FUN IN MOTORCYCLE RETAIL.

Working at a motorcycle dealership as an accessories specialist is, for the most part, a great deal of fun. I am surrounded by all the new toys that continue to fuel my passion for riding and by people who share that passion.

However, there is always that one person who can ruin what was to be a lovely day.

Him: I require a helmet, size "Large", of a very specific type.

Me: Of course. What are the specifications?

Him: The finish must be black. But not any old black. It must be blacker than Donald Trump's soul.

The shell must be composed of materials stolen from the fuselage of the alien spacecraft being held at Area 51 and the blood of 3 sacrificial albino goats.

The interior impact foam must be 23rd century technology brought back here by a 3 breasted time travelling exotic dancer working her way through college.

The interior padding must be woven from the mane of a unicorn and infused with the essence of kittens and bunnies.

The visor must contain a heads up display, rear view capabilities, and x-ray vision.

Finally, it must cost less than $32.67 tax in.

Me: Well, sir, I have great news for you. We have one in stock. It is the last one available in the entire universe AND the three adjoining alternate realities. There will never be another one made as the company who created it was consumed in a star that went nova; the time travelling 3 breasted exotic dancer has gone missing after a tragic pole dancing/quantum singularity/wormhole incident; Satan now owns Trump's soul; the ASPCA has a court order banning essence gathering.

On the plus side, because you are the 1st customer to specifically request this helmet we are going to give you this helmet absolutely free as well as give you a $100.00 gift certificate good for anything, anywhere, any store, any time.

Him: (Staring vacuously at his phone)
                    I'll think about it.
         (Wanders out the door never to be seen again)
         
 

 

"DID YOU FIND EVERYTHING YOU NEED?"

As I was standing at the check-out in my local grocery store the cashier asked, as they all seem to do, "Did you find everything you need?" My first reaction was to wonder what would happen if I said no? What if I then said, "I wandered up and down aisle 7 for 10 minutes and could not find an extra large jar of self esteem anywhere." What would she do then? Upon a closer look at her I think to myself, "Well, she's about 12 years old and not paying attention anyway." So, I respond with my usual quippy "Yup.", pay for my stuff, and head out to my car.

As I'm driving home the phrase pops up in my mind again. Do I have everything I need? It's December 31, another year has gone by, perhaps time for a little self reflection. I don't do resolutions but I can do a little thinking.

Am I financially wealthy? Nope, not by a long shot. But I do have a job I like, I have a roof over my head, a trunk full of groceries, and a tank full of gas. Retirement will probably involve keeling over dead at my desk or living out my days in one of my sons spare rooms, but I'm okay with that...sorry boys.

Am I healthy? Yes, thank goodness. I'm certainly not as fast or strong as I was 30 years ago. There are bendy parts that are starting to make weird noises as they go about doing bendy things, stretchy parts that are not stretching quite as far as they used to, and aches and pains that seem to pop up out of nowhere for no darned good reason. But, overall, still trucking along.

Am I lonely? Hell no! I have my lovely wife, two fine boys with their lovely wives, my parents, nieces, nephews, grand nieces, grand nephews, in-laws, out-laws, and a passel of good friends. As a matter of fact, I could do with a little alone time.

At this point, I pull up to the house with a bit of a grin on my face. I haul the groceries into the kitchen and proceed to start putting them away. The lovely Explorer pops in, surveys the pile of food, and proceeds to help. I stand in the middle of the kitchen, spread my arms wide and proudly proclaim "Sweetie-Pie, I have everything I need!"

She smiles up at me and says "Where's the milk?"

Shit.

THE C.F.L. AND ME.

With only days to go before my oldest son's wedding, I am doing what any good father of the groom would do...thinking about football. As the groom's father I have the least amount of responsibility of any member of the wedding party. Somebody tells me where to be, when to be there, what to wear, and what to pay for...job done. This leaves me with time on my hands and thus thoughts of football.

It started with an innocent question from the Lovely Explorer last week. I was sitting in the living room watching a football game played by two East Division teams when she walked in and, after watching for a few minutes, asked "Who are we cheering for?" Good question. Who indeed? These are two teams that, at this point in the season, I don't really care who wins as it has no effect on the standings  of "MY" team. I'm watching because...well...it's football.

This did, however, get me to thinking. Can I create a list of who to cheer for, regardless of who is playing? Of course I can. The CFL only has 9 teams in total; 5 in the West Division and 4 in the East division. I got this.

Calgary vs Anybody. As Calgary is my town and the Calgary Stampeders is my team, this one is obvious...always Calgary.

West vs East. Playoff positioning aside, always cheering for the west. I live in the west and the east is full of Liberals, Treehuggers, Latte Drinkers, and other ne'er do wells. If the outcome affects Calgary in the playoff standings then cheer for whoever helps Calgary's position.

East vs East. Never Toronto, regardless of who they play. Think they're the centre of the universe but with a population in the GTA pushing 6 million they cant fill a 30,000 seat stadium? Screw them. Montreal in only one situation...playing Toronto, otherwise, nope. Horrible reason for this...ugly uniforms. Oh, and Montreal is a French Canadian city and I am obliged by my western heritage to be offended by this. Ottawa and Hamilton? This depends on my mood but Hamilton usually gets the nod...plucky underdogs...gotta like that.

West vs West. This one gets a little difficult as any outcome can affect where Calgary ends up in the West Division standings. If the outcome is important to Calgary then cheer for the team that helps Calgary in the standings. Otherwise, Winnipeg, no matter who they play. Next is B.C., unless they are playing Winnipeg. That leaves Saskatchewan vs Edmonton. Assuming there is no other game to watch or there is no "Friends" marathon on or every other channel available has stopped broadcasting, then cheer for...nope, can't do it...go read a book.

There. Hope that helps.

THOUGHTS ON SNOW

March, here in Calgary, is generally one of the heaviest snowfall months of the year. In a 40 hour stretch, at the beginning of the month, we received more snow in one shot than an average March in total. So, some thoughts.

            A haiku:
Snow, snow, snow, more snow.
Shovel, shovel, clutch at chest.
Heart stops, peace at last.

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A life timeline of  snow shoveling:
1) Watch your dad outside shoveling while you sit inside sipping hot chocolate.
2) Help your dad shovel snow while actually being in the way and doubling his work.
3) Take over shovelling duties with constant whining and complaining and turning a 45 minute job into a 3 hour ordeal.
4) Buy a house with full knowledge that you will not be spared constant shovelling.
5) Watch your young kid watch you shovelling snow as he sips hot chocolate.
6) Let your kid "help" with shovelling while clandestinely cleaning up his job thus doubling your work.
7) Listen to your kid whine and complain about forcing him to shovel snow and then watching him turn a 45 minute job into a 3 hour ordeal.
8) Back to shovelling your own snow but what used to be just a 45 minute job is now a 3 hour ordeal.
9) Move to a condo and watch someone else shovel your snow for money.
10) Die, and with any luck, end up in hell where it is nice and warm.

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Snow shoveling in your 50's is a lot like dressing a toddler for a day of tobogganing. Put on the long undies, heavy socks, snow pants, parka, toque, boots, gloves. Step outside. The cold hits and...I have to pee.

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Back when the lovely Explorer and I first started out together snow shovelling was just a thing I went out to do; no big deal. As I got older the Explorer started showing more concern about my well being, making sure I was properly dressed and minding the cold. Older still and she started telling me to make sure not only to  dress properly, but to protect my back and take breaks so I didn't keel over dead.

Just recently she mentioned how some guy had kind of hit on her and she felt pretty good about herself. During my sojourn outside to shovel the walks yet again, not a single word said about my well being. Made me wonder if she is thinking "Meh, if the old fart bites the big one, I still got options."

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Coming up next a blog about...oh look...it's snowing again.

THE BATHROOM CONUNDRUM

Ever since I was a young lad my Mother pounded into my and my brother's heads "Lift the seat before you pee!" I'm sure almost every guy who grew up in a North American home with this style of toilet heard the same refrain over and over again. Not sure about the rest of the world because, frankly, I'm to lazy to do the research, but in our house "Raise the Seat" was the rule.

I always thought the reason for this was because Mom (who cleaned the bathrooms) had absolutely no confidence in my, or my brother's, ability to aim; so the larger the target the better chance of hitting said target and avoiding excess...um...splashage that required cleaning. This became more important, apparently, as we boys grew older and taller thus making the target farther away. I was a bit older yet when I found out Mom also was made unhappy when she took a seat after one of her rebel, rule breaking sons neglected to "lift" and left her a wet surprise. Yup, unhappy, that describes it.

Skip forward a few years and I am living on my own and cleaning my own bathroom. Mom was right...again. Lifting the seat became my rule as well...except late at night. If I had to get up in the middle of the night I didn't turn on any lights (too bright). I would just stagger into the bathroom in the dark, check that the seat was down, and have a seat. No muss, no fuss, no wondering the next day how pee got way over there.

Then I married the "Lovely Explorer" and the rule changed. Now, not only do I have to raise the seat to pee but have to put it back down when I'm done. What the hell? Apparently, check before you sit, is not something she learned. Not sure why not, she grew up with brothers. Regardless, I have been chastised severely on many an occasion when she has sat without checking and plunged her delicate tushy into the ice cold water in the bowl. Piece of advice to young guys reading this: If this happens to your significant other DO NOT LAUGH! Bad things will result, trust me.

I'm sure there are many a fellow wondering why it has to be our job to put the seat down and not her job to check. It's her butt after all. It's not like the seat defies the laws of physics and weighs 700 pounds for women but next to nothing for men. I wish I had the answer but all I have ever figured out is life doesn't work that way. The raising and lowering of the toilet seat will forever be the job of men so pick another battle, this one is lost.

CONVERSATIONS WITH...

Conversations with:

MYSELF
Yup. I talk to myself. Not long conversations, mind you, just short little snippets that just kind of pop out of my mouth instead of staying in my head where they belong.
Walking from one room into another - "And I am here why?"
Seeing myself in the mirror before hopping in the shower - "Jesus. I gotta start doing some push ups."
And then those comments I blurt more often than I care for:
"Where the hell are my keys?"
"Where the hell is my phone?"
"Where the hell is my book?"
"Where the hell is my watch?"
And worst of all..."Where the hell are my glasses so I can find out where the hell my keys and phone and book and watch are?"

MY MOTORCYCLE
To be truthful here, I don't actually talk to my bike, it's more like yelling at it during the course of something scary I have gotten myself into. Things like:
"Lean! Lean more! MORE, you fat bastard or we're gonna die!"
Then there's...
"Jesus...STOP!"
This next one is really frightening...
"That noise is new...why are you making that noise?"
And, lastly, the most common for me...
"Oh shit...don't do that/go there!"
On the bright side I am still alive.

MY CUSTOMER
For some reason I hate when a customer starts with this...
Him: I have a question...
Me: Shoot.
Him: I have a 2007 Yamaha R6...
Me: No, no, I did not mean "shoot " as in go ahead, I meant "shoot" as in "Well, shoot, I know already I don't really want to talk to you; it's probably going to be long and painful and fruitless."
Him: What?
Me: Never mind...go ahead...how can I help you today?
And...long, painful, and fruitless.

MY DOG
Let's face it, if you have a dog you talk to it like it is a human being; a stupid human but still we talk and hope for the best.
Me: "Who's a good girl?"
Sadie: "Woof" Lick, lick, lick.
Me: "Are you a good girl?"
Sadie: "Woof" Lick, lick, lick.
Me: " I'm off to work so get the dishes done and vacuum the living room."
Sadie: "Piss off, you made the mess you clean it up...I mean, Woof." Lick, lick, lick.

MY WIFE
For the first 20 years of marriage most conversations with my lovely Explorer ended with me saying "Yes dear." But in the last 10 years I have gotten braver...more outspoken...thus "Your fault, my love, you left me unsupervised." Oddly enough, she has not tried to smother me in my sleep.

THE UNIVERSE AND ITS MYSTERIOUS WAYS

I am, for the most part, a believer that the universe does not give a rats ass, one way or another, about me in particular. Regardless of the number of lemons tossed my way in the last few years I do not hold the "Universe" responsible...and I like lemonade anyway. Good things, bad things, neutral things; it's just stuff that happens to everybody all the time. The idea that some force in the universe has singled me out for some reason just does not make sense to me.

However, (there's always a "however" ain't there?) an interesting series of events did occur this past weekend that did give me a moment of..."Hmmmm, I wonder"...

The lovely Explorer is celebrating a milestone birthday this month so we decided to throw a party to commemorate on Saturday the 10th. My parents are also celebrating a milestone wedding anniversary this month and decided to to have formal(ish) pictures taken with all the kids, grand kids, spouses and partners as well as a dinner after; all to be done on Sunday the 11th. All good so far...except...

Our favourite second born son, who lives out of town, was able to make it down with his fiance to the Explorers birthday party on Saturday but had to leave Sunday morning to drive back home for work on Monday. Needless to say he would miss out on the family photos with his grandparents. We all understood, but sad nonetheless.

Then it happened.

At some point during Saturday evenings festivities the favourite second born's vehicle license plate disappeared. Was it stolen? Did it fall off during the day and just now noticed? Did wild, drug addled biker squirrels steal it for the thrills? We shall never know. What we know for sure is you do not want to make a 7 hour road trip on major, very busy, highways without a plate. The police...they do frown.

So, plan "B". A quick Internet search showed a nearby registry would be open Sunday; so a plan was hatched to swing by the local cop-shop to report the missing plate, get a case number, pop over to the registry to get a new plate then off they go, homeward bound. Well...nope.

As luck would have it, come Sunday, every registry in Alberta was closed, this one day, for system wide updates. The kid was stuck in town until Monday. Grandma and Grandpa were thrilled that the whole family would be together for pictures but now the kid is worried about work on Monday. He did not want to make that call.

But call he did. The boss said to him this could not have happened at a better time. As busy as work was it had just finished dumping a crap load of rain and all the job sites they needed to be at were complete mud bogs and he was going to spend Monday napping instead.

Families were gathered, pictures were great, and dinner was delicious. Was the universe actually throwing me a bone? Did it actually play a part in all this coming together so well? Or, did I just see my Mom, with a mischievous grin, slide what looks like a license plate a little deeper in her purse?