I work for a large aerospace company. To preserve anonymity, I’ll just refer to it as The Boring Company, or Boring for short. Last week I got some training approved, the first time in 7 years. Corporate policy requires that all travel expenses be put on a corporate credit card. This card is in the employee’s name, and they are responsible for it. They are required to use it for company expenses, and are forbidden from using it for personal reasons. This shifts the financial responsibility to the employee. Now I’ll be the first to admit that for training you asked for, it’s a small price to pay. But that also includes any travel your boss forces on you.
     As a side note, my previous employer had an awesome travel policy. First, they took care of airfare (fully refundable tickets you could change at any time), car rental, and lodging. For other expenses, you got a per diem. Sometimes people at Boring use the term per diem to mean a maximum daily amount you can spend on meals; you don’t need receipts, but people who have spent the max have gotten yelled at for “acting like they’re on vacation.” * That ain’t no per diem. A true per diem is a daily amount you receive before your trip, in the form of a giant envelope full of cash. If you don’t spend it, you keep it! For a 10-day trip to Alaska in 1997, I was given $400. I had heard of guys using that to buy PB&J and a loaf of Wonder Bread, and pocketing the remaining $390. Seems kinda cheap to me, but a nice option if you’re a friggin’ hermit.
     Anyway, I signed up for the training class using the credit card, and right before class they told me the card was denied. Now, the training company was trying to save money by running credit cards themselves, instead of paying a fee to have automatic authorization by the company that ran the registration website. Since they waited so long to run the card, they let me take the training and work out payment later.
     I call up the credit card company (GE), and the automated message tells me the card is active, and I have a zero balance and a high limit. Ok, I must’ve typed in the info wrong. Nope, still doesn’t work. After 20 minutes going through phone menus and holding, a customer service rep asks, “Did you know that Boring changed their credit card provider a year ago? The account is suspended.” Then why didn’t their automated message tell me that??? They seem to be acting like a jilted lover, not wanting to throw away the love letters and photos, on the off chance their ex comes to his senses and take them back. They haven’t told their parents yet, I guess.
     Since my card wasn’t active during the switch, (remember, my employer does not like to keep me well trained), I never got a new one. So I’m still waiting for a new card, and the training company is still waiting for their money. I guess I should count my blessings: my friend had to charge something on his personal card, and Boring took 10 months to reimburse him.

* That may be just my group; I’ve talked with guys in other groups who ate filet mignon at Chart House every night on travel. If you’ve never been, I highly recommend it.

I wish I could say that I am stunned that I haven?t heard anyone else calling the latest attack on muslims, specifically Arab muslims what it really is, racism. I am not talking about your standard run of the mill racial slurs, but rather the entire country getting their panties in a bunch about the possibility of a company based in the United Arab Emirates running some of our ports. Sure, this seems a little bit odd to me (is Halliburton too busy to take this contract?), but the blanket statements being made about ALL arabic muslims not being trustable are really quite stunning to me. I didn?t know we were allowed to distrust entire groups of people these days, but I guess I am not as progressive as I thought.

I doubt I will get away with making similar comments about all those Jews in Israel, or all those japs in Japan, and I still hold a grudge over what they did to pearl harbor (not the bombing, but the craphole they have turned Waikiki into). Seems like a holocaust or being nuked puts you off limits for some time period, I just can?t seem to find a copy of that memo. I think we are not even allowed to make fun of Germans anymore about that little mess they made of the first half of the 20th century. Our current allies though in the UAE are fair game. If the rest of us in the grand USA got blamed for every stupid move some jackass American makes overseas, it would probably piss us off?.. wait, that is kinda how it works, but I thought we were special.

Don?t get me wrong, I don?t really like muslims. Yep, I came out and said it, mostly to part of the ?in crowd?. The reality though is that I don?t like most people. I have yet to meet any group of people, be it an ethnic group, religious group, or even a bunch of idiots who happen to all live in the same country who really impressed me all that much (with the exception of exotic dancers, cuz someone has to stand up for them). I guess I am saying that I don?t really like humans as a whole, but until recently, I thought that it was not ok to pick on anyone for being a member of a specific group. I guess I was wrong. arab muslims are fair game. I am not calling for another crusade just yet, but I will say that I don?t trust them and that they should not be allowed freedom or business opportunities in our country. They should not be allowed to fly airliners in our skies or captain ships coming into our territorial waters. They should not be allowed to drive cars in school zones, cuz you never know when they may just decide to run little Timmy over as he is walking home, as part of some jihad (or maybe the little bastard was wearing a shirt with that stupid mohammad cartoon on it).

Most importantly though, muslims should not be allowed to provide security in our ports. I guess while I am at it, we should also make sure that there are no hispanics working to secure our borders, africans to be in our police forces, or red-headed firemen (come on, you know you were thinking it). Really, this should just be part of a bigger policy to not allow ANYONE to provide security of any sort in America unless they are white guys with no clear ethnic lineage (like I want to give a german a machine gun)!

Seriously though, next time some jackass makes a statement about how we can?t trust any arabic muslims, just replace those words with your favorite group and their stereotype crime against the world. See how it sounds when some idiot on the news says ?it is just stupid to trust the scandinavians to run those cruise ships after what the Vikings did to Europe?!

And yes, I know that most of those ethnic and national groupings are supposed to be capitalized, but how can I learn to hate someone if I use proper grammar in my rants about them? Kind of shows respect that I want to avoid for fear of being a sympathizer.

Anyone? I don?t know about you but I haven?t and I’m getting worried. I?ve been getting these in the mail for years now. I mean I applaud their efforts. I do. It doesn?t do any wonders for lifting the spirits, however. Open the mailbox.

?Great more bills. Oh, and people are missing. Just wonderful. I can’t afford another credit card bill and a child has been kidnapped. Hooray.

I feel helpless. Does anyone carry this thing around in their pocket, making a conscious effort to find them?

?I know it says they went missing in Colorado but my gut tells me they?ve gone south west to a warmer climate. They?re probably on foot.?

Perhaps I?m getting these flyers as a sign that I should be doing more to help. I can make a difference. We all can. I think we should distribute these to all the homes! Not just mine. Tell the world. And we?ll all carry these around, notice in hand, comparing them to women at bus stops and children in candy stores. You know, really commit to the case.

Wouldn?t it be fun to shake down one of the guys down at the docks? Slip him a twenty for some info or maybe just rough him up a little till he spills the beans. Those dock workers always have the inside scoop.

That sounds dangerous though. Maybe we should just use some of our tax money to form a department that essentially polices the areas we live in. Then we could notify that department of all missing persons. Just a thought.

I?m all for doing my part for finding missing children. I just feel that I can only cover so much ground on my own. We need more people dedicated to the cause.

Perhaps the recruitment problem lies in the coupon on the back.

Unless you?re ordering prescription drugs from the Canadian Pharmacy chances are this one?s not a ?keeper?. And if you are ordering prescription drugs, you?re probably old and less likely to be alert and on the lookout for runaways and missing children. If you’re getting those drugs from the Canadian pharmacy, you’re also probably less patriotic and don’t care about the problems in America. That?s just science.

Like I said, I do care and that’s why I don’t want to hear about it. They might as well hand me a piece of paper that says ?RECYCLE THIS?. Whatever happened to the side of a milk carton? I guess depressing people doesn?t do a body good.

?Mommy, why is that kid missing??
?Cause he didn?t finish his cereal. Now shut up and eat.?

As he tapped his fingers on his desk, Future-Man struggled to figure out how to convince his latest nemisis “50’s-Guy”, that the next millenium has much more to offer than the previous one. He wanted to bring them something. Show them something amazing. His eyes unintentionally focused onto his cell-phone, and there he found his answer…

Trip log 279 – Mail/Womens-rights – 10/7/1952

KRRZZOO!
Walking into the 1950’s, Future-Man rubbed his temples before reaching for his cell phone.
It was not there. At least not in the same way it was before. From his pocket, Future-Man pulled a bundle of parts that resembled a cell-phone, but in reality was just a mess of junk.
“Damn. It wouldn’t let me take it. But why is my watch not destroyed?”
Staring at his analog watch, Future-Man came to realize that the portal doesn’t allow artifacts of newer technology to cross into older time fields. Either the portal, or the laws of time itself, prevent it. The only exception being his return-beacon which looks surpisingly plain anyway.
“My cell-phone better find itself in working order when I return!” Future-Man grunted, although he wasn’t really sure where to direct the threat. He could only hope that the process would reverse itself.
The phone cost him 250 dollars, after all.

Future-Man was standing next to a fence near 50’s-Guy’s house. From around the corner, he could hear a conversation. Happily, he decided to introduce himself.
That didn’t happen.
As he turned the corner, Future-Man saw a greater challange than he had expected.
It was 50s-Gal.
The first time Future-Man was introduced to 50s-Guy’s wife, he found himself sorely outmatched in wit. He drew in a deep breath and tried to cover up his shock at the mere sight of this woman. It takes a few days to recharge the portal, so any thoughts of cancelling the trip were quickly erased, and besides, Future-Man felt he was better prepared this time. He knew not to underestimate this woman, and with that, he started toward her.

50’s-Gal was talking to her mailman when Future-Man approached. The mailman offered a quick smile and a nod before continuing on his route, carrying a sack labeled U.S. POSTAL on his back.
50’s-Gal turned to face Future-Man. “How ya doin’? Back already? I heard you were just here a few days ago.”
“Yeah, I was here when your husband was working on his car. Is he around”? Future-Man asked, hoping for an escape.
“You came a bit early. He’ll be home from work in about an hour.”
Future-Man knew he didn’t have time to wait. This was it. He had to think of something. He thought of the mailman as he continued delivering mail down the street.
“So the mail is delivered by hand in your time?” said Future-Man.
“Well, sometimes a truck will come around, but mostly the mail is delivered by a man with a cart or a bag. They are always on time and friendly about it too.” 50’s-Gal explained, growing curious about the future’s mail system. “Let me guess.” she continued “The mail of the future is delivered instantly right onto your breakfast table every morning, right?”
HA! Future-Man laughed to himself, but tried hard not to look smug.
“As a matter of fact, we have something called E-mail. Letters that are transmitted instantly to a monitor. It’s like a TV, but for getting your mail.”
“That sounds nice, but what about bills, Birthday cards, and packages?”
Future-Man knew what she was getting at. She did this to him the last time they talked. She would pick apart his information in search of flaws.
Not this time, he swore.
“Some bills can be paid using that same tv device, but for actual packages, cards and solid stuff, we still have the same mail service you do. With many alternatives too! UPS, DHL, Federal Express,… there are many other companies who can do the job, just as well.”
Future-Man stared hard at 50’s-Gal wondering if she was even listening.
Shuffling through her mail, she finally looked up and said “There’s talk that one day the cost of sending a letter may reach a nickel. Does this ever happen?”
Future-Man wanted to laugh, but for fear of giving too much away, he held back. “The cost of sending a standard letter costs quite a few nickels, actually. The price is raised a little at at time, so we hardly notice.”
50’s-Gal was quick to question this. “So with every increase in price, do you see an increase in service? I can’t imagine it getting any better than it is now.”
Future man knew he was in trouble. As he watched the mailman stroll from house to house, his thoughts shifted to his own mailman. Or mailperson. He hardy could tell from his house because all the mailboxes on his block were on the far side of the street. This made it easier for the mailtruck to make it’s stops without having to turn around.
By now, Future_Guy was visibly upset. He was paying so much more for the mail service, only to cross the street, in the cold, or the rain, just to get his mail.
50’s-Gal had forced him on the defensive and they both knew it.
It was time to change the subject. Maybe assault her directly, although not so obviously, of coarse. Must always keep the conversation pleasant in case he ever wanted to come back and talk some more.
Future-Man looked her in the face. She looked a wreck, truth be told. No make-up. Hair in curlers. Even her choice of clothes… it was time to attack.
“So… enough mail-talk. How have you been? Working much?”
It was a subtle move, knowing that career women in the 1950’s were few and far between. The women’s movement hadn’t made demands of equal employment, yet… and that’s where Future-Man felt he had an advantage.
“I’ll say. If I don’t get the house cleaned and dinner started before the kids get home… forget it. My day is shot.”
Future-Man expected that answer, or one like it.
He had to make her take the bait. Try a new lure…
“Ever wanted to make some money for yourself?”
“Naa, I’m not much for nursing. The blood and stuff. You understand. And typing behind a desk all day, you can forget that.”
Future-Man knew he had her now. Trapped in her own ideals about what a woman is supposed to do for a paycheck. “In my time, women can become employed in just about any career they chose. Many big companies are owned and controlled by a woman!”
Take it, Future-Man thought. Bite the hook. I’ve got you now…
“What makes you think I’d be so thrilled to jump into the man’s world anyway? At home, I can take a break whenever I want. Watch TV. Invite a friend over for morning coffee. These are things you have to wait for the weekend to do. Am I right?”
What the hell? How did she turn this around so quickly? Recover. Recover. You’re OK.
He tried a different approach.
“Look, don’t you want to be self sufficient? Independant? The choice to become a full fledged member of America’s corporate union. Or government! Did I mention that? You can run for office! There are many…”
50’s-Gal interrupted. “Do women have to do this? I mean, are there any housewives in the future, or how about househusbands?”
That made Future-Man laugh. He honestly couldn’t think of a single couple where the man doesn’t work. Or even the woman for that matter. Except for a few business owners or rich doctors. Maybe their wives or husbands can stay home.
“No, I can’t think of any househusbands, and few housewifes.”
Future-Man wasn’t sure where to take this topic now.
Damn, he wished that cell-phone still worked.
50’s-Gal, on the other hand, wasn’t through yet. “It sounds like we’ve damned ourselves by forcing women into the job hunt. By just that one move, you have doubled the competition in the workforce. Which probably hurt the standard average income. Am I right?”
Future-Man shook his head. “No no, I make way more than the average man from your time. I actually make pretty good money for a man living in my own time.”
“That’s not the point. My question is: In the future, can one average man’s income, maintain a house, a car, two children in school and a stay-at-home wife?”
Future-Man threw his arms up in the air. “No alright! No it can’t. But there are other factors. The cost of living for example. Prices go up…”
“Like the mail?” 50’s-Gal smiled and crossed her arms.
Future-Man almost told her to shut up right then and there, but 50’s-Gal still wasn’t done yet.
“So either by force or by necessity, women are in the workforce and you think this is such a great achievement?”
Future-Man didn’t wait for his return-beacon to beep and tell him it was time to go. He started towards the corner and paused for just a moment before walking through the portal.
“Fine, you just sit around and watch TV or whatever, but get used to the idea of working outside the house because it’s coming. Equal rights, baby. Pay your own way, and you can forget about us holding doors open for you!”
KRRRPLOOOEEE

Future-Man leaned back against the wall of his home and thought himself an ass for the comments he made before returning. Although he felt a little better when thinking that in all likelyhood, that woman has died of old age, by now. Hell, he needed something to feel like he had some sort of a victory back there.
Come now, he thought, it wasn’t a total loss was it?
He relaxed and let his hands fall into his pockets.
And felt around.
His cell-phone was still broken.

Oh man, oh man. Did someone make a BIG mistake or what? Huh? Somehow I mistakingly got copied onto an email inviting me to participate in an exchange of knowledge. Opinions? Ideas? You actually WANT this from me? Let’s just call this a “probationary period” that way you can change your mind later, without hurting my feelings.
My posts will no doubt fill one of two categories:
1) The Old-Man whining about how things were better in the previous generations.
and
2) The humiliating stories from my life that I am only now mature enough to share.

First up.

ZBalance Rant #1

The year is 2005.

A man, let’s call him Future-Man, finds himself in the possession of a time portal. With this device, he travels the folds of decades back to the 1900s and shows off all that the ‘future’ will hold. Unfortunately, his trips don’t lead to the self-glorification he had hoped…

Trip log 278 – Automobiles – 10/2/1952
KRRRRZAP! Future-man walked through the portal and shook off the expected headache that usually accompanies him when taking the journey. As his eyes adjust, he spots a man polishing his hot rod. Future-Man recognized him as ’50’s-Guy’ and his last few attempts to impress him didn’t go quite as planned.
50’s-Guy, not at all surprised by Future-Man’s sudden appearance, said “How’s it going?”
“Pretty good.” Future-Man replied. “I thought I’d share with you some more of the future’s glory.”
“Glory?” 50’s-Guy threw in, “You want to talk glory huh? Check out my 1933 Buick! Thats a V-8 your lookin’ at right there.”
Future-Man had to admit, the polished and completely exposed engine sure wasn’t something he was used to seeing outside of the NHRA circuit.
Future-Man scoffed, “This thing’s legal?”
50’s-Guy raised a brow, “I didn’t steal it if that’s what yer gettin’ at.”
“No! No!” Future-Man was quick to point out, “I meant, is it street-legal? You know… inspectible!”
Sir, your welcome to inspect this beauty all you like. She’s as much for looking-at as she is for drivin’.” 50’s-Guy then leaned against the back tire.
Future-Man explained while pacing, “In the future, the state government sets standards that all vehicles must pass in order to drive on a public street. Environmental and safety concerns are all taken into account before a you are allowed to operate the vehicle off your property.”
50’s-Guy crossed his arms, “Look here. My hard earned money, not to mention sweat, went into this beauty. I’m not for lettin’ some suit tell me I can’t drive it.”
Future-Man sighed as he looked at the car. The sidewall exhaust pipes had no mufflers (or catalytic converters) of any kind. The oversized back tires made the front tires look like bike wheels. He’d have an easier time pointing out what would pass inspection on this beast. Though, he had to admit, it would be fun to drive.
50’s-Guy noticed that he may have hurt Future-Man’s feelings, “Well hey, I’m sure those regulations of yours don’t bother you guys as much. You got the new millenium! Flying cars and moving sidewalks, to get you where you want, right?”
Future-Man clenched his teeth before relaxing just a bit when a thought came to him. Hybrids!
“We have Hybrids in 2005! These are autos that can run on gas and electricity!”
50’s-Guy was genuinely impressed. “Well these Hi-Braids do sound powerful, but do they roar like this?” He jumped over the Buick’s door and cranked the engine for a moment. His pride swelled as Future-Mans teeth rattled.
When 50’s-Guy finished, Future-Man continued, “Well they aren’t really meant for power… they are designed to be more efficient. They use far less gas and…”
50’s-Guy interrupted, “GAS? Who cares about gas? It’s the tires that cost me. Do they get any cheaper in the future?”
“No, not really. Gas prices however, have practically tripled in just a single year.”
“So who’s raisin’ the prices? Just go punch ’em in the nose. Trust me, the prices will settle on down after that.” 50’s-Guy offered.
Again Future-Man was at a loss. “Many members of OPEC are Islamic and our punch-’em-in-the-nose tactics haven’t panned out so well of late…”
Thouroughly confused, 50’s-Guy, asked “You mean those Japs? How’d they end up gettin’ all the gas after what we did to them?”
Suddenly Future-Man’s timer beeps off reminding him that the portal will soon close. There was no time to finish explaining.
Watching Future-Man wave goodbye and head towards the portal, 50’s-Guy added, “Thanks again friend, but the future sounds like somewhere I ain’t need to see anytime soon!”
Future-Man walked back through the portal. Defeated again.