The Grumpy Old Fart Customer

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It’s been another one of those days, at first, I am greeted by the pain of getting out of bed.  My back reminds me of just how mortal I actually am.  The rest of the day is no better, a trip from my office to the kitchen for another cup of coffee proves to be too much for my right knee.  The fire burning in my hands is making it increasingly difficult to grasp things with any kind of mastery. The pain that arthritis inflicts helps one remember just how mortal you are.  My kingdom for just one pain free day!

Oh, sure there are medical solutions, and doctors do not hesitate to break out that magic little pad where all of your troubles can be whisked away with the stroke of a pen.  First, they will recommend a drug which requires a blood test every thirty days to see how much your life will be shortened.  I have good news and I have bad news, the good news is your pain is gone, the bad news, your life has been shortened by 5 years.  And if you are one of the millions of Americans without health insurance, hold on to your arthritis bedeviled arse.  The cost of arthritis meds can be staggering.

You all remember Jack and the Bean Stalk, right?  He sold off the cow for magic beans, then eventually steals the giant’s gold, yadda, yadda, yadda (no offense to you lovers of literature or my son-in-law, who is Jewish).  Well, now there is something that you can trade your gold for that is just as magical as jacks’ beans—marijuana and THC products.  Now, marijuana is not a new thing, but in recent years it has become legal in many states to use for medical purposes. Some states have even gone so far as to legalize marijuana for recreational use (bless those states!).  The trend has certainly moved well through the more leftist states and those states who suddenly had an epiphany about the sales of pot products and tax revenues they can generate.

As of 2020 marijuana is legal in 33 states (predominantly medical use), most states are blue states with a few of the red states joining (again, probably for tax revenues).  Most all of the US states have provisions that allow for some medical usage of THC components (chemical extract from marijuana) mostly as a pain or anxiety reducer.  You can tell that the idea of cannabis being used for medical purposes (mostly) is an idea that is catching on.  This is happening with no thanks to big pharmaceutical companies who have done all they can to block these products.  Even states that have legalized the magic plant for medical use have run into roadblocks that have been created by drug lobbyists, politicians, and Christian political donors. 

Even after marijuana has been approved by voters, anti-marijuana groups and politicians have found ways to delay and frustrate the implementation of the new laws and distribution networks.  These groups continually decry the danger of the use of marijuana with the claim that it is a gateway drug.  They sound like the old paranoid schoolteacher you had who believed every student was using drugs and they were all going to take over the world and ruin it.  I wonder what that teacher would say now, the world is ruined and yet it was mostly done by those who oppose the legalization of pot.

With empirical data overwhelmingly demonstrating the benefits of cannabis and THC infused products, doesn’t it stand to reason that marijuana should be taken off drug schedule A?  If we could somehow get the rest of the country to cooperate with these findings, then the increase of producer permits would decrease the cost of the pot.  This would make the magical substance cost much less than that of chemically produce pharmaceutical products. 

A recent report has shown that deaths from opioid addiction have reached some 200,000 people annually.  The major cause of these deaths is linked to the misuse of fentanyl, which is being substituted for the common opioid, prescription oxycontin.  Those taking the phony pills are unaware that they are fake and contain enough fentanyl to kill them.  It has also been reported that there is enough fentanyl in the US to kill nearly all of its 325+ million citizens.  Imagine the role that cannabis could play in solving this crisis with complete legalization and the subsequent reduction in the cost of the product.

I totally get it that legalization of pot has eroded the profits of the pharmaceutical monopolies.  Boo-freaking-who, after years of making billions of dollars off of poor US citizens and opioid addicts alike, maybe it is time for our government and “Big Pharma” to step up and give something back to the people for once.  Our current president, Rip Van POTUS, has long been against the legalization of marijuana.  Maybe if he used some of it himself, it would help to ameliorate his sour-puss attitude.  Some THC products can actually increase your energy, perhaps Rip could use some and stay awake at the podium.

Being serious for a moment, I do not advocate for the use of pot while operating equipment, especially automobiles or anything on the roadways.  But when used in a controlled manner, in a safe environment, THC products have an incredible effect on arthritis, anxiety, or any other kind of pain.  For myself, a serious arthritis sufferer, the substance is something of pure magic.  Oh sure, there is a buzz factor, but fuck, who couldn’t use that today?  The world around us is collapsing into a steaming pile of societal dung.  Anxiety is one of the top ailments for which THC is a blessed cure, and right now I think we all are suffering from some form of anxiety.

With so many varieties of marijuana-based products available for so many ailments, we have to get serious about the total inclusion of THC in our healthcare world.  With most drug costs skyrocketing doesn’t a more natural substance (instead of corporate chemicals) make better sense to help with the endless pain and suffering?  Approved home growing kits would make a great hobby to grow your own pain relief.  Hobbies are proclaimed to reduce stress and improve your overall health.  Imagine a hobby where you can further release stress by partaking in the finished product—brilliant?

For decades, the resistance against cannabis has waged on, yet with each passing year, we discover how many benefits a magical little plant can give us.  Those of us who support the use of pot and related products need to become more vocal about law changes and the hope of easier access.  I can totally attest that I am in no way addicted to it.  But on the days of severe arthritis pain, you bet your sweet arse that I reach for one of those blessed, miraculous gummies.  I set back and wait for the pain to disappear into a realm of sweet sensation and relief.  With this opioid crisis that plagues us isn’t it time to turn to a more natural and less-lethal alternative?  As always, this is just my opinion!

The Grumpy Old Fart Citizen

The Grumpy Old Fart Citizen 2021 All Rights Reserved

Remember the old expression “they can put a man on the moon, but–?”.  That expression was a somewhat contemptuous play on words usually to illustrate our unwillingness to fix something that seems fixable.  Well, we now have a new expression: “they can put a billionaire in space, but—.  Yes, we have accomplished the unthinkable; we have rocketed a wealthy white man into the far reaches of the stratosphere.  And for one amazing minute he glimpsed the heavens like a spoiled brat who seemingly has nothing better to do with his time or money.

In the race to see who can stoke their wealthy egos the most, we now have the worlds richest white men reaching for the stars.  I personally think it would incredible if they all went up on the same day and all became “Lost in Space”.  Think about it, maybe someone left behind could take their money and put it to actual good use.  Sure, we could build a monument to them.  A healthy, steaming pile of shite would do nicely as it is emblematic of what they all meant to us.  Maybe we could garnish the shite monument with a bar of gold, making it a symbol of the two things they stood for—it’s the least we can do.  In the meantime, I have some usage for the new expression.

They can put a billionaire in space, but they cannot create jobs that pay a living wage.  Think about that for a minute; the billions that will be spent to launch these ass-wipes into space could be used to create new industries with decent paying jobs in an economy where we make our own stuff and can afford a reasonable living.  People could actually feed their families, clothe them, and give them a decent home life.  What a fucking concept!

They can put a billionaire in space, but they cannot do Medicare for all.  Wow, imagine that for a minute, you can go to the doctor, maintain health, cure a disease, at no additional cost other than the funds used to create the system.  Amazing, people would no longer have to worry about excessive, exorbitant healthcare expense.  Maybe we could have the same system that works in other developed nations.  That would be an incredible accomplishment!

They can put a billionaire in space, but they cannot provide the same education that is available to the wealthy.  Yes, they have built amazing schools that only their children can afford.  For the rest of the country, it is school systems that are in a steady decline because the tax base is disappearing at the same rate as the aforementioned decent paying jobs.  This has been especially true in the case of neighborhoods of African Americans and other peoples of color.  Lest we not forget the schools of the small parcels of land that we call “reservations”.  We have done our absolute best to just make those folks disappear completely.

They can put a billionaire in space, but they cannot find new sources of energy that will not burn our planet to a crisp.  Many people will tell you that we cannot completely eliminate the use of fossil fuels.  This maybe true but here is a radical thought; what if we could replace 40% of the carbon-based fuels that we currently use with an alternative?  Surely that would be a great start and might help extend the life of our planet for our children and grandchildren.  Let’s face facts here, in just a couple of years we developed the technology to launch civilians into space and return them safely to earth on the same day.  Yet, we cannot seem to create energy alternatives to what we have been burning for one hundred years.  Something smells fishy-oily here, oh yea, its oil billionaires, the same ones whom themselves will probably trip the light fantastic in space soon. 

They can put a billionaire into space, but they cannot eliminate hunger.  This one cheeses me off (so to speak) the most!  There is one billionaire out there (he knows who he is), the former chief executive of the company that uses a dick as its logo (they are constantly fucking society with it), whose total assets (over $750 billion) could end world hunger.  Imagine being able to feed the starving children in countries like Yemen, a country that our nation has helped to impoverish even further than they already were.  But forget about that for a minute, hell, we have starving children here.  This is the richest nation on earth, yet we have millions who cannot afford a meal.  Without food pantries many of these folks would starve to death.  Keep launching those billions up there.

They can put a billionaire in space, but they can’t stop hating and repressing those who do not look like us (white folks of course).  Many here say that racism no longer exists, yet we watched a white cop hold his knee on the neck of a black man until that man no longer existed.  Ok, maybe you can refute this case or whitewash (so to speak) this argument but what about the lack of a black billionaire going into space.  Hmmm?  It seems rather ironic that the faux astronauts are the same color as their white space vehicle.  But I move on.  

They can put a billionaire in space, but they can’t give you journalism that isn’t propagandized or controlled by advertisement dollars.  It is impossible to find a mainstream news cast that tells you the truth about anything.  For instance, we have mainstream news talking heads who specialize in blaming Russia for just anything that is wrong in this country.  And recently we watched a female correspondent of a major network sniff a backpack looking for traces of sarin gas.  After sniffing the backpack, this genius proclaimed to have smelled an unusual odor.  Perhaps the camera person had a burrito for lunch and the launch of methane confused the reporter.  I guess this person miss that day in chemistry class and did not understand that even a trace of sarin gas can be lethal.  Just another brilliant example of how great our journalism is today. 

They can put a billionaire into space, but they can’t find politicians who are actually for doing the thing for the citizens.  Ok, maybe this a just a case of they don’t want to.  After all, most of the politicians in this nation are monetarily supported by the billionaire class of astronauts who control them.  Attend any political fundraisers and you are bound to see some future astronauts sipping dirty martinis (pun intended) or munching on fish eggs from the seas that they load with island size piles of plastic waste.  This endless circle of cancer is destroying our nation, but we remain captivated by images of their greedy, smiling faces as they get the perfect view of our planet (how ironic).

There are a million more of these that I could do here, but you get the point.  What vexes me most is the way this spectacle has made these covetous ass holes prime time heroes.  The corporate media covers these launches with the same sense of importance as that of scientists who have just discovered the cure for cancer.  They were poised to interrupt regularly scheduled programming for these little rich boy escapades as if war has just broken out or even a presidential speech.  My point here is that we need more breaking news coverage of hunger ending, an illness being conquered, hatred eliminated, and endless wars ending.  What we need less coverage of is little rich boys and their toys racing into space.  As always this is just my opinion. 

The Grumpy Old Fart Citizen

Allow me to introduce myself: I am the Grumpy Old Fart Citizen.  The twin brother of the Grumpy Old Fart Customer (maybe you have read him before).  Unlike my twin brother, customer issues are not the only thing that gripes my ass.  I am constantly irritated by many things that go on in our world.  It seems like the list of aggravating events is growing faster now more than ever.  Rarely a day goes by that I do not find my blood racing north to my face.

Let me start off my first visit with you by sharing my most recent irritation.  I recently turned 62 years old (thank you for the belated birthday wishes!).  I have mixed feelings about this age class.  Yes, you are in a higher risk category for health issues.  However, I am still in fairly decent health and physical condition for my sexagenarian age (sounds erotic).  I have not had a major surgery yet and the only thing that plagues me at this point is arthritis.

But here is where the age situation gets indistinct.  I have the pleasure of knowing a few people who comfortably reside beyond the age of eighty.  Oh sure, they have some of the ailments that octogenarians often have.  But they are still active, going out to dinners, movies and doing their own shopping in person (prior to covid-19 of course).  They still do most of their own yard work and other house chores as well.  They continue to be active folks with an active lifestyle.  They have been extremely fortunate.

Now, here is where this whole situation gets muddled and frustrating.  The average life span of the average American is around 76.1 years.  But that stat does not take quality of life into consideration, just the average age of a person’s life.  There are many ailments that can make you life miserable by age 50.  For example: arthritis, which is a very painful and a chronic affliction that can reduce your quality of life.  I inherited rheumatoid arthritis from my mother, with the onset occurring at age 40.  The pain is severe, sometimes limiting motion or simply making it difficult just to do daily activities.   Depending on when you manifest this disease in your system (younger rather than older), by the age 60 the pain can be excruciating.

So, in the grand scheme of things where am I going with this?  Well, my inquisitive friends, it means that its tougher to haul my happy but arthritic ass out of bed without pain every day.  Even in a concerted effort to remain trim and fit, I feel my muscles doing less than they used to.  Throughout my life, I have refrained from weightlifting, instead opting for exercises like Hindu exercises or Navy Seal workouts using your own body weight.  These types of exercises worked better for me as I traveled extensively throughout my career and workout facilities were not always available.  But old Arthur (itis) is starting to make workouts a lot tougher and I am losing some flexibility.  Alas, I fight on.

However, I digress, when someone who is over 80, and has beaten the age odds calls me a young man, I want to throw my mentholated back patch at them.  Or perhaps call them at 2AM when I am awake and in agony.  Look, I am happy for those folks who beat the life span odds, but I hate when they treat me like I am a 25-year-old with enough testosterone to be a porn star.  Or they sound like your parents used to when they didn’t want to take out the trash and made you do it.  You’re still young!

All I am asking for is the respect that my age should afford me.   Maybe something like: “hey you are getting older but still have more piss and vinegar than I do”.  Or “yes you are reaching an advanced age, but your foot isn’t on the banana peel just yet”.  Perhaps I could be referred to as a newer member of the old fogey’s club.  But eighty-year-old folks telling me how young I am just reminds me that I probably have twenty more years of aches and pains.

It is a fact that some folks live to be a healthy 90 years or older.  They are a small percentage, however.  I personally would not want to live that long unless I am pain free—too late! They say you are only as old as you feel, well, somedays I feel kind of young and other days just plain-ass old!  I really love (being facetious here) those drug commercials that show people skipping through fields or frolicking on the beach. Yeah, well kiss my ass, I’m lucky if I can frolic out of bed in the morning.  Besides most of those drugs take years off of your life.

Perhaps there should be a club, say, the Fraternal Order of Fogeys.  You would be eligible for the club at say—60 (that age would work for me).  Among the benefits offered would be a mutual respect of the members and their oldness.  Maybe throw in one of those handicapped parking placards as well.  Certainly, an open bar or happy hour would be a nice touch as well. Anyway, I think it should be acknowledged when you have crossed over into the world of canes, meds and fashionable diapers.  Perhaps you get a gold star on your license plate to signify membership into the old club, which should entitle you to better parking at special events.

Here’s the bottom line, I think it only fair that you are not treated as a kid just because you are a few years younger than those who have beaten the age odds.  Let’s face it, I am now on the down escalator towards those golden years (what a stupid expression).  There is no going back, from here forward it is heating pads and antacid moments, with more than a couple of ibuprofen mixed in.  I just feel like there should be some form of recognition and equality in the aging process.  If my freaking back hurts on some days, I would like the 80 somethings to stop telling me how young I am.

Now, I know that there are medications can help with things like arthritis, thus making quality of life better.  But have you seen the life shortening side effects of some these corporate drugs?  To avoid pain, I can simply die younger (in a very convoluted way I guess it makes sense).  All that I am asking here is for a little respect that my age should afford me.  I feel that you should not have to wait until 80 to be accepted into the old age fraternity.  Just my opinion.  Look forward to chatting with you again.

The Grumpy Old Fart Citizen

It began slowly, at first just 4 at a time, then 8, then 16, and 24, then finally 96 of them all at once.  Experts are puzzled, no one has a solid explanation, these things are just disappearing into thin air.  The police say they are baffled and have no idea how to stop this spree.  The missing character of this unexplainable mystery–toilet paper.  The product that has all the social stigma of the purchase-of-last resort, one that we try to stack our boxes of processed chicken nuggets on in order to make it invisible from prying eyes, as if we don’t have that revolting bodily function.

Why toilet paper, are we heading for an unusually heavy poop season, or is it a sudden shortage of paper (especially the soft variety)?  With the recent outbreak of this unknown and possibly pandemic, maybe even lethal virus, millions of shoppers (maybe even billions) are racing to their local markets to purchase this precious wiping material.  Don’t they understand that toilet paper is really not the most sanitary way of dealing with this heinous-hiney dilemma?  There are better ways of coping with this, keep in mind that prior to the 1960s babies wore cloth diapers and were usually wiped with them.

But, because our civilization has convinced itself that toilet paper is their number one priority during a pandemic outbreak, we have entered into the age of rump-rage, which literally sees people making asses out themselves and fighting over the last available roll.  According to many media outlets, the public has severe anxiety about sanitary cleanliness.  So, we have this potentially lethal virus racing around our country with the news getting worse every day and it is the sanitary condition of your arse that bumps you?  It would make sense to me that various food supplies would disappear more rapidly than paper products, but literally in some instances the newly arrived shipments of TP vanish in minutes once placed on the shelves.

Maybe I have missed something here, can you pour milk on a roll of toilet paper, add some fresh strawberries, maybe a banana and voila’ you have a tasty and slightly fibrous delight.  I know what it is, you can wrap an entire roll around your face which would serve as a mask to protect you against the coronavirus.  This makes a certain amount of sense since medical masks are in short supply with no end of their scarcity in sight. Maybe you can roll out the sheets of TP and use then to seal the doors of your house when doing self-quarantine.  Or, my last guess here is that you can take the rolls and wrap yourself up in a protective cocoon, sealing away the dangers of any virus known or unknown.  An even bigger question is—how many times a day do people wipe their ass?

Recent weeks have seen a new twist on the toilet paper shortage—price gouging. In some cases (witnessed by me) the cost of a package of that tender tushy tissue has more than doubled in price. As this is happening some of the personal care corporations are touting record profits. Once again, we see American corporations sticking it to customers right where you use that most coveted of paper products. These greedy oligarchic raiders are right at home sticking it up the arses of customers and stealing their money, your only hope is that they leave behind some of that precious paper to clean up the mess.

I completely understand the concept of supply and demand, with more demand the price of the product goes up. However, I am dumbfounded by the percentage of increase in cost that is at play here regarding TP, a 20 or 30 percent increase might be expected but not 100%. We as customers are supposed to be protected by anti-gouging rules or laws, but I guess that pandemics are an exclusion situation that allows corporate pirates to plunder at will. This atrocious screwing of customers is not exclusive to TP, but also in the case of certain drugs such as hydroxychloroquine which has been suggested as a potential cure for the pandemic. This drug is currently being prescribed as a treatment for rheumatoid arthritis and once it was given consideration as a pandemic cure, pharmaceutical companies that manufacture the drug seized the opportunity to raise its price, in some cases over 100X. This has totally screwed patients already relying on the drug for comfort but more about that in a future blog.

Meanwhile back to the TP mystery, as I stated earlier there are other more sanitary ways of keeping our gluteus maximus meticulous. Once you realize that toilet paper is manufactured in plants that are usually less than sanitary, do you really want to wipe your back door with it? Why not use cloth material to polish your pucker, then simply wash them out just like the old style of diapers? Bidets have been used in Europe for many years now and simply incorporates water to squirt your smelly freckle and return it to showroom cleanliness. Toilet paper is supposedly environmentally friendly but somehow, I doubt it, given the amount of it that is flushed into our environment every day. Plus, all that constant rubbing of the old rump ring must surely be irritating to our least favorite orifice.

How ironic it seems that during this unsettling chapter in our lives many people feel that the Federal Reserve Bank is turning our money into toilet paper, especially since there has been a run on the real thing all across our nation. Many people in our country have learned little from history, there was a time during recessions and wars where Americans had to use pages out of store catalogs to wipe the old bunghole (to use another term).  We are facing some tough times and unless you can start eating some of this TP, we might want to reorganize our priorities.  Maybe we should look at some different ways of polishing our posterior.  As always, this is just my opinion.

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy old Fart Customer @ 2020 All Rights Reserved

Many of you are familiar with the concept of “mystery shopper”.  Consumer groups, marketing organizations, and most retail corporations hire people who are chosen to shop at a particular store then rate things such as products, store cleanliness, friendliness or customer service overall.  Over the last 50 years or so mystery shoppers have been composed of women (because they spend the most dollars) and let’s face facts here, back in the day housekeeper was believed to be the only job a woman should have.  Of course, most of that nonsense has changed (although not all of it), and men make up some of the mystery shoppers of today.  You can be compensated in cash or discounts or even free products for your valuable time as an unknown customer.

In the world’s biggest super discount, monopolistic store in my home area (the one that used to be dotted by smiling faces) they have developed a new program—the shopper mystery.  This spin on an old tradition includes changing the aisles of inventory every week in order to totally confuse the customer to the point where head-scratching and puzzled looks dot the shopping horizon.  According to the store managers, it is an effort to better understand the needs and habits of the shopper and provide a better experience.  I can help them with this dilemma, what the shopper truly needs is merchandise that can be found in the spot where it was a week ago and the habit is to get what you need and get the hell out.  “Hey, where is the peanut butter?”  “It’s located in the former men’s underwear section”.  That would have been my next guess.

I kid you not, every week this store has been completely reorganized, rearranged and recomposed.  In the case of this store, with each reshuffle, the store’s aesthetic quality diminishes as the shelves and displays began to resemble a military warehouse that is used to store out-of-date rations, guess that reflects our shopping needs and habits.  There have been a couple of times when I have had to double-check the name on the door to make sure that I am in the right place. You might recall in previous postings that ole Grumpy has a “get in and get out strategy” where any kind of shopping (excepting bookstores) is concerned.  So, adding extra time to my shopping day by virtue of playing hide and go seek with the shelves of products is something that makes me want to boil the company executives in their own artificial cooking oil.

It occurs to me that this effort to constantly increase sales and dare I say it—profits may be having the complete opposite effect when shoppers finally give up in disgust and do not buy the same amount of processed food products that they might normally.  For most folks (especially males) shopping requires a certain preparation of mood, for me it resembles the locker room of a football team who is in search of its first win in ten years.  Once you have finished psyching yourself up with blood-curdling screams and beating your head against the locker room soda machine you storm out like a first division marine unit looking to take the hill.

Then you arrive at that monstrous and monopolistic corporate discount store only to find that everything has been rearranged and the game changes to that of a mouse looking for cheese in a maze.  Wouldn’t it be just as easy to ask customers what they prefer instead of subjecting them to a retail Rorschach test?   All of this has become similar to something out of a 1960s sci-fi movie where the evil scientist is observing you through a two-way mirror after you are given a bag of widgets.  I can envision the people watching you on camera in their white lab coats, holding clipboards.  When did customers become lab rats anyway?

The object of shopping for most customers (especially when grocery shopping) is simply a matter of satisfying wants and needs with the purchase of products meant to satisfy those wants and needs.  Most of us do not go to the store with the intent of snipe hunting or participating in a scavenger adventure.  Imagine if auto dealers switched the location of each car on a daily basis just to throw their potential customer off base.  The art of customer service use to mean making the customer happy, now they do the complete opposite under the guise of a better experience.  Maybe they could make a new reality tv show where a celebrity family has to find the same product, at the same store, on a different week.  They could call it the real shoppers of Beverly Hills.

The truth here is that people are not spending as much money at stores and our capitalist-driven oligarchy has to find new ways of raking in more of that beloved cash.  Today our stores have become “supercenters” and “mega marts” where they cram as many products in them as space will allow and hope to be your one-stop-shop.  As the number of products increases their space decreases and none of these oligarchic wizards want to invest in new construction, so they cram inventory into place like pieces of a puzzle.  And then to assure themselves the layout works, they conduct research as if they hope to cure some wasting disease.  Marketing research has become a psychological construct for studying human behavior.  Remember when it was just shopping?

Even in the 1970s and 80s when the malls were the in thing, it was very entertaining to walk the gauntlet of unique stores that filled its walls.  At least the malls had some architectural style and personality.  Today, every type of product is crammed under one ginormous utility shed with all the charm of an airplane hangar.  For me, nothing will ever replace the old downtown stores where you felt like you were visiting old friends, and everything was always in the same place.  As always, it’s just my opinion.

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2020 All rights Reserved

I grew up in a lower middle class, Midwestern neighborhood outside of St. Louis, Missouri in the 1960s and ’70s, where imagination was the most valuable possession that one had.  Money for us was in short supply compared to kids who grew up in the upper-middle-class and above.  The use of sticks as swords was commonplace, the prized possession was the straightest stick.  You spent your days doing things of the imagination, adventure or just plain old naughty things that you shouldn’t do, pushing the envelope of getting caught.  However, there was one thing that always seemed to be on the agenda—backyard sports.  Baseball, football, basketball (when someone had a hoop in their driveway or yard) or even soccer once in a while.  This was the time for your imagination to run wild while pretending to be your favorite player or team.

During the early 1970’s pro football was making its move to become the most popular sport in America.  Many great stars were emerging and the corporate behemoths (never to miss a trick) began capitalizing on the images of star players and team logos.  The ultimate prize for youthful fans of the sport was a helmet of your favorite team.  At that time St. Louis had the football Cardinals (not to be confused with the baseball team), they were a team that had some memorable moments but never dominated.  But that didn’t matter they were still our team.

Every football team had a distinctive helmet that all young fans wanted a replica of, and as I mentioned earlier, dollar chasing corporations were happy to oblige.  So, the Cardinal helmet was the one found on the shelves in most of the St. Louis area toy and athletic stores.  The helmet was white in color with a sticker of a menacing cardinal on it (consider that image for a moment).  It was the pinnacle of every young backyard football players’ dream to have a helmet with the logo of their favorite team.

Once one kid got a helmet, every other kid wanted one.  This was certainly the case with the gang that I hung with.  One by one they all begged their parents with the pleading of someone who needed a kidney and by Christmas of 1968, most of them had received the prize.  My cousin whom I grew up with and am actually closer to than my own brothers had also gotten his white helmet with the red cardinal sticker symbolically glued on it as a Christmas present.  So that left me as the only non-cardinal-helmet owner and destined to be the backyard water boy.  Without that helmet I was faced with being on the sidelines because once all my gang got helmets, they thought they were battering rams, lowering their heads and charging.  Without your own helmet, you were defenseless and certainly crazy if you tried to play without one.

So, it was my turn to plead like a street beggar who had not had a piece of bread in days and secure my own Cardinal helmet.  After many attempts of pleading and commitments to a years’ worth of chores, my parents agreed to get me a Cardinal helmet for my birthday.  My birthday came after the holidays on January 29,1969 (remember these dates).  So, as I had blown out the candles on my birthday cake, I was ready to open the only wrapped box that I would receive that day.  As I began tearing off the paper with the same excited zest of someone awaiting the reading of an Academy Award envelope, my excitement turned to confusion.  As each inch of stripped away paper began to reveal its hidden content, I started seeing the color red (the color of the helmet, not my anger), then an arrowhead emblem became visible on the sides of the helmet (now it was anger).  As I completed the task of removing the paper, I was momentarily stunned— “It’s a Kansas City Chief helmet!”

How could this be?  I don’t live in Kansas City, I live in St. Louis damn it!  I am a football Cardinal fan, not a Chiefs fan.  Wait, maybe we can go back to the store, they packaged the wrong helmet!  Surely this was a mistake, my parents aren’t dumb, ok, maybe they didn’t finish high school, but they know the difference between a cardinal and an arrowhead, or red versus white.  For me it was foreshadowing of the never-ending shopping nightmares I would experience all the way through my adulthood.  It just seemed too simple of a request for it to have gone so wrong.

But the story only got worse, imagine showing up to the next backyard football game with a red helmet and not a white one.  Then to add insult to injury, the helmet had the logo of another team, not our beloved team but a team 400 miles west of where we lived.  Well, the teasing began, and it was unrelenting.  The insults ranged from “traitor”, “idiot” to “you’re not our friend”.  Now, while these kinds of cheap shots are not uncommon at that age, and it usually doesn’t take much to be on the receiving end of them, but these shots were painful.  I would be stuck with that helmet and the ugly stigma that went with it until high school.  Never-the-less, I was able to play football with the gang, but I swear that red helmet became a bullseye on my otherwise defenseless body.

Now before you file this story under the pity party heading, this unfortunate dilemma has a much different ending than you are expecting.  Again, the year was 1969 and the Kansas City Chiefs had a good season and went on to become champions in the AFL and made it to the 1970 Superbowl.  After the complete domination of the hapless and seemingly confused Minnesota Viking football team, the Kansas City Chiefs were Superbowl champions.  Suddenly, if by fate, I held the championship in my hands and with it the bragging rights of our backyard football league.  For that one moment, I was bigger than all the rest.

As it had turned out, my parents were in earnest in their attempt to buy a Cardinal helmet for me, but fate stepped in and changed my destiny as a football fan.  The store where my helmet had been purchased had run out Cardinal helmets and my mother was determined not to come home without a helmet.  So, she resorted to the only option left in stock—a Chief’s helmet.  The thought process here must have been that any helmet was better than no helmet.  Surely, I would be content with just having a helmet, it didn’t matter what team or color it was right?  Hell, it could have been pink—right?  At the time I didn’t see the logic to that philosophy. But with a little help from fate it all worked out in the end.

What makes this story so significant today is that the Kansas City Chiefs picked up some kid with a wild hairdo by the name of Mahomes.  This young man, who not only destroyed every rookie record known to football but on the 50^th anniversary of my helmet debacle also led the Chiefs to another championship.  Why is this so important to me today?  Because I have been a Kansas City Chiefs fan ever since that fateful day of opening a package with the wrong helmet in it.  And I will remain a Chiefs fan until my last day.

Sometimes fate has a strange way of changing our lives, and there is certainly a silver lining in every cloud that may stand in your way.  I no longer have that old helmet, it was lost somewhere along my life’s journey, however, after the most recent Chief’s Super Bowl win my daughter sent me a small replica helmet.  I would love to take it and visit my old back yard friends and show them that once again—I rule!

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2020 All Rights Reserves

When you have Italian blood coursing through your veins there is always the desire for some pasta or other il mangiare delights.  This is certainly the case with me, even though I am only 50% Italian blood, it is the dominant gene in my food cravings.  So, on frequent occasions, I trek off in search of the authentic Italian food stores where one can buy the ingredients to prepare a quality food experience.  I will buy the ingredients that will make me feel like an Italian chef, if for just one night.  And consume food that makes my palate and culinary soul come alive again.

75 miles north of the town where I live, is a fairly large city that has neighborhoods of ethnicity such as Irish, German, Korean and more.  And of course, there is an Italian neighborhood that has a number of restaurants and a few stores within its boundaries.  I make the trip up there at least twice a year.  The neighborhood of old Italian homes is virtually unchanged from the days some 120 years ago when they were constructed.  Fire hydrants bear the colors of the Italian flag and every yard manicured and every porch adorned with flowers and porcelain figures from the old Italian world.  The area is a throwback to older, simpler times when you could smell foods being prepared on every block.

There is a store in the neighborhood that dates back to the 1920s, which is still owned by original family members and has changed very little in its near 100 years of business.  The store crafts its own cheese, meats, and some varieties of pasta and carries almost exclusively Italian made products.  The walls and floors in the store are old and scuffed but mopped clean as if by an old Italian mother who is expecting company.  There is an air of old-world craftsmanship and a love for that craft that doesn’t exist in today’s modern, plastic, supermarkets and discount stores.  It just somehow feels like home.

On my agenda for this trip is the purchase of the stores’ handmade, dry spaghetti that comes in 5lb packages of 18” strands of heavenly delight wrapped in wax-based paper and tied with a bow.  It is the best pasta that I have ever tasted, and it cooks perfectly even without any gumming of the individual pieces.  When covered by a small amount of Italian tomato pasta sauce with meatballs it is truly heaven on a plate and love twirled on a fork.  This is my little slice of heaven and it is something I could eat every day of the week.

Upon arrival the store I sped off in search of the golden durum wheat, semolina delight, hoping to procure two of the 5lb packages to be stored in my pantry.  Once I found the spot on the shelves that normally housed the 18” wrapped packages, I was met with disappointment as the space was empty.  After a careful search of the entire shelve, I walked to the nearest store personnel to inquire about the availability of the spaghetti.  As his teeth clinched into an “oh I’m afraid I have bad news” position, the young man at the counter told me that the spaghetti would not be delivered into the store until later that afternoon.  However, I would be able to order it online and they would deliver it to me at my home.  He was a very polite and apologetic young man (may have been part of the family).

While the news was a little disappointing, I wasn’t going to be fixing the meal for another week and waiting a couple of extra days was not the end of the world.  So, I took the stores’ card that the young man gave me, and I continued my shopping adventure.  After securing all the other items that I had on my list it was time to proceed to the checkout lane and give them my hard-earned cash (or maybe credit or debit).  Before I reached the check out lane the young store clerk tapped me on the shoulder, handed me two of the 5lb, wrapped packages of spaghetti and told me to “enjoy”.  I had to ask the young clerk how he obtained the delicious prize so quickly.  He somewhat modestly responded, “I drove down to our kitchen facility and picked them up”.  Ok, at this point I am in shock, this young man took the time to travel a couple of blocks down, pick up my desired treat and quickly brought it back before I left the store.

To say the very least, I am not used to this kind of extra effort made on my behalf.  This young man, whether a family member of the store or not has an incredible flair for going the extra mile for his customers, a trait that is becoming hard to find maybe even obsolete.  I really don’t know what this store pays or what benefits they offer their folks, maybe it’s more than what the corporate rats who dominate our retail world pay but one thing is for sure, this is the kind of service that customers like. How refreshing it is to be treated like you are spending a million dollars when in fact it was only 10 bucks.

I know that our economy has become dependent on low-cost goods and services.  Because of stagnating wages, we have become reliant on major corporations to supply us with cheap garbage and unfriendly customer service.  We need a redo now more than ever and try to bring back a better experience for all.  POTUS has promised to “Make America Great Again”, maybe he could start with the shopping experience.  As always, this is just my opinion.  Mangia Bene Y’all!

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2020 All Rights Reserved

We are in a New Year, one that could bring us good tidings or one that could see us vaulted into another useless war and economic collapse.  This year could the year that prosperity finds its way to those who have little or it could be the year that the wealthy finally seal the deal of total exclusion.  None of us are really sure what the new year might bring to us personally or as a nation, but we do have the power to change some of our habits via New Year’s resolutions.  Resolutions typically are the promises we make to ourselves and sometimes those near us to change or improve how we live our lives.

In keeping within the spirit of this tradition ole Grumpy is going to make a resolution of his own.  This year I will include some positive blogs regarding quality customer service that still exists out there.  Don’t get your hopes up for a lot of these stories as they are getting hard to find.  This could become a quest, a mission to find some quality service out there that has not yet been destroyed by Corporate America.   Small family-run businesses have almost gone the way of the dinosaur and eventually may only be found in museums.  This leaves us with the warehouse-style, mega-corporate-conglomerate stores that have all the warmth of ginormous icebergs.

It is starting to feel like you have to go to a lemonade stand in a grassy front yard or bake sale in a rocky church parking lot to find sincere customer service and genuine appreciation for your hard-earned money.  There was a time long ago in America when the money you earned had more value than just it’s face value.  It earned you the respect of those who provided a valuable service or product in return for you trading in your hard-earned bucks.  Expressions like “your hard-earned dollar” and “getting your dollars’ worth” have become meaningless, idiomatic phrases in a history book somewhere.

So, in this New Year, I promise to share some stories of businesses who still value your patronage and your dollar.

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2019 All Rights Reserved

Another new year is staring us in the face, at midnight on New Year’s Eve, a fresh set of 12 months will be ahead of us. For many it is a clean slate, the chance to start anew, to make changes in your life for the better.  At midnight on every New Year’s Eve, we proclaim to follow a set of promises we call resolutions that we dedicate ourselves to fulfilling.  Of course, by February 5th the list of 10 resolutions becomes 8, by April the list has dwindled down to just 5, so on and so forth.  Then once again on December 31^st, we will make a fresh new list of resolutions that will be lucky if they last beyond February of the upcoming year.

I have always been curious as to whether or not the corporations that market consumer products to customers make resolutions for an upcoming year.  As a former business writer, I have been connected to or worked with a few corporations but none that actually marketed consumer products but instead made products that were used in industrial applications.  Those corporations made resolutions but mostly ones that were influenced by commercial customer needs after extensive research was completed.  But what about those corporations who sell consumable or durable goods to the everyday customer?

So, in my own idiosyncratic fashion, I have compiled a list of resolutions for the corporate retail world to strive for in the upcoming year.  I have also listed the likelihood of those resolutions being kept.

Resolution-Corporations will start packaging high-quality fresh foods for every day, every income customer.

Reality-We stand a better chance of having quality candidates for President suddenly, magically appear.

Resolution-Stores will not raise the prices on their packaged poisons and other food like product offerings

Reality-I have a better chance(nil) of getting an expensive sports car for my birthday after being promised such a gift.

Resolution-Corporations will return customer service to the level it once was when small, family-run stores were on main street.

Reality-You have a better chance of your mother-in-law liking, loving and respecting you.

Resolution-Oligarchic corporations will stop offering several products which in turn would enable small stores to be opened again and offering better service and quality.

Reality-need I say it, your chances of winning the lottery are better.

Resolution-large corporations will start being more concerned about the welfare and safety of their customers.

Reality-Sure, right after they put a piece of shit airplane that has already killed 346 people back in the skies.

So, as you can see, the lack of follow-through on New Year’s resolutions is easy for all of us to accomplish.  It is easy to promise to do something, then never actually do it but we all feel better having promised to do them.  This is what the corporate oligarchs who rule our world do, they promise better service, products, prices, and quality.  Unfortunately, the day after the promises are made, they are quickly forgotten or simply ignored.  As Always, this just my opinion. Happy New Year my friends!

Talk to Ya Later!

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2020 All Rights Reserved

The once-thriving North Pole has finally been reduced to empty buildings that used to house a robust toy and gift making industry.  The trend, started by monopolistic, ginormous retailers who sell cheaply built products produced in countries that have low wages and no benefits have eliminated elf positions at the North Pole. This trend started over 25 years ago and has not let up, leaving many elves jobless and on the welfare dole.  The workshops that used to be thriving with gift building are now rotting hulks that dot the landscape like unsightly litter.  Elves are finding it hard to get new, good-paying jobs as the cost of adult retraining and education are out of their reach.  Many find their health failing as they no longer have insurance and medical expenses are soaring.

Now, you can add one more victim to this global economic employment malaise–Santa Claus.  The jolly old elf has been replaced by drones that crowd the air space with package deliveries to almost every doorstep.  So, the days of the chimney and fireplace being the hub of Christmas gift delivery has now been replaced by the vestibule and front porch as the new delivery place of the remote-controlled Santa and reindeer.  It was just last year that we saw a commercial showing how Rudolph and the rest of the reindeer had been replaced by automation in the form of expensive luxury and sports automobiles.  Santa, who at that time seemed to be relishing his new sleigh team and ride but now finds himself out on his jolly, fat ass as automation finally got him.  The reindeer most feel somehow vindicated.

Now that Santa has Christmas Eve off, for that matter the rest of the year as well, what will he do with himself?  Will he be relegated to ringing a bell out in front of the corporate stores that destroyed his career?  Since the malls are disappearing, he will not be able to find work letting small children sit on his lap.  And where will all the letters to Santa go—to the Christmas drone factory?  I can see the letters now: “Oh please Christmas drone, this year I would like a new bowling ball”—p.s. if it is too heavy for you to carry, could you just put it on one of those brown trucks please?”.  It seems that Santa is hanging up his bag and sleigh bells for good.

It is probable that Santa will have to do what millions of other people who have lost their jobs will do, work three part-time jobs to make ends meet.  And since his retirement plan was wiped out in 2008, he will be working until he is 1772 years old (just like other unemployed workers).  I guess you will see him at your favorite fast-food restaurant, handing your order out the drive-thru window.  Or maybe he will be the greeter giving you your shopping cart at a large, oligarchic, corporate store.  Or maybe and perish the thought here—cleaning bathrooms or reindeer stalls.  There is always the gig-economy thing, he and the Ms. have a lot of crafting skills and could go on that show with the wealthy ass-wipe business bozos who might invest in their idea.

In all seriousness here is the fact; technology and AI are becoming a serious threat to the income-earning ability of millions and creating permanent job loss.  But what is equally sad here is that the holidays have finally been completely destroyed by our corporate masters and their technology-driven greed.  Nothing is left to the imagination anymore and we no longer find any relief in the comfort once offered by the break in the monotony that the holidays used to bring us.  This commercialized, mechanized trend afflicting the holidays started when I was a kid and has just about reached its conclusion.  What it has left us with is a mechanized world with no imagination or magic to draw our attention away from world strife and customer grief.  As always, this is just my opinion.  Merry Christmas!

Talk to Ya Later

The Grumpy Old Fart Customer @2019 All rights Reserved