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15 Minutes of Lame

Updated: Jul 30, 2023

This morning I have only 15 minutes before I need to hit the road. It’s another busy Monday, so I’m just going to brain dump a few things that I experienced or considered (in no particular order and with little or no relation to one another) over the past 24 hours.


“Your reservation is guaranteed, or we will give you $50.” That statement came up in a service Joanie was ordering on Sunday. To me, it didn’t sound like a guarantee at all. Sounded like anything but. I mean, a guarantee would be, “Your reservation has been made. We look forward to seeing you” with no mention of, “Yeah … well … just in case we screw up or double book your thing, or something else happens … which we don’t think it will … how’s about 50 bucks to shut you up and make you forget this ever happened? Oh, but rest assured, your reservation is GUARANTEED (unless, of course …).”


I was working on a crossword puzzle last night and the TV was on in the background. (If you ask Joanie, she was watching TV and I was in the background … no matter.) Just as I started writing the answer G-A-G-A to the clue “Agog,” Lady Gaga appeared on TV. There’s something to that but I don’t know what it is.


Last night as I was folding laundry, I thought to myself, “Is there a single, correct way to fold a bath towel? And if so, do I care?” I decided there isn’t, and I don’t. Same can be said sheets, blankets and most items of clothing (the kind I wear, anyway). I’m sure you – along with high-end resorts, hotel chains and people who work in the clothing or laundry industries -- might have other opinions.


I think I want to get one of those nifty Espresso makers. They look fun, and I think if I had one, it would require just enough work on my part to reduce my massive daily consumption of coffee.


I hit my head on the trunk lid of the car. It’s about the 3,000th time I’ve done it. I have nothing else to report about the incident at this time.


“This thing keeps telling me I need to put my item in the bag before scanning next item.” The guy must have said this three times to the store employee as he stood at the self-checkout, who calmly took the item from the guy and put it in the bag, which stopped both the automated “voice” from yelling at the guy and also made the guy realize all he had to do was listen and do what he was told, whether by a human or a machine. (By the way, I wasn’t that guy in the story, but I have been “that guy” many more times than I’d like to admit.)


Sunday, I bought a bad watermelon, and let me tell you, in the pantheon of first-world problems, that’s near the top of the list for me. If you like watermelon, you know there are few things better on a summer day. But you also probably know that no matter how much you heft, thump, smell and study a watermelon, until you cut into it, you really don’t know what you’re getting.

And Sunday, we got a dud, and not a “this one is so ripe we need to eat it today” dud, but a “Wow, this thing looks, smells and tastes bad” dud. And if you’re wondering, I did taste it even after knowing it was bad because I wanted watermelon so badly that I thought I could will it to be good. (Also, tasting stuff that I or others think has gone bad is a thing I do. I hate wasting food, so I take a strict “trust but verify” position whenever the age or spoilage status of things like sauces and salsas, fruits and vegetable or even beverages are in question.

Now I wish the watermelon would have had the disclaimer, “Your product is guaranteed, or we’ll give you $50.” Although I’m not sure how I would have returned it anyway.


OK, that’s 15 minutes. I gotta go. Have a wonderful day, void of injury and full of beautifully ripe fruit, playful serendipity and tasty beverages.

© 2023 David R. Haznaw

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