it’s a not a tear of anger or regret. It’s more like envy.
So next time you get an offer to join a class action lawsuit, go ahead. What have you got to lose? Or maybe you prefer to think that you’re taking the moral high road and doing it to just teach those CEO’s a lesson. If you don’t do it, who will? Either way, I have a pair of socks that come with a lifetime guarantee with your name on them waiting for you.

Old Movies

Old Movies
Don’t go to many movies these days. Probably because I’m not a big fan of special effects. Really limits my choices. Guess I’m not in the right demographic group. Actually, I don’t think they even have a retired dude over 60 that prefers good acting over explosions, group. But they should.
I love old movies. Horror movies. They’re just hokey enough. Can’t believe that we were actually scared by that stuff. I mean, seriously, a grasshopper walking across a picture of an office building? Did we really believe it was supposed to be a mutant insect scaling a real building? Enough of us must have. Why else would there be so many of those movies around? Maybe we were scared of the unknown. The unknown effects of the atomic bomb. Silly us.
There’s hardly anything better on a lazy afternoon than an old horror movie. House On A Haunted Hill. Scared the heck out of me as a kid. Creature From the Black Lagoon. More hokey than scary, but with Julie Adams, whew. In a bathing suit. Double whew. Giant ants. Them. One of my all time favorites. Poor little girl. Alone in the desert. Utters the title word in sheer terror. Still elicits the desire to bring out the magnifying glass to extract some revenge.
Today’s slasher movies just don’t cut it. Or maybe that’s the problem. They cut too much. And are today’s youth really that dumb? Do they never get that they shouldn’t open door number three? Or go alone into the house? In the old movies the lead actors were smart. And were always with other smart people. You could tell because they wore glasses. The soldiers were always the dumb ones. Trying to kill the monster with mere rifles or tanks. Or flamethrowers. As if that would kill any giant mutant grasshopper. Good luck with that.
But back then we always had hope for the Army. Pre Viet Nam, Iraq and other winless wars. We could always count on them. If nothing else, for the sheer numbers they brought. Eventually the smart characters, the ones with glasses and sometimes pipes, won the day. Sometimes the smart ones had to call in the Air Force. To bomb the creature into submission or death. But usually the Air Force pilots weren’t smart enough. But how could they be? They didn’t wear glasses.
It’s been said by those who wear glasses today, that those movies had deeper meanings. Infamous pods turning people into mindless beings. People shrinking. People growing. Mutant animals. Creatures from outer space. All that actually representing Communism, reckless use of chemicals and other evil. Yikes. Don’t know about all that stuff. I still don’t see all the subplots and metaphors. It’s just entertainment. Please don’t explain them to me. I love those movies just the way they are. Hokey.
Those old movies had a notable lack of S.E.X. They did sometimes have flirting. Always between two unmarried characters. And sometimes the suggestive glimpse of an ankle. Or, gulp, a peek at a calf. The lower leg, not the baby animal. Oh my, time for a cold shower. There were no gory deaths. No excessive violence. Car chases hadn’t been invented. No nudity. Even the fifty foot woman somehow found adequate clothing. Everything was left to the imagination. As it should be. And for a young boy, that’s all that was needed.
Today’s movies with their gazillion dollar budgets don’t compare. Even big named stars succumb to the lure of the big payday. By taking horrible roles. Used to rush to see the latest Sean Connery movie. Then I saw The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. Excruciating. Poor acting and lousy scripts can’t be improved by throwing money at them. Or by special effects. Take a hint from some foreign movies. Plots and characters we love. Or love to hate.
Of course, the only way to watch old movies is with a big bowl of freshly popped popcorn. I’m a gadget guy. Love my iPod, Satellite radio, iPhone and countless other goodies. But not when it comes to popcorn. No prepackaged microwave junk. No pouring the popcorn into a machine. Popcorn is sacred. Handed down to us by my ancestors, the Aztecs. Well, OK, maybe not. But I do take it serious. I use an old style hand cranked stove top popper. It’s primal. Man, fire, popcorn. Stand back.
You can’t eat popcorn without melted butter. Real butter. Lots of it. Poured carefully in sync as the bowl is slowly rotated. Then add just enough salt to unite the flavors. Mmmm. What to drink? Dr. Pepper of course. Cold. Anything less would be un-American. One last thing. Napkins. A handful. Time sit on the sofa and watch a hokey movie. And let my imagination go crazy.