Where’s The Boss?

The video of the two Target employees—who are US citizens, and minors— being abducted (call it what it was) from their suburban Twin Cities store, by ICE or Border Patrol agents  is appalling.

(I’m not going to post the video here, you can find it, and watch it, at your discretion. )

I’m equally bothered by what you don’t see: nowhere do you see Target’s floor manager, the general manager, or security… acting to halt or mitigate the kidnapping (again, call it what it is). Where’s the boss?

Yes, it did happen fast, but the incident began in the store’s parking lot, before the first child was tackled in the entranceway where a struggle ensued. Then the second youth was kidnapped (call it what it is) in the store, off camera.

There was time to intervene. Store management had to be aware of what was happening and seemingly didn’t do jack shit about it.

I don’t have much faith that the kidnappers will be charged by the federal government. Though I expect there will legions of pro-bono attorneys who will volunteer step bring a child-endangerment lawsuit against Target.

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Well, Back In My Day…..

A couple of mornings ago, I awoke to a new year. A bit before sunrise, I walked the dog, and moved some furniture. Then went out to clear snow and ice from our driveway, sidewalks and our Mazda. 

I spent an inordinate amount of time freeing the ice-glazed wiper blades from the windshield.

Admittedly, I  have been a bit negligent about pulling the blades away the glass….because I couldn’t remember the multi-step procedure, which begins with the car running, ffs! 

For my whole life the procedure, was 1-step (Pull the blades away from the glass.).

But now:

  1. Car must be on.
  2. Car must be turned off.
  3. Within 30 seconds, the  “Mist” setting on windshield wiper control and
  4. The “Mist” setting must be selected a second time (still within 30 seconds).
  5. When the wiper blade are in their vertical “Lock” position, they may be safely pulled away from the windshield. 

Perhaps, car companies should engage people of my age group to write the functional requirement for their future car designs.

 

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And So It Goes.

One week ago, a student saw me chatting with a teacher in the cafeteria and shouted at me, across the room, “Who’s that old man?!?”

Later that day (at Costco): an older man smiled at me and said: “Hello, young fella!”

The following Friday, some teenage students asked my age. When I answered “63,” one said “Daaaamnnn, I thought you were 50!”

Yesterday, a student asked me my age, and I asked him to guess. His reply: “Your voice sounds like you’re 30. Though your appearance makes me think you’re 39.”

As Kurt Vonnegut (might have) said: Scott Smith has come unstuck in time.

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Standing Room Only

It was 50 years ago this week when Red Sox catcher Carlton Fisk, hit a game-winning home run in the 12th inning to force a Game 7 in the 1975 World Series.

I watched much of that Series in my bedroom (about 30 miles from Fenway Park), standing up, with an earplug— thus concealing the tiny black & white TV’s mono sound output from my mother.

For some reason, she was especially adamant that week about enforcement of “Not on a school night!” rules. Perhaps she was mad at my older sister about something, which was rather common during that era.

If I heard footsteps coming up the stairs, I slapped the “Off” button and slid under the covers, feigning slumber until I heard the descent back to the first floor.

There were a couple of mornings, when I saw my father—still in his work uniform—at breakfast and he told me what happened in the previous night’s game and I did my best to act surprised by the news.

Though I don’t have a great poker face, so I suspect my mischievous smirking might have revealed my transgressions.

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