Dialing "1" under pressure

To dial one, or not to dial one, that is the question. At least it’s kind of the question I asked myself yesterday. There are two different area codes for the city of Portland, one of them is 503, the other one is something I can never remember. In part, because I just don’t run across it very often, and considering the number people I talk to every month, tells me that there really aren’t that many people with this other area code. So, I’m in the process of calling someone back who has left me a voice mail. I dial “9” to get the outside line, then the area code (not 503) and the number. Well, of course this area code is not that other area code I can never remember. It’s for someplace other than Portland, even though the caller is calling about a their home address here in Portland.

So, you know what happened, I got that annoying recording telling if I need to dial “1” when calling this number. Usually I just hang up and dial again using the “1” as directed. I’m such a mindless drone! For some reason yesterday, this recording really irked me. For one thing aren’t area codes unique? So if you’ve dialed an area code doesn’t the system know where to send the call? How does dialing “1” add anything to the process? The system obviously knew it needed a “1” so why didn’t it just send the call one. Why to I have to put in something you already know is part of it? And, why does the “1” on a long distance call still even exist?

Why can I make the same call, without the “1”, on my cell phone and there’s no annoying recording. It goes through, no problemo lameo! Why are land lines not keeping up with cell technology? I have a theory, of course. They want to piss up all off so we will all move over to cell phone service. Which we are as individuals, but at work we still have land lines to deal with.

My co-work, the ever sane Stephen, watching me have my mini meltdown over the issue of the “1”, just smiled and said, “Rhetta, I hope you’re not going to lose sleep of this.” He is now my meditation master. The one to call me down from the ledge. The one who will gently take the gun and unload it, while speaking in a calm and steady voice.

After my run in with the “1” I heard about the flight attendant who had the meltdown, gave a piece of his mind to an ill behaved passenger and then lowered the escape ramp and left with a couple of beers. You know I can really sympathize with this guy, and there have been many times over the past 15 years that I’ve worked with the public, that would have loved to do something very similar. Hell, I wanted to do it yesterday with phone company! You’ve read my blog on municipal black ops hit squad. But, so far I’ve managed to walk away without losing it. I’m just hoping that trend will continue.

It’s only a matter of time before there is a really nasty issue in the air, not involving a terrorist. It will however, involve a customer who has reached the absolute end of their rope. Flying used to be a civilized activity, people dressed nicely, and were treated very well. Now some passengers don’t even bath before getting on planes, and we’re all treated like cattle being transported to the slaughter house. Hell, cattle are probably treated better.

You have to have the patience of Job to fly commercial today. You wait in line to be checked in, unless you’re paid an extra fee so you can pass through the express line. Then you have to pay if you actually want to take luggage with you on your trip. Airlines used to want you to check your luggage and NOT carry it onboard with you. Now they have devised a system that has everyone carrying their luggage onboard. Next, you wait in line to pass through security, unless you’ve paid extra to pass through the express line.

Once through security, you’re alone and lugging all the stuff, you used to check, with you down the long hall looking for your gate. Along the way you want to pick up a bottle of water, since you had to leave your’s at security. You even think about getting a magazine to read while you wait to board the plane. After paying five dollars for a small bottle of water, you decide you can’t really afford to look at magazines and continue your three mile trudge to the gate, to wait some more.

Because you didn’t buy a first class ticket, an obviously indictment against your worth to society, you have to wait while the “special” people board first. Of course, as you board, somewhere in the middle of the pack, it’s impossible to get down the aisle because everyone is trying to stow their luggage. Once you find your seat, you have to try to find a place to stow your luggage. It worse than fighting off a pack of wild wolves to get your stuff put away before some else grabs the spot, usually some tall, oblivious 20 year old.

You’re finally seated and now you have to start worrying about who will be setting next to you, and in front of you, and behind you. These people will, to a great extent, be determining the level of your comfort for the next several hours. You get the mom with the screaming baby, of the child that likes to kick the back of your seat, or the guy in front who thinks it acceptable to lean his seat all the way back. Who is there a reclining function on an airline seat? Who thought that was a good idea? There are also the people with stinky feet who take their shoes off, the ones who pass gas and the ones who smoked a pack of cigarettes just before boarding. And, the heavy drinkers!

Then, just because this experience isn’t as awful as it could be, let’s just throw in a machincal difficulty that delays takeoff for, oh I don’t know, two hours!

It’s true that planes should have a warning, like aerosol cans, “Caution: Contents under pressure.” In fact, this warning could be spray painted across most public buildings as well.

Grandbabies, long distances, and the yenta gene

I got the best picture of my grandbaby the other day. It was taken on the beach in Hawaii and she is buried in the sand. While that in itself would be an adorable photo, it’s the look on her face that just sell the whole thing. It screams, “It’s good to be me!” It is now officially my favorite picture of her.

Physically she is so much like her mother at that age that it will be hard to tell their pictures about later, but Boo has a different kind of energy about her. Kristin was a studier, and in her pictures she is almost always looking head on at the camera and is very aware of the fact that her picture is being taken and she is focused on that. Kristin was good a sitting still or posing. Boo is a constant motion machine, and we have almost no pictures of her where she is interested in taking a good picture. She’s all about whatever she’s doing, and she is constantly doing something. Getting her to look into the camera for more than a half a second is a Herculean task. I wonder if her dad was that way when he was her age. I need to do some note checking with the grandparent-in-laws.

Of course, it would be nice if Kristin could come home more often, or if Kenny came from here, that way they wouldn’t have to divide their time between the Georgia, Washington and Texas. It’s tough on everyone. It would be great to meet Kenny’s family and see them with Kristin and Boo.

So, in the end I’m kind of stuck between regret that they have to live so far, pride that they are so independent, happy that they are getting to experience different places, understanding that they have to try to fit us all in, and wishing that whoever is going to invent the Star Trek transporter would get a flipping move on!!

Meanwhile, in my ongoing hope that I will eventually have grandchildren from my other child, Matt, I try to keep on the look for any indication that he is at least seeing a particular girl on a steady basis. He never talks about a girl unless he adds that they are so and so’s girlfriend, they are 40 something years old and just a friend, they’re married and have children, or some other disclaimer so I don’t get my hopes up that he might be serious about someone. He knows that I know, that would be the first baby step to grandchildren. Really I just want him to find someone to be happy with, even if they don’t produce any grandchildren. But, grandchildren would be nice. With Matt I have the biggest hope of having grandchildren near me.

On the 4th of July Matt came riding his scooter past the house while all of us were setting off fireworks in the street (yes, another white trash moment in my life) with a girl on the back. Not too long later he came around again with her. Well, me, Danna, Wendy and Mark are all wondering if Matt has a girl. We’re getting a little excited about the possibility. Except for Mark, he’s just curious and isn’t affected with the Yenta gene that we women are. So the next day Matt’s comes by the house and I try to ask casually who the girl was. He laughs and asks which one. Apparently there was a different girl each time. One was Ali’s girlfriend and the other was “just a friend.” Damn it!! I think he’s baiting me now.