The Daily Derenger

3/08/2003

I attended a funeral today of a friend I hadn't seen in nearly nine years. After mass and the burial, some family and close friends were invited to a luncheon.

The fact that I was seated with the kids wasn't the issue. The fact that I had a full glass of Coke almost land in my lap wasn't the issue. The fact that every time I moved and my seat made a flatulent noise that all the kids and many adults laughed at wasn't the issue.

I took interest with a servers' parting words. As she was handed back the bill, which was paid in full with cash, she said," Thank you very much. I'm terribly sorry for your loss."

As a former waiter/server/extra-mustard-fetcher, only I caught this. How 'bout if the tip was horrible? How 'bout if there was no tip? How 'bout if the tip was a religious cartoon depicting the Peanuts version of Jeus and his disciples? If any of those three were left as a tip, I would surely have something to say other than "Thank you very much. I'm terribly sorry for your loss." In fact, that would be the last words I would utter unless at gunpoint.

Now I'm not saying that this family was cheap. They were very nice and the member they lost was an outstanding man. I'm just posing a possible scenario. What if the server got a less than adequate tip? It happens.

As the grieving time dwindles away, I will suggest some likely alternatives when receiving a poor tip as a funeral-luncheon server. Until then, simply try to understand where I'm coming from. That's right, think. Stop mail-merging or faxing proposals to companies whose CFO you despise and think for yourself. Stimulate the mind. Be creative. Surely there are a number of things you would say in such a situation.

3/06/2003

I haven't written for a long time. Sorry about that. Let's get to this one, NOW!

I was up in Chicago yesterday and it snowed a lot the night before. Cars were sliding all over the roads if they were able to even get out of the snow banks. The plows came down the streets and cleared the roads but blocked in some cars.

As I was driving home, I saw this quite shiny and perhaps brand new Lexus SUV. Obviously it had spent the night in a garage. But now it was out on the roads. And I was there to see it get splattered by some major road sludge. For some reason, it was nice to have been there for that.

I had stayed the night at my friend Cyndi's. I've written about her a lot in the past but let me recap. She and I have been friends for about 9 years now. Her place is a very small studio apartment on the third floor near Wrigley Field.

I helped her move in over two years ago and it was pure hell. No elevators and only three women assisting. However, she's moving the last weekend of April and I will be on the road. YIPPPPPPEEEEE!

Cyndi works a real job that has her waking up around 7 a.m. On the morning in question, she set her alarm for shortly after 6. And then she hit the snooze button nine times, which totaled 81 minutes that she could've slept.

That also means that it was 81 minutes that I could've slept as well. Just as I fell back asleep after the alarm sounded, it went off again. And then again. And again. And again.

I couldn't have gone in another room. It was a studio apartment. There were no other rooms. None with any doors at least. Her bedroom is part of the living room. Her bed is litterally right next to the couch on which I was sleeping. There were about four inches of space in between the back of the couch and the side of her bed. We could've shaken hands and not strained a muscle.

I guess I could've opted for the bathroom which had a door on it. But the alarm clock was right next to the door. And furthermore, it was a bathroom in a studio apartment. It wasn't a luxurious bathroom with a couch and some lounge chairs. The bathtub didn't provide a comfortable resting place and the floor wasn't going to suffice, either.

Her other room was the kitchen. I wasn't about to cuddle up on that floor. I just had to suck it up and look forward to the time Cyndi would finally wake up. I just wasn't too certain when that was. She told me after each of the first five times of putting it on snooze that she would wake up after the next one. But that didn't happen until well after 7 a.m., over an hour after the snooze bar fiasco began.

"What time do you have to be work?" I asked her at some point between the brief naps.

"9," she replied.

I was able to sleep a little while she ate breakfast and got ready. As she was walking out the door, I glanced over at the clock, I saw that is read 8:47. There was no way she was going to be there on time.

"Aren't you going to be late?" I asked.

"Yeah, but there's lots of snow," she said. "The trains will be late and so will everyone else."

With that she was out the door and I was left dumbfounded. I went to turn on the very alarm clock that had woken me up nine times to hear some sports talk radio. It didn't get in my station. It only played one station on the entire AM band.

That clock sucks. And when her birthday comes around, Cyndi will have a new clock with an all-station inclusive AM band. And ear phones for the person who NEEDS to wake up.