All posts by JackEdwards

Unless You’re Describing a Full-Bodied Coffee, Please, Please Stop Using the Word Robust

Attention “General Public”:  I’m not asking, I’m begging.  Unless you are describing a rich, full-bodied South American coffee, please, please, P-L-E-A-S-E, stop using the word robust every five seconds.  Cease and desist, people.  It’s getting brutal.

Let’s stop for a moment and do some research.  The Oxford English Dictionary formally defines the word “Robust” as follows:

“ADJECTIVE –

  1. A descriptive word used by blowhards on both ends of the political spectrum trying to sound smarter than they are. (i.e. “The new tax cuts are likely to make our country’s economy, as well as the size of my posterior, considerably more robust.”)
  2. (Esp. British) A descriptive word used by blowhards in the middle of the political spectrum too. (i.e. “Hey, I might not be an extremist, but my posterior is also robust, just more moderately so.”)

If you question my complaint about how insane the use of this word has become, consider playing–

 “The Robust Drinking Game”

Step 1. Turn on a talking head show (MSNBC, Fox News – it doesn’t matter) (Just make sure it’s one where the host sits there with a robust, self-satisfied look on his face).

Step 2. Take a shot of tequila every time someone who couldn’t change his own tire if you offered him a million bucks uses the word “robust.”

Step 3. After the bottle is empty, every player must describe the taste of the tequila in a single sentence, but it must include the word “robust.”

Stupid Real Life Uses of the Word Robust –

“We have the most robust military in the world.”

“The symphony’s performance schedule this season is particularly robust.”

“The subject of this episode of My 600 Pound Life is, to put it mildly, one very robust fellow.”

If you happen to be the 1 in 100,000 people who haven’t noticed the recent upsurge in the use of this word, keep your ears open this week.  You’ll begin to notice it popping up more frequently than groundhogs in a Nebraska corn field.

Next week’s rant: The word “profound” doesn’t make you sound smart either.

Now that my rage over the abuse of the word robust has momentarily subsided, I’m taking a coffee break.  I am going to go enjoy a rich, full-bodied South American blend.  It’s a wonderful coffee, and I highly recommend it.  I’d like to describe it to you, but for the life of me, I can’t think of the right word.

 

 

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Six Bipartisan Tips for Winning a Presidential Election

The 2020 presidential election is going to make 2016 look like a 1950’s sock hop.  The debate committee is already searching for a venue to hold a mud wrestling match.  Michael Buffer, of “Let’s get ready to rumble!” fame, has agreed to announce it.  Crazy Jesse Ventura will referee.

Of course, this is only after the primaries.  It will be the Democrats’ turn to field a modest group of 40 or 50 hopefuls.  That’s right.  It’s going to be a tidal wave of egos.  A tsunami of self-entitlement.  One lady in Ohio says her cat is running.  “It’s a swing state,” she (the lady, not the cat) recently told a reporter.  “That’ll give Beatrice a sizeable advantage.  Plus, she’s got one of those flat faces.  People love that.  That’ll make her memorable.”

In the end, it will come down to two people, both clinically insane enough to run for president, “squaring off” toe to toe.  The least I can do is provide a few bipartisan pointers –

  1. Empathy is critical. Show voters that you honor the military.  Those who have fought, endured great hardship and even died.  However, and this is important, draw a hard line on one point.  Use this phrase, “I like people who weren’t captured.”
  2. “Speak your truth.” Voters like politicians who are honest and don’t hold back their real opinions.  Don’t be afraid to describe a large portion of the electorate in memorable terms.  Use a term that will resonate with voters throughout the campaign.  Consider using this term – “deplorable.”  That’ll warm their hearts.
  3. Use your nationally televised debate time carefully. You won’t have time to explain each of your policies.  So, begin with the issue that the public is most concerned about – the size of your [insert word for famous male body part].  Hold your hands out like you’re describing the last fish you caught.
  4. Pay strict attention to your demeanor. Voters want to feel a connection, a sincerity, a warmth.  One technique to achieve this is to scream your speeches.  And this is extremely important, NEVER smile.  Put on your angry face.  (Think: “crabby.”)
  5. Pepper your campaign speeches with references to family values. Voters eat that stuff up.  And this is critical – adamantly deny that you sleep with that porn star that you slept with.
  6. Demonstrate you have the strength, energy and stamina to take on the demanding job of president. Do this, for example, by collapsing in front of the media as you’re walking to your vehicle.  Don’t hold back – go for it.  Drop like a sack of potatoes.

Bonus advice – Listen to the media.  The networks will use their resources to provide you day by day polling to let you know where you stand with the voters.  And if they tell you that you’re way ahead, that there’s no way your opponent can overtake you, relax.  Take a few days off the campaign trail.  Remember, these are trained, objective professionals.  They are the backbone of our democracy.  You can rely on their reporting.

Meanwhile, I have a problem.  I’m a cheapskate, and I don’t like to pay those exorbitant sports arena snack prices.  I’m still deciding how I’m going to sneak my Walmart snacks into the mud wrestling match.

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I Refuse to Pay More Than 10 Cents Per Poop

My daughter left on a vacation recently and asked me to spend two weeks picking up poop around my neighborhood.  No, she didn’t put it quite that way.  She said, “Will you take care of my spoiled dog, Milo?”  (I added the word ‘spoiled’ for accuracy.)  Now that Milo’s visit has passed, I ordered a t-shirt that says, “I Spent Two Weeks with Milo the Spoiled Dog, and I Survived!”

Dogs provide countless intangible benefits.  Three that I particularly enjoyed were:

  1. Being routinely woken up at 3 a.m. by a high pierced whining outside my bedroom door.
  2. Discovering that Milo had transformed one of my favorite sandals into a chew toy. (On the bright side, they only cost $115.)

And my favorite –

  1. Going to pick Milo up from the groomer and being told it would be “no charge.” Because he was such a wonderful dog, you ask? No. Because after I left, he kept trying to bite the groomer.  So they locked him up until I could collect him.

His visit allowed me to learn more about my neighborhood.  One thing I learned was that someone VERY grumpy lives down the street.  This is a sign the neighbor tacked to a tree outside the house –

I was surprised it said “pee” instead of “poop.”  While I am not a certified arborist, I do know my way around a hemlock.  And I can’t imagine why this person gives a rat’s rear end whether dogs pee on this tree.  However, I want to emphasize that although Milo is a whiner, and as we have previously established, a biter, I must defend him on one point.  He has never peed on this tree.  Half a million others, but not this one.

The day after I discovered this sign, I posted a sign below it that said, “My dog didn’t pee on your tree, BUT I DID!  (And I just ate a plate of asparagus.)  You’re welcome.  THX.”

Okay, I didn’t tack that sign beneath the first one.  I tacked it above the first one.

I walked Milo three times a day, and while I don’t want to be too graphic, he pooped one to three times per walk.  My daughter had left a couple of rolls of poop bags, but they ran out within a few days.  Maybe I was feeding him too much.  Milo was certainly operating at full capacity.  So after I dropped Milo off at the groomer so he could terrorize the staff, I went to the poop bag section to stock up.  Here it is –

When I saw it, I thought, “Hello, Sally!”  I had NO idea!  A whole new world of poop bags lay before me as far as the eye could see –  Scented, Unscented, 50% thicker, 2X thicker, and for the environmentally conscious, Biodegradable.  Spread before me in all the colors of the rainbow.  I ultimately chose the ones that had little pictures of poop printed all over them.  It just felt right.  Here they are –

At $12.49 for 120 bags, that’s about ten cents a poop.  For a guy from Alsea who never dreamed I would someday be a dog’s personal poop valet, ten cents wasn’t the outer limit –  it was the Twilight Zone.

All said, I already miss Milo and look forward to his next visit.  But mostly, I look forward to the arrival of my new t-shirt.

 

_______

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How You Can Use The New Costco Sample Diet Program to Save Money and Lose Weight

When you think of a healthy diet, you think of the same store I do – the health-conscious, grocery boutique called Costco.  Nothing says “I’m living a heathy lifestyle” like buying a ham as big as your head. (I have a really large head.)

I was in Costco today buying that ham, when it dawned on me that we might be missing a serious dieting opportunity.  There I was, standing in a crowd of eager samplers waiting on the sample lady to dole out another tray of salted crackers.  You heard me right – We were waiting for crackers!  Then I looked around at the people pathetically waiting to snap one up.  This is when it dawned on me.  I was one of them.  I was one of the pathetic masses waiting there like a dope for my free cracker.

This was my eureka moment.  Sure, Nikolaus Copernicus discovered the Earth’s rotation.  Sure, Alexander Fleming discovered penicillin.  But now, I had made a discovery – The Costco Sample Diet!

I explained my idea to the sample lady, and asked her if I could take a picture of her sample stand.  She looked confused and then dove for cover the moment I lifted my camera phone.  (Side note: Is it me, or should Costco be hiring more extroverts to hand out samples?)  She either wasn’t enthusiastic about my idea, or is currently participating in the Federal Witness Protection Program.  I explained to her that I only have three readers and one lives in Busan, South Korea (Hi, Chris!).  But she still wouldn’t pose for a picture.

Here is her sample stand (she’s standing right behind it, but keeping a tight eye on the direction of my lens) –

Two of the many benefits of the Costco Sample Diet are

  1. The plan is completely FREE.
  2. The food is completely FREE.

(These factors alone make it far more attractive than Weight Watchers or Jenny Craig.)

The Costco Sample Diet has six rules –

Rule One: The only food you can eat each day is one of the samples from each Costco sample stand.

Rule Two: Returning for a second sample from the same stand is strictly forbidden.

Rule Three: Elbowing out the “stocky” kid to grab the largest sample is permitted (even encouraged).

Rule Four: You remain on the plan until you have reached your goal weight, or you have fainted.

Rule Five: If you faint, you may enjoy ONE $1.50 Costco Hotdog.  If you hit your head when you fainted, you may upgrade to a Chicken Bake.

Important Warning: DO NOT look at the other items at the food counter.  It is far too dangerous –

Important Follow-up Warning: The Twisted Churros are STRICTLY forbidden – Don’t even think about it!

Rule Six:  Repeat step 1-5 until you are satisfied with the results, or you are hospitalized, whichever occurs first.

I have to admit that I am still a little nervous about taking the plunge and conducting a full “beta test” of this diet.  I think I’ll ponder its nuances and whether the rules need tweaking while I start scarfing down that ham.

_______

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Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

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It’s High Time to Ban Old People from Silver Falls State Park

My family was busted for the crime of walking our dog.  We were at Silver Falls State Park in Oregon.  We hadn’t got 50 feet down the trail before the ranger was on us like stink on a monkey.  We vehemently claimed our innocence; however, the ranger grilled us about a sign we had walked past and a notice in the park flyer, which I unfortunately, at the very time of her accusation, was holding open in my hand.  If the ranger made her case to a jury, they’d convict us in 30 seconds.

Oregon is a very progressive state, and it has very progressive policies.  Except for this policy of BLATANT discrimination against friendly, law-abiding members of the Canine-American community.  The main attraction of Silver Falls State Park is a trail that loops past ten waterfalls.  A number of which you can actually walk behind.  Here is South Falls –

They’re amazing.  However, the rangers claim that old people and young children might trip over dogs along the “narrow trail.”  So they outlaw dogs.  The ranger defended the rule by telling us a kid had to be airlifted out the week before because he tripped over a dog.

Well, the solution to this problem is quite obvious – Ban old people and young kids.  Not all  the time  – I don’t want to be unreasonable.  Just ban them on  weekends.  Old people and young children can visit during the week when the crowds are smaller and thus they would be less likely to fall victim to this “dog tripping” epidemic.  I’m actually thinking of their welfare, not my own narcissistic desire to take my dog on the trail.  (He’s actually my daughter and her husband’s dog, so, technically, he’s my “grand-dog”.)

After the ranger let us off with a warning, she told us dogs were allowed on the boring Rim Trail (She didn’t actually call it “boring.”  I’m just describing it to you).  The Rim Trail runs for miles through the boring forest until you reach the North Falls (yeah, one measly waterfall – and not even one you can walk behind).  Because we had already driven 90 minutes to get there, and the ranger was standing there keeping us from going down the fun trail (obviously because she thought we would have to audacity to continue down that trail if she left – which I can assure you we absolutely would have), we marched off down the Rim Trail.

As we walked down the Rim Trail to visit the boring North Waterfall, where you can’t even walk behind it, I thought, “What were the odds that we would be so unlucky to come across that ranger?’  It turned out that the odds were 100%.  That was the ranger’s hideout.  The ranger laid in wait and sprung out like a jack-in-the-box, whenever when a dog passed.  If you’ve seen one of those nature documentaries showing one of those predatory sea creatures that camouflage themselves and spring off the sea floor to devour innocent, unsuspecting fish, that was this ranger.

I urge everyone to begin using the hashtag #BanCanineAmercianDiscrimination.  This injustice must not stand.  History must not repeat itself.  Remember, “First, they came for the ….

__________

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My Intimate Moment with the TSA (Spoiler – The agent almost made it to third base)

I have never felt so close to the TSA as I did when they required me to undergo an “enhanced” search to board a flight to, of all places, Omaha.  I’m not saying that the TSA agent did anything wrong.  But, to describe the search in high school terms, by the time he finished, he had rounded second base and was headed to third.  By the end of his search, this agent knew me – he knew me VERY well.  I hadn’t been examined this thoroughly since my last colonoscopy.

The reason for my intimate encounter was that I had just renewed my driver’s license.  I had a temporary paper license.  I presented the TSA agent with my temporary license and my old plastic license.  My old license had a hole in it where it said my date of birth.  The DMV employee punched it out when he issued me my temporary license.  The TSA guy told me that a paper license wasn’t acceptable, and my old license would have been acceptable, but since the date of birth was punched out, I couldn’t use that either. I tried to reason with the agent that the two documents together surely established my identity.  The agent completely agreed, but said he had to follow the rules.  He told me he’d call a supervisor to come talk to me.

(As an aside, you might ask, why didn’t you just take your passport with you?  There is a simple reason for that.  It’s called, “I’m an idiot.”)

After waiting for what seemed like an hour but was probably ten minutes, another TSA agent walked up to me.  I explained my story.  I then awaited his ruling.  He told me that he completely agreed with me.  He then told me that he wasn’t the supervisor.  He said he just heard what was going on and walked over to check it out.  I had become a TSA roadside attraction.

An hour later (ten more minutes), the supervisor showed up.  I was relieved that he too agreed the rule was stupid.  He then explained that he could only let me through if I would consent to “voluntarily” get “felt up.” For the record, he did not use the term “felt up.”  While accurate, that would have violated TSA policy.

Once I arrived in, of all places, Omaha.  I went online so that I could cite official line and verse to any TSA agent who dared to reject my ID on my return flight, and tell them that they darn well would accept it.  It only took a few minutes to clearly and unambiguously establish that my ID was NOT acceptable.  Great, I thought, I’m going get felt up again.

A couple of days later, I was inching my way along the TSA line with no small amount of trepidation.  I reached the TSA stand and handed the agent my faulty paper work.  Then I stood there like a sap awaiting my fate.  The agent looked at my temporary paper license.  Then he looked at my canceled plastic license with the punched out hole.  (By this time, the punched hole looked to me like it was roughly the size Australia.)  The agent then looked up at me sternly, and said in a very official tone, “Have a nice flight.”

God bless, of all places, Omaha.

________________

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The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

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Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

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How to Enjoy the Disney World Experience for Free

I asked my daughter if she was enjoying her Disney World vacation as we inched forward in line.  “Dad,” she groaned, “We’re in Safeway.”  “A line’s a line,” I replied, “and they say getting there’s half the fun.”

Enjoying a Disney vacation from the comfort and convenience of your local grocery store doesn’t “technically” allow you to experience a ride at the end of the line, but it’s many other advantages greatly outweigh this minor difference.

Let’s start with cost.  A one day pass to the Magic Kingdom is $126.74 for an adult and $120.35 for a child.  A one day pass to Safeway World is the danger of accidentally buying a quart of Chunky Monkey ice cream and then accidentally falling head-first into it and scarfing down the whole thing down.

Parking at Disney World costs $22 if you want to park in their lot conveniently located one town over, or $45 dollars if you want to park close enough to visit the park that day.  Parking at Safeway World remains complementary, but as they are now requiring us to scan and bag our own items, please enjoy the free parking while it lasts.

A 16 ounce Coke at Safeway World is $1.89.  A small drink at Disney World is half your 401K.  (Oh yeah, I forgot to mention that included in the $126.74 is the privilege, as an official Magic Kingdom “guest,” of leveraging your home equity toward the purchase of a mildly warm soft pretzel. On the up side, they throw in the mustard packets for free – Hey, Disney Executives aren’t animals!

Safeway World offers many other advantages –

It’s temperature controlled.

It’s just down the street from your house.

Every once in a while someone is handing out free cheese samples.  (Try finding that at Disney World.)

In complete fairness, I must admit that Disney World and Safeway World tie in the screaming baby department.  But Disney wins hands down in the disappointed seven-year-old’s, “I’ve been waiting all year for this, and it’s not the overwhelmingly joyful experience I imagined,” category.

I’m sure some of you vacation “purists” will nitpick the differences between Disney World and Safeway World, but I urge the rest of you to seriously consider taking your family to Safeway World this summer instead of the Magic Kingdom.  If the kids complain, offer to park half a mile away from the store to make it feel more like an authentic Disney experience.

🙂

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The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

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Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

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How My Dreams Were Dashed By Evil Translucent Fish

My daughter attends my alma mater, Oregon State University.  My most recent visit to OSU found me wandering past a building and a particularly disturbing memory popped into my head.  When I attended OSU, this building’s basement contained something you would expect to find at an esteemed institution of higher education — classrooms, faculty offices, and, of course, a “chamber of horrors.”

Let me explain.

It’s the spring of 1982, and a friend tells me about an extremely lucrative job opportunity.  “Lucrative” in the sense that it paid at least ten cents over minimum wage.  I wasn’t just “dirt poor” then.  Don’t be crazy — I couldn’t afford dirt.  But this job not only paid well, it INCLUDED room and board.  I had struck gold!  Dollar signs floated in my head.

The job title was Fishing Vessel Observer.  The US government was hiring people to live on foreign fishing boats to make sure they weren’t taking the wrong kinds of fish.  This was the perfect job for me!  Mind you, I had never lived on a boat, never been on the “high seas,” nor could I speak any language other than the Alsea Public School version of English.  Nevertheless, I was overflowing with confidence.  What an adventure!  What stories to tell!

This is when I learned something that created an inkling of concern — my dream job, the one that would pay so much cash and offer such adventure — required passing a test.

This test, it turned out, involved correctly identifying different North Pacific fish species.  How hard could it be?  Only time, and a deep desire to suppress the physiological pain, have dulled my memory, but suffice it to say, here is how this ugly chapter came to a heart wrenching end.

I went to the designated building on OSU’s campus and walked down the steps to the basement.  I had a pencil and the test sheet which contained a list of fish species.  Names of fish I never knew existed.  Reams of different fish.  Fish with unpronounceable, incomprehensible, scientific names.  Maybe they were Greek fish.  Many sounded Greek, that, or maybe Klingon.

Awaiting me in that dank fluorescent basement were row upon row of jars.  Each jar contained a fish floating in fish embalming fluid.  They looked like they had been floating in those jars for a while, say, since the 1850’s. Long enough that they had lost any color and become translucent.  Their skeleton’s shined through them like X-rays.  AND, to my great shock and gut-wrenching disappointment, EVERY fish looked EXACTLY alike.

I took a slow lap around the room, and paused to reflect on the gravity of my situation.  Then I set my test sheet down and quietly made my escape, never again to visit this “chamber of horrors.”

And now, I thought as strolled by, I bet they’re all still down there — floating.

_______________________________

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Why It’s A Wonderful Life (with apologies to Frank Capra)

We cringe whenever someone says, “Let me tell you about the dream I had last night.”  Yikes!  Other than invasive dental procedures, is there anything worse?  That said, let me tell you about a dream I had last night.

First, the backstory.

There are two traditional rules about attending church.  Number 1: Be on time, and Number 2: Wear your “Sunday best.”

Here is my problem.  I am never on time, and I wear clothes that will never be described as anyone’s “Sunday best” – a Hawaiian shirt and Birkenstocks – usually, but not always, without socks.  BUT, I do make it a point to arrive on time… at least once a year.

So here’s my dream –

I die and go to heaven.  I am standing at the Pearly Gates distraught over the lackadaisical attitude I had on Earth toward church attendance.  I had hoped to clean up my act before I died, but a mishap involving an electric hedge trimmer and a shaky ladder sent me to my reward early.

Suddenly, Bob, an usher from my church appeared.  “Bob, what are you doing here?” I asked.  “You’re still alive.”

“True, but I was told you were upset, so God asked me stop by and take you on a little journey.”

Suddenly, fog rolled in around and engulfed us.  Moments later it dissipated, and we were standing in the back of my church sanctuary as my minister, who, for the purposes of this story I will refer to as “Pastor Steve,” because his name happens to be Steve Hill, is giving a sermon.  A friend walks by us, and I say, “Hi,” but he doesn’t respond.

“He can’t hear you,” Bob says.  You’re invisible.  Just then, one of the back doors opens, and I watch myself saunter into the sanctuary a full 15 minutes late.

“Ouch,” I say under my breath.

“Hold on, Jack,” says Bob. “See that couple over there?  The woman in the blue dress and the man in the tweed jacket?”

“Yeah,” I say, “but….

“Just keep watching,” says Bob.

I watch myself move along the rear of the sanctuary looking for an open chair, and I see the woman nudge the man.  They both look over and she smiles at him.

“Jack, you just made their day.  You didn’t know it, but they had arrived late and were feeling very self-conscious about it, until you walked in.  Your thoughtless and irresponsible late arrival has made them feel better about themselves.  Sure they were late, but not nearly as late as you.”

“So?” I asked.

“Jack, everyone has a purpose on Earth.  And one of yours was to make late new comers to church feel less self-conscious.

The fog rose and again soon dissipated.  It was the same Sunday morning.  We were up on stage next to Pastor Steve, and we could see me walking past the late couple who were now listening to the sermon with peaceful smiles.

I was continuing down the aisle.

“Keep your eye on that family,” said Bob, “the one with the father wearing a faded denim work shirt and worn jeans.”

The father was sitting on the aisle and clearly turned his attention to me as I walked by.

“Jack,” Bob said, “you couldn’t have known it, but that gentleman almost didn’t come to church this morning because all he had to wear was one of his old work shirts and leather boots.  He arrived feeling extremely self-conscious about his clothes.  That is, until he saw you.  Just look at you, Jack.  You look like you’re heading off to a second-rate flea market – faded Hawaiian shirt and worn out Birkenstocks.”

“Uh…” I started to defend myself.

“Jack, you’re perfect.  Just what the doctor ordered!” said Bob.  “A moment ago this man felt like the worst dressed person in church.  But one glance at you and his spirit is lifted.  He is rejuvenated.  And it’s all due to your total disregard of appearance.”

“But I had no idea,” I began to say as the fog rose and swirled around us.

When the fog disappeared, I was back at the Pearly Gates.  Bob was gone and I was in a line waiting to check in.  I looked down, and then I realized, I was getting ready to check into heaven in my Sunday Best – a faded Hawaiian shirt and worn out Birkenstocks.

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This McDonald’s is Located in Fantasy Land

This is NOT a “hit job” on McDonald’s.  Okay, it is a hit job on McDonald’s.  However, in my defense, McDonald’s drew first blood.

To fully understand this column, you must have seen that commercial where the young McDonald’s employee shows up at McDonald’s and tells his manger that he has received his college acceptance letter.  Until this point, everything is normal.  It’s a McDonald’s.  All hell is breaking loose.  People are at the counter, a vehicle is waiting at the drive thru window.  An employee with a headset is manning the drive thru window.  Cooks are flipping burger patties.  It’s a busy McDonald’s operating at a minimum of DEFCON 3.

This is when the commercial enters a bizarre time-space bending wormhole.  The manager snatches the letter from the employee and yells, “Everybody!  Two seconds!”  The employees immediately snap from their workstations and form a circle.  The manager then reads the letter, and they enthusiastically applaud.  Here is a still from the commercial showing their unbridled jubilation-

When I walk down the street, people probably eye my “robust” physique and think to themselves, ‘I bet that guy know his way around a McDonald’s menu.’  Those people would be correct. But I doubt that I am the only soul, among my loyal readers, who enjoys “dining” at McDonald’s.  I’m not saying I’m an expert, but I’ve got a lot of McDonald’s experience under my belt (sadly).

Can you, even for a moment, even for a micro-nanosecond, imagine a McDonald’s manager calling his employees off their stations, as they busily keep the bags of McNuggets streaming over the counter and through the drive thru window, having them form a circle, and then reading a letter to the assembled crowd?

Let’s picture how this scenario would play out in the real world.  The line at the counter stacks up as those toward the front wonder where everyone disappeared.  The drive thru line comes to a sudden halt, and cars start piling up filling the drive thru lane.  The guy in his car by the ordering speaker starts yelling for someone’s attention.  The cars begin backing up into the parking lot blocking traffic.  The burgers which are STILL COOKING ON THE GRILL begin overcooking and smoke starts filling the kitchen.

It would be PURE, UNADULTERATED, CHAOS.

And that, my friends, is why you will only find this McDonald’s in Fantasy Land.

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The Lawyer’s Song: Navigating the legal wilderness at –

https://buff.ly/2K41Tax

Seven Rules for the College Playground –

https://buff.ly/2IqXxgn

Seven Secrets You Need to Know to Hire the Right Lawyer –

https://buff.ly/2roFIov