I just heard the most absurd funny quote while listening to the BBC this evening. They were doing a report on the immigration problem in Ireland. Evidently, Ireland is having trouble accommodating the large influx of immigrants from Africa, resulting in social tension.
In the report, an Irish women made an unfavorable remark concerning the African immigrants and followed it up with this quote: "I didn't use to be a racist until they came."
Friday, December 7, 2007
Monday, November 26, 2007
I'm thankful that I'm not rotting away in a Kyrgyz prison.
What I am thankful to God for: I'm thankful that I'm not rotting away in a Kyrgyz prison.
That's sort of a running joke for Thanksgiving ever since I returned home from Kyrgyzstan.
For those of you who haven't heard the story, I was arrested for illegal drug trafficking in Bishkek at the end of my summer in Kyrgyzstan. I had no illegal drug, of course, much less was I trafficking anything.
Basically, this crooked cop was trying to shake me down for money. Evidently, Americans are easy mark for this sort of scam.
Between each question concerning drugs, like "Where are you hiding the drug?", he would ask, "How much money do you have?" He was doing this while we were encircled by half a dozen other cops.
At one point, I decided to push pass the smallest guys and walk away. Amazingly, none of them tried to stop me.
But when I got to the curve where all the taxis were lined up, none of the drivers, with the exception of one, were willing to open their cab door. They had been watching the whole episode transpire and, with the exception of that one driver, nobody wanted to be involved.
When we were driving off, I asked the driver why he was willing to pick me up.
He said, "I saw what happened. God is with you."
I was thinking the same but I was doubtful that anyone would have recognized it as such much less an Uzbek Muslim man. (Later on in our conversation, I found out that he's Uzbek.)
That's sort of a running joke for Thanksgiving ever since I returned home from Kyrgyzstan.
For those of you who haven't heard the story, I was arrested for illegal drug trafficking in Bishkek at the end of my summer in Kyrgyzstan. I had no illegal drug, of course, much less was I trafficking anything.
Basically, this crooked cop was trying to shake me down for money. Evidently, Americans are easy mark for this sort of scam.
Between each question concerning drugs, like "Where are you hiding the drug?", he would ask, "How much money do you have?" He was doing this while we were encircled by half a dozen other cops.
At one point, I decided to push pass the smallest guys and walk away. Amazingly, none of them tried to stop me.
But when I got to the curve where all the taxis were lined up, none of the drivers, with the exception of one, were willing to open their cab door. They had been watching the whole episode transpire and, with the exception of that one driver, nobody wanted to be involved.
When we were driving off, I asked the driver why he was willing to pick me up.
He said, "I saw what happened. God is with you."
I was thinking the same but I was doubtful that anyone would have recognized it as such much less an Uzbek Muslim man. (Later on in our conversation, I found out that he's Uzbek.)
Monday, October 29, 2007
How I'm Doing
For the last several months, I stopped corresponding with my friends. It's not that I didn't want to keep in touch with them. There, just, wasn't anything exciting going on in my life to tell. In the last couple of weeks, my friends have been sending me e-mail messages asking how I'm doing. I thought my answer was pretty amusing:
Me? I live the never-ending monotony, of meeting the demands of every day life, that slowly squelches what's left of my ambition to write the great American novel and win the Nobel prize in literature or at the very least settle for the Pulitzer.
Me? I live the never-ending monotony, of meeting the demands of every day life, that slowly squelches what's left of my ambition to write the great American novel and win the Nobel prize in literature or at the very least settle for the Pulitzer.
Friday, October 5, 2007
He's Dead to Her
I generally prefer not to write about any of my employers either past or current. Too often, certain things, that I find funny, ends up being misconstrued as criticism. However, I think I can safely say that this story is just plain funny and does not involve anyone's job performance.
I, once, worked, as a senior consultant, for the global management and technology consulting firm, Booz Allen Hamilton. The founding partners were no longer involved with the firm by the time my employment, with the firm, started. George Fry had left to start his own consulting firm. Carl Hamilton died of an heart attack. Ed Booz retired and then died from a stroke. And Jim Allen had retired.
One day, Jim Allen decided to visit. When the receptionist asked for his name and he simply said that he's Jim Allen.
After the receptionist was not able to find his name on her list of appointments, she asked him whom he wished to visit. Although he was not on the appointments list, she could still buzz the person and check to see if that person was available to meet with him.
Allen replied that he didn't come to visit anyone; he just wanted to walk around the offices.
The receptionist politely explained that she can't let people come in to just "walk around the office".
Allen repeated his identity, "But, I'm Jim Allen."
Seeing the receptionist's confused expression on her face, Allen pointed at his picture on the wall and said, "That's me; I'm Jim Allen."
The receptionist, flushed with embarrassment, stuttered apologetically, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Allen; I thought you were dead."
I, once, worked, as a senior consultant, for the global management and technology consulting firm, Booz Allen Hamilton. The founding partners were no longer involved with the firm by the time my employment, with the firm, started. George Fry had left to start his own consulting firm. Carl Hamilton died of an heart attack. Ed Booz retired and then died from a stroke. And Jim Allen had retired.
One day, Jim Allen decided to visit. When the receptionist asked for his name and he simply said that he's Jim Allen.
After the receptionist was not able to find his name on her list of appointments, she asked him whom he wished to visit. Although he was not on the appointments list, she could still buzz the person and check to see if that person was available to meet with him.
Allen replied that he didn't come to visit anyone; he just wanted to walk around the offices.
The receptionist politely explained that she can't let people come in to just "walk around the office".
Allen repeated his identity, "But, I'm Jim Allen."
Seeing the receptionist's confused expression on her face, Allen pointed at his picture on the wall and said, "That's me; I'm Jim Allen."
The receptionist, flushed with embarrassment, stuttered apologetically, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Allen; I thought you were dead."
Friday, September 14, 2007
I Am Forbidden to Have Daughters
I may have already mentioned it in another blog entry, but lately, I've been reading Colleen's blog quite regularly. In her latest entry she mentioned that she is now the assistant teacher at a preschool and she described her second day of school. Her description of preschool reminded my of my youth when my mom taught kindergarten and elementary school.
My mom was very involved with her students. Even after my mom retired from teaching she still have other people's little kids in our home all the time.
It was during this time, after she retired, in which, one day, out of the blue, my mom forbade me from having daughters. It caught me by surprise considering I was only a teenager.
No, it's not one of those Chinese things in which the potential grandparent desires a grandson. We are living in America where there is no "one child" restriction like they have in China.
As she explained it, "You are not capable of standing firm with the girls. You fold like a deck of cards whenever they ask you for permission to do something that violates the rules. If you have daughters, you will make your wife the bad guy and that's not right!"
As a teenager, I thought nothing of it. I wrote it off as my mom going on a rant because I didn't do something exactly as she wanted it done. (Frankly speaking, I think she has a mild case of OSC. In fact, I think I inherited some of her OSC traits.)
I mentioned my mom's edict to a couple of my women friends. Both said, "Yeah, I can see you making your wife the bad guy when it comes to dealing with the girls."
What? I'm not even married and they are already writing me off as a guy who would make my wife the bad guy. How fair is that!
I've always thought that I'm a fair even-handed guy. However, their response forced me to re-evaluate how I deal with kids of each gender.
Then, I had an epiphany. Whenever a child asks me for permission to do something, I usually give them a chance to plead their case.
With boys, I would rarely get a decent response from them.
I'd ask, "Why should I let you do that?"
How would they response? It's that familiar, "I don't know."
However, girls are a bit more articulate.
"It's after four. I'm not suppose to give you your cookie after four because it'll spoil your dinner."
"I was waiting for the bathroom when they passed out the cookies cause Susie was sick and I let her use the bathroom first."
Hey, that sounds to me like a good defense of her position.
"Okay, you can grab one cookie; eat it quickly."
I guess if I want to truly be even-handed, I really need to help the boys articulate their cases.
Then, again, I would make my wife the bad guy irregardless of our child's gender.
Hmmm... Maybe, I shouldn't have any children at all.
My mom was very involved with her students. Even after my mom retired from teaching she still have other people's little kids in our home all the time.
It was during this time, after she retired, in which, one day, out of the blue, my mom forbade me from having daughters. It caught me by surprise considering I was only a teenager.
No, it's not one of those Chinese things in which the potential grandparent desires a grandson. We are living in America where there is no "one child" restriction like they have in China.
As she explained it, "You are not capable of standing firm with the girls. You fold like a deck of cards whenever they ask you for permission to do something that violates the rules. If you have daughters, you will make your wife the bad guy and that's not right!"
As a teenager, I thought nothing of it. I wrote it off as my mom going on a rant because I didn't do something exactly as she wanted it done. (Frankly speaking, I think she has a mild case of OSC. In fact, I think I inherited some of her OSC traits.)
I mentioned my mom's edict to a couple of my women friends. Both said, "Yeah, I can see you making your wife the bad guy when it comes to dealing with the girls."
What? I'm not even married and they are already writing me off as a guy who would make my wife the bad guy. How fair is that!
I've always thought that I'm a fair even-handed guy. However, their response forced me to re-evaluate how I deal with kids of each gender.
Then, I had an epiphany. Whenever a child asks me for permission to do something, I usually give them a chance to plead their case.
With boys, I would rarely get a decent response from them.
I'd ask, "Why should I let you do that?"
How would they response? It's that familiar, "I don't know."
However, girls are a bit more articulate.
"It's after four. I'm not suppose to give you your cookie after four because it'll spoil your dinner."
"I was waiting for the bathroom when they passed out the cookies cause Susie was sick and I let her use the bathroom first."
Hey, that sounds to me like a good defense of her position.
"Okay, you can grab one cookie; eat it quickly."
I guess if I want to truly be even-handed, I really need to help the boys articulate their cases.
Then, again, I would make my wife the bad guy irregardless of our child's gender.
Hmmm... Maybe, I shouldn't have any children at all.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Flirting with Italian Girls
If I were asked what I like most about living in Baltimore is the plethora of diverse ethnic restaurants serving amazing cuisine at working man prices. Within my neighborhood, there are restaurants that serve Chinese food, Thai food, Indian food, Lebanese food, Italian food, Greek food, German food, Polish food, and Nigerian food. Many are mom and pop shops those proprietors are right off the boat.
One of the ones that I frequent is the Ristorante Italiano, a neighborhood diner that serves Italian food. They serve the best cream of crab soup with huge chunks of crab meat.
I usually visit the diner very late at night (sometime between 2 and 3 in the morning). Most of the restaurant staff, during that shift, can just barely speak enough English to be able to take the order. So, I generally stick to giving my order. Occasionally, I'd throw them a "Buon giorno! Come sta?" when I come in and an "Arrivederci" when I leave. At most, I'd tell the waitress, "Grazie. Ti amo!" when she gives me something extra. But the exchange is always brief. As soon as I receive my order, I'm out the door.
Tonight, they were out of the cream of crab soup and were still cooking the new batch when I ordered the soup.
While I waited for my soup, another late night patron came in. It looked like he had been clubbing and was not yet ready to stop partying.
As he approached the counter, one of three waitresses asked, "What would you like?"
In an attempt to flirt with the waitresses, this late night patron smiled, winked, and replied, "Two blondes and a brunette", referring to the three waitresses.
All three waitresses looked puzzled. They quickly opened the menu and started to scan it for the requested items.
The late night patron tried his line again, "No, no, I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette.'"
"Two blondes and a brunette"
Repeating the line only sent the three waitresses into a huddle.
Realizing that the Italian waitresses did not understand him, he tried to back peddle, "Never mind, just give me a veal parmigiana."
Unfortunately, the waitresses were well instructed in the policy of "The customer is always right" and were intent on satisfying this patron's order. So, they called for the manager to come up front from the kitchen.
"Dell him what ju want."
The late night patron was so embarrassed that I can feel the heat from his redden face radiating from the back of his head.
He slowly explain that it was a joke, "Blonde, Blonde, Brunette", pointing at each waitress. "You asked what I wanted; I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette."
Silence.
At this point, even I am feeling this guy's humiliation. In my mind, I was screaming at the waitresses, "Throw this guy a bone and laugh at his pathetic little joke even if you don't get it. And then, please, put him out of his misery by moving on to taking his real order."
Just when I couldn't stand this guy's agony any longer, the waitresses and the manager laughed.
I couldn't tell if they actually understood the joke or if they were just being polite.
After receiving his order, the late night patron walked silently out the door with his tail between his legs.
As I sat there watching him exit, I made a mental note, "Need to learn their language before attempting to flirt with girls who can barely speak English."
One of the ones that I frequent is the Ristorante Italiano, a neighborhood diner that serves Italian food. They serve the best cream of crab soup with huge chunks of crab meat.
I usually visit the diner very late at night (sometime between 2 and 3 in the morning). Most of the restaurant staff, during that shift, can just barely speak enough English to be able to take the order. So, I generally stick to giving my order. Occasionally, I'd throw them a "Buon giorno! Come sta?" when I come in and an "Arrivederci" when I leave. At most, I'd tell the waitress, "Grazie. Ti amo!" when she gives me something extra. But the exchange is always brief. As soon as I receive my order, I'm out the door.
Tonight, they were out of the cream of crab soup and were still cooking the new batch when I ordered the soup.
While I waited for my soup, another late night patron came in. It looked like he had been clubbing and was not yet ready to stop partying.
As he approached the counter, one of three waitresses asked, "What would you like?"
In an attempt to flirt with the waitresses, this late night patron smiled, winked, and replied, "Two blondes and a brunette", referring to the three waitresses.
All three waitresses looked puzzled. They quickly opened the menu and started to scan it for the requested items.
The late night patron tried his line again, "No, no, I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette.'"
"Two blondes and a brunette"
Repeating the line only sent the three waitresses into a huddle.
Realizing that the Italian waitresses did not understand him, he tried to back peddle, "Never mind, just give me a veal parmigiana."
Unfortunately, the waitresses were well instructed in the policy of "The customer is always right" and were intent on satisfying this patron's order. So, they called for the manager to come up front from the kitchen.
"Dell him what ju want."
The late night patron was so embarrassed that I can feel the heat from his redden face radiating from the back of his head.
He slowly explain that it was a joke, "Blonde, Blonde, Brunette", pointing at each waitress. "You asked what I wanted; I said, 'Two blondes and a brunette."
Silence.
At this point, even I am feeling this guy's humiliation. In my mind, I was screaming at the waitresses, "Throw this guy a bone and laugh at his pathetic little joke even if you don't get it. And then, please, put him out of his misery by moving on to taking his real order."
Just when I couldn't stand this guy's agony any longer, the waitresses and the manager laughed.
I couldn't tell if they actually understood the joke or if they were just being polite.
After receiving his order, the late night patron walked silently out the door with his tail between his legs.
As I sat there watching him exit, I made a mental note, "Need to learn their language before attempting to flirt with girls who can barely speak English."
Friday, September 7, 2007
Saying "I love you"
Yes, I admit it. I am a completely hopelessly incurable romantic. And I have a large collection of romantic comedy and romantic drama DVDs to prove it. I am especially addicted to that climactic profession of love.
One of my favorite is from the German film "Im Juli (In Julie/July [double entendre])".
After Daniel, the main character, abandoned Juli, the title character, he realized his love for her. And when they met, again, Daniel said:
Meine Herzallerliebste, Ich bin Tausende von Meilen gegangen, ich habe Flüsse überquert, Berge versetzt. Ich habe gelitten und ich habe Qualen über mich ergehen lassen. Ich bin der Versuchung widerstanden und ich bin der Sonne gefolgt, um dir gegenüberstehen zu können und dir zu sagen: „Ich liebe dich“.
Here's my translation to English:
My heart's most dearest love, I've walked a thousand miles, I've crossed rivers, climbed mountains. I have suffered and allowed myself to be overtaken by agonies. I have withstood temptation and I've followed the sun in order to be able to stand before you and to say to you, "I love you."
Ironically, it's not something I would do. I believe that "I love you" means more than just "I want to be with you".
The feeling of euphoria, that draws two people together, comes and goes throughout courtship. But true love is a commitment. So, I prefer not to mislead young ladies that I date with false "I love you"'s when I am clearly not able to make such a commitment.
If "I love you" does not mean "I want to be with you", then how do I define love? Here's my definition.
To Love: to put what is best for the other ahead of what's best for one's self.
If I love you, I put what's best for you ahead of what's best for me.
Only when both partners are willing, to put what's best for the other ahead of what's best for one's self, are both partners ready for a relationship.
The best example is the short story "The Gift of the Magi" by William Sydney Porter (under "le nom de plume" O Henry).
For Christmas, the husband wanted to give his wife something that would edify her. Since she had beautiful long flowing hair, he wanted to give her an expensive set of combs and clips.
The wife wanted to give her husband something that would edify him. Since he had an heirloom watch, passed down from his father, and it was without a watch chain, she wanted to give him a suitable watch chain.
Neither had money for their purchases. So the husband pawned his watch to buy the set of combs and clips and the wife sold her hair to buy the watch chain.
On Christmas day, when they opened their presents, they discovered that they had given each other the most precious gift of all: true love.
That's how I prefer to say, "I love you."
One of my favorite is from the German film "Im Juli (In Julie/July [double entendre])".
After Daniel, the main character, abandoned Juli, the title character, he realized his love for her. And when they met, again, Daniel said:
Meine Herzallerliebste, Ich bin Tausende von Meilen gegangen, ich habe Flüsse überquert, Berge versetzt. Ich habe gelitten und ich habe Qualen über mich ergehen lassen. Ich bin der Versuchung widerstanden und ich bin der Sonne gefolgt, um dir gegenüberstehen zu können und dir zu sagen: „Ich liebe dich“.
Here's my translation to English:
My heart's most dearest love, I've walked a thousand miles, I've crossed rivers, climbed mountains. I have suffered and allowed myself to be overtaken by agonies. I have withstood temptation and I've followed the sun in order to be able to stand before you and to say to you, "I love you."
Ironically, it's not something I would do. I believe that "I love you" means more than just "I want to be with you".
The feeling of euphoria, that draws two people together, comes and goes throughout courtship. But true love is a commitment. So, I prefer not to mislead young ladies that I date with false "I love you"'s when I am clearly not able to make such a commitment.
If "I love you" does not mean "I want to be with you", then how do I define love? Here's my definition.
To Love: to put what is best for the other ahead of what's best for one's self.
If I love you, I put what's best for you ahead of what's best for me.
Only when both partners are willing, to put what's best for the other ahead of what's best for one's self, are both partners ready for a relationship.
The best example is the short story "The Gift of the Magi" by William Sydney Porter (under "le nom de plume" O Henry).
For Christmas, the husband wanted to give his wife something that would edify her. Since she had beautiful long flowing hair, he wanted to give her an expensive set of combs and clips.
The wife wanted to give her husband something that would edify him. Since he had an heirloom watch, passed down from his father, and it was without a watch chain, she wanted to give him a suitable watch chain.
Neither had money for their purchases. So the husband pawned his watch to buy the set of combs and clips and the wife sold her hair to buy the watch chain.
On Christmas day, when they opened their presents, they discovered that they had given each other the most precious gift of all: true love.
That's how I prefer to say, "I love you."
Monday, August 27, 2007
Top 10 things that I've learned after I started traveling abroad
10. Coca Cola is an acquired taste.
I've been drinking Coke for as long as I can remember. I love the way its sweetness and fizzle dance on my tongue and slide down to the back of my mouth. Why would anyone not like drinking Coca Cola?
The first time I offered the drink to someone who has never drank it, he practically coughed it back out. That expression on his face was unmistakably saying, "What is this $@#& that you gave me to drink."
9. Hot dog is not an American food
Several countries have indigenous sausages that looks and tastes exactly like hot dogs and claimed to have invented it. Considering that they had been eating them for more than five hundred years, it is safe to say that hot dogs were not invented in America.
8. Visa, MasterCard, and American Express Credit Card are not "Accepted Everywhere You Want to Be".
A blank look from a cashier at a Bishkek department store says it all.
7. Carry a football (soccer ball), and you'd make friends.
No explanation needed.
6. Extending the index finger and the middle finger is not universally interpreted as "PEACE".
There's nothing, like facing an angry mob after doing so at the end of a football (soccer) match, to teach you not to do it.
5. Maintaining a beard is not easier than a clean shave
I've always shaved because, at fourteen, the patchy fuzz on my face looked stupid. However, after becoming an adult, the facial hair that I had to shave is much more evenly distributed. So when I started traveling, I thought I'd save some time by growing a beard and forgoing shaving in the morning. The beard came out raggedy and I ended up looking like a homeless person even if I'm wearing a nice suit. (I'd just looked like a homeless person who received a donated expensive suit from Goodwill.)
Then, I found out that a well maintained beard requires grooming. We're talking cutting it even with a scissor, trimming with a beard trimmer, shampooing with a special shampoo, and then combing it.
Geeeeeeez!
4. An agreement is not an agreement until the actual exchange happens.
I was working on a project in a developing country when the following happened.
I had negotiated a price for a certain amount of concrete with a construction supply company. When I came back with the trucks to pick up the concrete, the owner of the company said, "Sorry, no concrete".
I almost slugged him; I just paid for two trucks and he's not going to sell me the concrete. "What do you mean? We agreed on a price for the amount of concrete!"
He said, "And I still agree with the price and amount. But I have no concrete to sell you."
"What about all that concrete sitting there?"
"My brother came by and bought the concrete before you came back."
With two drivers and a loading crew already paid, I had to renegotiate a new price with the brother who "bought the concrete."
That was the first time. A couple of times later, I finally learned my lesson.
3. Money is not always appreciated
The best haircut that I've ever had was when I was abroad on one of my summer projects. The hair stylist was a Russian woman who spent almost thirty minutes trimming every hair on my head. She charged me an amount equal to about three U.S. dollars and fifty cents. I was so appreciative of the job that she did that I tipped her generously. Evidently, one does not tip a hair stylist over there so she gave me back the tip. I tried to explain that it was a generous tip because she did such an excellent job and pushed the money back to her. She pushed it back and gave me a disgusted look.
No, I never found out why.
2. True hospitality
People would actually invite you, a perfect stranger, a foreigner in their land, to sleep in their home after meeting you in the street.
Then, they'd cook you a feast that they only reserved for special occasions. (The kids would tell you that they are glad that you came because they get to eat some dessert that they normally wouldn't have.)
1. Beauty is a smile in the eyes and the lips served with an act of kindness when you are completely utterly helpless.
American society is designed for individual independence. If your car break down, call AAA. If you don't have a car, you can catch a taxi or a bus. If you are short on cash, you can use your credit card. You are never really completely helpless.
But when you find yourself in a foreign land, without a social safety net, unable to speak the language, and you need help... One can not describe the beauty of a smile served with kindness; one has to experience it.
I've been drinking Coke for as long as I can remember. I love the way its sweetness and fizzle dance on my tongue and slide down to the back of my mouth. Why would anyone not like drinking Coca Cola?
The first time I offered the drink to someone who has never drank it, he practically coughed it back out. That expression on his face was unmistakably saying, "What is this $@#& that you gave me to drink."
9. Hot dog is not an American food
Several countries have indigenous sausages that looks and tastes exactly like hot dogs and claimed to have invented it. Considering that they had been eating them for more than five hundred years, it is safe to say that hot dogs were not invented in America.
8. Visa, MasterCard, and American Express Credit Card are not "Accepted Everywhere You Want to Be".
A blank look from a cashier at a Bishkek department store says it all.
7. Carry a football (soccer ball), and you'd make friends.
No explanation needed.
6. Extending the index finger and the middle finger is not universally interpreted as "PEACE".
There's nothing, like facing an angry mob after doing so at the end of a football (soccer) match, to teach you not to do it.
5. Maintaining a beard is not easier than a clean shave
I've always shaved because, at fourteen, the patchy fuzz on my face looked stupid. However, after becoming an adult, the facial hair that I had to shave is much more evenly distributed. So when I started traveling, I thought I'd save some time by growing a beard and forgoing shaving in the morning. The beard came out raggedy and I ended up looking like a homeless person even if I'm wearing a nice suit. (I'd just looked like a homeless person who received a donated expensive suit from Goodwill.)
Then, I found out that a well maintained beard requires grooming. We're talking cutting it even with a scissor, trimming with a beard trimmer, shampooing with a special shampoo, and then combing it.
Geeeeeeez!
4. An agreement is not an agreement until the actual exchange happens.
I was working on a project in a developing country when the following happened.
I had negotiated a price for a certain amount of concrete with a construction supply company. When I came back with the trucks to pick up the concrete, the owner of the company said, "Sorry, no concrete".
I almost slugged him; I just paid for two trucks and he's not going to sell me the concrete. "What do you mean? We agreed on a price for the amount of concrete!"
He said, "And I still agree with the price and amount. But I have no concrete to sell you."
"What about all that concrete sitting there?"
"My brother came by and bought the concrete before you came back."
With two drivers and a loading crew already paid, I had to renegotiate a new price with the brother who "bought the concrete."
That was the first time. A couple of times later, I finally learned my lesson.
3. Money is not always appreciated
The best haircut that I've ever had was when I was abroad on one of my summer projects. The hair stylist was a Russian woman who spent almost thirty minutes trimming every hair on my head. She charged me an amount equal to about three U.S. dollars and fifty cents. I was so appreciative of the job that she did that I tipped her generously. Evidently, one does not tip a hair stylist over there so she gave me back the tip. I tried to explain that it was a generous tip because she did such an excellent job and pushed the money back to her. She pushed it back and gave me a disgusted look.
No, I never found out why.
2. True hospitality
People would actually invite you, a perfect stranger, a foreigner in their land, to sleep in their home after meeting you in the street.
Then, they'd cook you a feast that they only reserved for special occasions. (The kids would tell you that they are glad that you came because they get to eat some dessert that they normally wouldn't have.)
1. Beauty is a smile in the eyes and the lips served with an act of kindness when you are completely utterly helpless.
American society is designed for individual independence. If your car break down, call AAA. If you don't have a car, you can catch a taxi or a bus. If you are short on cash, you can use your credit card. You are never really completely helpless.
But when you find yourself in a foreign land, without a social safety net, unable to speak the language, and you need help... One can not describe the beauty of a smile served with kindness; one has to experience it.
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Dissecting Morality
I had been involved in a discussion concerning morality. In that discussion, I identified two ways of applying morality: moral absolutism and moral relativism. At that point someone challenged me to define morality and these two ways of applying morality.
Here is my answer:
Until recently, research in cognitive studies have been based on the assumption that decision making is a self-interest utilitarian process. Choice is based on what best serves our goal.
Recently, studies by Marc Hauser, a professor of Biological Anthropology at Harvard University, point to non-utilitarian aspects of the decision making process.
In his studies, subjects were presented with scenarios like the runaway trolley scenarios that I've previously posted in the "life crisis" forum.
A trolley looses its brakes and is rolling out of control down a hill. It is about to hit five people who can not get out of the way. Between the trolley and the five people is a track switch. If the trolley is switched to the alternate track, it would hit only one person. Is it acceptable to switch the track so that the trolley hits only one person?
Almost everyone answer the question with "yes". Hitting one person is better than hitting five.
Then, the subjects were given a new scenario:
There is no switch between the trolley and the five people. However, there is a person large enough to stop the trolley if pushed in front of the trolley. Is it acceptable to push the large person in front of the trolley to save the five people?
Almost everyone answered the question "no".
The results were consistent with people of varying religious belief, culture, ethnicity, age group, and social-economic class.
Occasionally, someone may answer yes for both. However, when dug deeper, the results are consistent with the norm.
e.g., Hauser's father is a medical doctor who is a stoic thinker. His initial response was yes for both since both scenarios resulted in saving five lives instead of one. So Hauser posed a scenario closer to home (in this case closer to work).
You have five patients who are in need of organ transplants but was unable to find matching donors. A healthy person with perfect match for all five patients. Would you sacrifice the life of the healthy donor to save the lives of the five?
His answer is, "Of course, not!"
Then, how can you push the large person in front of the trolley to save the five?
With that, Hauser's father changes his position.
Both scenario involves sacrificing one life for five, yet the latter is unacceptable. The choice made is not based on utilitarian decision making.
No only that, it is not a Pavlovian behavior. i.e., It's not a learned behavior which can be positively or negatively re-enforced. Neither choice to save the five people yielded a more favorable result. This non-utilitarian behavior is not learned but biologically hard-wired.
Hauser describes the non-utilitarian process as a hard-wired moral brake against the self-interest utilitarian decision making engine.
Another example of non-utilitarian response is the test of the self interest economy, which I posted, previously on the "life crisis" forum, as "The Greed Game".
According to Adam Smith's "Inquiry into the Nature and Causes of the Wealth of Nations", in a free market economy, the self interests of all traders would dictate the distribution of all resources.
In Professor Hauser's studies, subjects were given the roles of donor or recipient. Each donor was given a sum of money, out of which he or she must offer a portion to a recipient. The recipient can accept or reject the offer. If the recipient rejects the offer, the donor and the recipient would loose the entire sum.
If the market is driven by self-interest, all recipients would accept any offer greater than zero since the rejection would result in one not receiving anything; something is better than nothing.
The research, however, shows that if the sum is too low, the recipient would reject the offer. The posts in the "life crisis" forum yielded the same result. And like the posts in the "life crisis" forum, the research subjects identified the lack of a fair distribution as the reason for the rejection of a low offer.
For more examples scenario used in his study, take the Moral Sense Test the Harvard Cognitive Evolution Lab's web site.
http://www.wjh.harvard.edu/~mnkylab/
Subsequence research were done in several different laboratories using MRI to examine brain activities as subjects make these moral decisions. These research found that brain activities were firing in two different parts of the brain. They were firing in the part of the brain that performs logical and computational thinking. They were also firing the part of the brain that deals with emotional response.
An example of using the MRI in this research:
http://www.scielo.br/scielo.php?pid=S0004-282X2001000500001&script=sci_arttext
When the self-interest utilitarian choice wins out, part of the brain that performs logical and computational thinking is much more active than the part of the brain that deals with emotional response.
When the non-utilitarian moral response wins out, the part of the brain that deals with emotional response is much more active than the part of the brain that performs logical and computational thinking.
This result led researchers to conclude that the hard-wired moral brake in our brain is located in the part of the brain that deals with emotional response.
In fact, MRI studies of psychopath/sociopaths show a link between morally bad behavior with diminished mass of that part of the brain. See:
http://www.crimetimes.org/06a/w06ap10.htm
The interesting part is that, in the test of the self interest economy (the greed game), everyone agrees that the fair distribution is 50-50. However, the threshold for rejection is not 50-50. Before the fair distribution level is reached, the self-interest utilitarian processes overpowers the moral brake. (Everyone has price.)
How does this research apply to moral absolutism and moral relativism?
Here is my conclusion:
Morality is hard-wired in the brain.
Moral absolutism is allowing the hard-wired moral brake to stop the self-interest utilitarian decision making processes when it crosses the line.
Moral relativism is when self-interest is so strong that it overpowers the hard-wired moral brake.
Often, people say that moral relativism is not practical. However, when they say so, they are not defining impracticality as unachievable. They really mean that they are not willing to give up their self interest.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Public Performances
Every moment in an airport terminal is filled with drama playing out for all to see. A girlfriend slaps her boyfriend for following a sexy looking woman with his eyes. A wife scolds her husband for not backing her up when she tries to discipline their kids' bad behavior in public. A teenager moans at his parents for disturbing him as he listens to his MP3 player.
As we wait for our flight, we try to ignore the drama that's taking place around us. However, when the emotions flares pass the boiling point, it's hard not to look away. They are the pedestrian equivalent of a automobile accident. We want to look away because, it's bound to be gruesome but we can't because the action is too captivating.
What normally is hidden in the privacy of the home, is now stripped of its mask of normalcy.
Of course, it doesn't have to be at an airport terminal. It can be in a restaurant, in a hospital emergency room waiting area, in a checkout queue at the local supermarket...
We don't even have to hear what they are saying. Their body language provides sufficient dialog.
One of the best example is the opening scene from the movie "Before Sunrise". Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's characters watch as a couple duke it out in a rail car traveling between Budapest and Vienna. The woman shouts and presses the man's chest with her finger. The man shouts back. Then, the woman hits the man's head with a rolled up magazine. The arguing went back and forth. Finally, the couple left the car and Ethan Hawke's character turned to Julie Delpy's character, "Did you understand what they were arguing about?" Julie Delpy's character answered, "No, my German is not so good."
But are these dramas real or are they contrived scenarios played out to shock and entertain both the players and their audience?
My friends and I play a game in public in which we improvise a scenario suggested by the initiating player through his/her first move.
One of my favorite took place in an elevator. The target audience was an elderly woman who unknowingly stepped into this little seven feet by seven feet moving stage. As the elevator progressed to the next floor, one of the girls unexpectedly fell to her knees sobbing. Her action took her boyfriend by surprise causing him to stammer as he asked her, "Wha... Wha... What's wrong?"
She stood up and with tears in her eyes, fell on him, pounding his chest as she screamed, "I thought you said that brothers can't get sisters pregnant!"
Ah, the game begins, but what can he do to respond?
More stammering, "But... but... but..."
Suddenly he has it, the perfect comeback for her ridiculous opening line.
"But, how do you know it's me and not daddy?"
By this time, the elderly was so flustered that the color of her cheeks matches the bright red tone of emergency telephone in the elevator.
The elevator door opened and she sprint out like no elderly lady ever did.
The most effective player that I know is the father of a friend of mine. My friend's father was a police officer which makes any improvised public performance even more believable and shocking.
One time my friend, his sister, and their dad were eating out at a restaurant. They were discussing the events of his shift which, in Baltimore, is never dull. Then, my friend's dad noticed an older couple listening to their conversation. The elderly lady was, now, tilting her chair on its two hind legs to hear better.
With a smile, my friend's dad turned to my friend's sister and said, "How does it feel to be out of jail and cleaned up? Looking at you, no one would ever suspect you of being a teenage hooker picked up on your way to entertain a bachelor party."
At that instance, the elderly woman slipped and literally fell to the floor.
So, the next time you are having a hard time ignoring a relationship drama boiling in public, remember, it may be some of us improvising a public performance to entertain and shock ourselves as well as the audience.
As we wait for our flight, we try to ignore the drama that's taking place around us. However, when the emotions flares pass the boiling point, it's hard not to look away. They are the pedestrian equivalent of a automobile accident. We want to look away because, it's bound to be gruesome but we can't because the action is too captivating.
What normally is hidden in the privacy of the home, is now stripped of its mask of normalcy.
Of course, it doesn't have to be at an airport terminal. It can be in a restaurant, in a hospital emergency room waiting area, in a checkout queue at the local supermarket...
We don't even have to hear what they are saying. Their body language provides sufficient dialog.
One of the best example is the opening scene from the movie "Before Sunrise". Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's characters watch as a couple duke it out in a rail car traveling between Budapest and Vienna. The woman shouts and presses the man's chest with her finger. The man shouts back. Then, the woman hits the man's head with a rolled up magazine. The arguing went back and forth. Finally, the couple left the car and Ethan Hawke's character turned to Julie Delpy's character, "Did you understand what they were arguing about?" Julie Delpy's character answered, "No, my German is not so good."
But are these dramas real or are they contrived scenarios played out to shock and entertain both the players and their audience?
My friends and I play a game in public in which we improvise a scenario suggested by the initiating player through his/her first move.
One of my favorite took place in an elevator. The target audience was an elderly woman who unknowingly stepped into this little seven feet by seven feet moving stage. As the elevator progressed to the next floor, one of the girls unexpectedly fell to her knees sobbing. Her action took her boyfriend by surprise causing him to stammer as he asked her, "Wha... Wha... What's wrong?"
She stood up and with tears in her eyes, fell on him, pounding his chest as she screamed, "I thought you said that brothers can't get sisters pregnant!"
Ah, the game begins, but what can he do to respond?
More stammering, "But... but... but..."
Suddenly he has it, the perfect comeback for her ridiculous opening line.
"But, how do you know it's me and not daddy?"
By this time, the elderly was so flustered that the color of her cheeks matches the bright red tone of emergency telephone in the elevator.
The elevator door opened and she sprint out like no elderly lady ever did.
The most effective player that I know is the father of a friend of mine. My friend's father was a police officer which makes any improvised public performance even more believable and shocking.
One time my friend, his sister, and their dad were eating out at a restaurant. They were discussing the events of his shift which, in Baltimore, is never dull. Then, my friend's dad noticed an older couple listening to their conversation. The elderly lady was, now, tilting her chair on its two hind legs to hear better.
With a smile, my friend's dad turned to my friend's sister and said, "How does it feel to be out of jail and cleaned up? Looking at you, no one would ever suspect you of being a teenage hooker picked up on your way to entertain a bachelor party."
At that instance, the elderly woman slipped and literally fell to the floor.
So, the next time you are having a hard time ignoring a relationship drama boiling in public, remember, it may be some of us improvising a public performance to entertain and shock ourselves as well as the audience.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned.. Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned.
My college buddy (who shall remain nameless) loves pushing the envelop of what is socially acceptable.
For instance, he bought a house in which the inside walls were painted a very hideous color. It was a dark unusual shade of purplish green blue tone. The truth is that I'm unable to describe the color because it's a hue not found in nature.
He bought it purely because it was cheap. I suspect that it's cheap because no one would want to tackle the job of stripping the paint off the walls and repainting. (The color is so dark that you can't just paint over it with a lighter color.)
Even though he hated the color, he was too lazy to strip the paint off the walls. So he painted the walls black.
Sometimes, his outrageous exploits paid off. For example, he once submitted a one-million dollar deposit at his bank's ATM. Only, there were no money in the envelop. However, the bank computer went ahead and credited his account with one million dollars. (He explained to me that he had planned to say he was playing a practical joke if the bank people came after him.) In the morning, when the banking staff found that the envelop was empty, they debited the one million from his account.
And all is right again. Right?
Well, no. Between the time when he submitted the deposit and when they debited the million from his account, that fake million was accruing interest at 5% APR. That's $140 in interest for the over night deposit which they never bothered to take back. (They've since fixed the software glitch; it didn't work when he tried to do it again later.)
The most memorable of his exploits involved the purchase of a mint condition 1966 drop-top Ford Mustang.
He was scanning through the classified ads when he noticed an ad for this particular vintage vehicle. According to the print, the owner was asking for fifty dollars. He suspected that it was a misprint; that it should have been for fifty thousand dollars but the publisher mistakenly dropped three zeros at the end of the figure.
However, he decided to inquire after the car, anyway. He figured that when the owner insists that the fifty dollar price was a misprint, he was going to hassle the owner about the deceptive advertisement. (Don't ask me how anyone can possibly do that without being embarrassed; but that's my college buddy!)
Surprisingly, when he got there, the owner reaffirmed the price: fifty dollars.
My buddy inspected the car, checked out the engine under the bonnet, and test drove the 'stang. There was nothing wrong with the car.
Fifty dollars, right?
Right.
He quickly whipped out his wallet, handed her a fifty dollar U. S. Treasury note, and grabbed the keys as quickly as she finished saying the word "Right".
But as he drove the car down the long asphalt driveway, his curiosity got the best of him. He turned the car around and knocked on her door.
When she came out, he explained, "I need to know the story behind the fifty dollar asking price. No matter what you tell me, I'm not going to change my mind about the purchase. I don't care if I'll loose the car tomorrow. I just need to satisfy my curiosity."
The woman proceeded to explain that the car belonged to her husband. Evidently, he ran off with his secretary to South America. When he phoned home, he said, "Honey, you can have everything: the house, the bank accounts, the investment fund accounts, your car, everything. All I ask is that you sell my Mustang and send me the money."
For instance, he bought a house in which the inside walls were painted a very hideous color. It was a dark unusual shade of purplish green blue tone. The truth is that I'm unable to describe the color because it's a hue not found in nature.
He bought it purely because it was cheap. I suspect that it's cheap because no one would want to tackle the job of stripping the paint off the walls and repainting. (The color is so dark that you can't just paint over it with a lighter color.)
Even though he hated the color, he was too lazy to strip the paint off the walls. So he painted the walls black.
Sometimes, his outrageous exploits paid off. For example, he once submitted a one-million dollar deposit at his bank's ATM. Only, there were no money in the envelop. However, the bank computer went ahead and credited his account with one million dollars. (He explained to me that he had planned to say he was playing a practical joke if the bank people came after him.) In the morning, when the banking staff found that the envelop was empty, they debited the one million from his account.
And all is right again. Right?
Well, no. Between the time when he submitted the deposit and when they debited the million from his account, that fake million was accruing interest at 5% APR. That's $140 in interest for the over night deposit which they never bothered to take back. (They've since fixed the software glitch; it didn't work when he tried to do it again later.)
The most memorable of his exploits involved the purchase of a mint condition 1966 drop-top Ford Mustang.
He was scanning through the classified ads when he noticed an ad for this particular vintage vehicle. According to the print, the owner was asking for fifty dollars. He suspected that it was a misprint; that it should have been for fifty thousand dollars but the publisher mistakenly dropped three zeros at the end of the figure.
However, he decided to inquire after the car, anyway. He figured that when the owner insists that the fifty dollar price was a misprint, he was going to hassle the owner about the deceptive advertisement. (Don't ask me how anyone can possibly do that without being embarrassed; but that's my college buddy!)
Surprisingly, when he got there, the owner reaffirmed the price: fifty dollars.
My buddy inspected the car, checked out the engine under the bonnet, and test drove the 'stang. There was nothing wrong with the car.
Fifty dollars, right?
Right.
He quickly whipped out his wallet, handed her a fifty dollar U. S. Treasury note, and grabbed the keys as quickly as she finished saying the word "Right".
But as he drove the car down the long asphalt driveway, his curiosity got the best of him. He turned the car around and knocked on her door.
When she came out, he explained, "I need to know the story behind the fifty dollar asking price. No matter what you tell me, I'm not going to change my mind about the purchase. I don't care if I'll loose the car tomorrow. I just need to satisfy my curiosity."
The woman proceeded to explain that the car belonged to her husband. Evidently, he ran off with his secretary to South America. When he phoned home, he said, "Honey, you can have everything: the house, the bank accounts, the investment fund accounts, your car, everything. All I ask is that you sell my Mustang and send me the money."
Monday, August 13, 2007
The Sneetches of Southern California
One of my favorite stories from my childhood is the Dr. Seus (Theodor Seuss Geisel) story about the Sneetches. (BTW, the proper German pronunciation for his pen name, his mother's maiden name, is "zoice".)
For those of you who are not familiar with the story, it's about these furry creatures in which half of their population has a star on their belly and the other half doesn't. The star-belly Sneetches thought they were special and looked down on the plain-belly Sneetches. Not only did the star-belly Sneetches showed distain for the plain-belly Sneetches, they excluded the plain-belly Sneetches from their activities.
Then, a guy named Sylvester McMonkey McBean came along with a machine that can put stars on the belly of the plain-belly Sneetches and offered to do so for a fee. Of course, all the plain-belly Sneetches gladly paid the fee for the opportunity to be elevated into ranks of the star-belly Sneetches.
To retain their exclusivity, the original star-belly Sneetches paid McBeam to remove the star from their belly. So, the new plain-belly Sneetches who were the original star-belly Sneetches continued to look down on the new star-belly Sneetches who were the original plain-belly Sneetches.
So the new star-belly Sneetches had their star removed, followed by the new plain-belly Sneetches having a star put back on.
This cycle of star placement and removal continues until all the Sneetches went broke and McBean has all their money.
While I enjoy the humor in this children story, I enjoy even more watching it played out in real life. No matter where I travel, each society has its own icon of exclusivity.
Nowhere is it more prevalent than in the youth culture of Southern California. There, the icon, for the young women, is the designer label outfits and fashion accessories. For the guys, it's the cars.
I know these four guys who took it to a very bizarre extreme. They wanted a car that would outclass the vehicles of all their peers. In fact, they wanted a machine that none of their peers can come close to even competing with. They wanted a Lamborghini Diablo.
These babies, even pre-owned, go for at least two hundred thousand dollars each. They couldn't afford the forty thousand dollar down payment much less the six years of monthly payments.
However, they realized two important things. While each of them, by himself, could not possibly come up with the forty thousand dollar down payment, they could pool all their savings together and come up with the sum. The second thing that they realized is that if they fail to make the monthly payment, the lending institution would not repossess the car for at least three or four months.
And yes, that's exactly what they did. They pooled their savings to make the down payment and scheduled the usage of the car between themselves for the four months before it's repossessed.
And for those four months, they had the ultimate star on their belly.
For those of you who are not familiar with the story, it's about these furry creatures in which half of their population has a star on their belly and the other half doesn't. The star-belly Sneetches thought they were special and looked down on the plain-belly Sneetches. Not only did the star-belly Sneetches showed distain for the plain-belly Sneetches, they excluded the plain-belly Sneetches from their activities.
Then, a guy named Sylvester McMonkey McBean came along with a machine that can put stars on the belly of the plain-belly Sneetches and offered to do so for a fee. Of course, all the plain-belly Sneetches gladly paid the fee for the opportunity to be elevated into ranks of the star-belly Sneetches.
To retain their exclusivity, the original star-belly Sneetches paid McBeam to remove the star from their belly. So, the new plain-belly Sneetches who were the original star-belly Sneetches continued to look down on the new star-belly Sneetches who were the original plain-belly Sneetches.
So the new star-belly Sneetches had their star removed, followed by the new plain-belly Sneetches having a star put back on.
This cycle of star placement and removal continues until all the Sneetches went broke and McBean has all their money.
While I enjoy the humor in this children story, I enjoy even more watching it played out in real life. No matter where I travel, each society has its own icon of exclusivity.
Nowhere is it more prevalent than in the youth culture of Southern California. There, the icon, for the young women, is the designer label outfits and fashion accessories. For the guys, it's the cars.
I know these four guys who took it to a very bizarre extreme. They wanted a car that would outclass the vehicles of all their peers. In fact, they wanted a machine that none of their peers can come close to even competing with. They wanted a Lamborghini Diablo.
These babies, even pre-owned, go for at least two hundred thousand dollars each. They couldn't afford the forty thousand dollar down payment much less the six years of monthly payments.
However, they realized two important things. While each of them, by himself, could not possibly come up with the forty thousand dollar down payment, they could pool all their savings together and come up with the sum. The second thing that they realized is that if they fail to make the monthly payment, the lending institution would not repossess the car for at least three or four months.
And yes, that's exactly what they did. They pooled their savings to make the down payment and scheduled the usage of the car between themselves for the four months before it's repossessed.
And for those four months, they had the ultimate star on their belly.
Saturday, August 11, 2007
Commercial Flight Boarding: An Olympic Event?
I spend a lot of time waiting. I'm waiting in traffic jams. I'm waiting in a store checkout queue. I'm waiting to board a train. I'm waiting to board a flight.
With all the waiting, I've acquired a hobby of people watching. And no matter the situation, there's always an interesting story to tell when I finally arrive at my destination.
Usually, I'd tell the story to my friends and we'd have a good laugh; then, I'd forget about them. Recently, I realized that many good stories are being lost. That's when I decided to start this blog: "Watching the Wheels Go Round and Round" and record the richness of life as it plays out while I wait for something.
I encountered a doozy of a story when I had a layover in Pittsburgh. There, I observed the most ill-prepared passenger ever in the history of commercial aviation. And her traveling woes were compounded by a series of unexpected airline mishaps. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and someone were telling me this story, I would have thought that the speaker was weaving a tall tale.
As I wait for my flight, a young women ran in to join the queue at the check-in counter at the gate. There was excitement on her face, like that of a child on Christmas morning. Looked like her first time flying.
Nothing interesting about that.
But wait... She's carrying two large black plastic trash bags for her luggage!
I wandered, "Does airport security allow the carrying of fully stuffed trash bags? Are they going to allow trash bags as carry-ons? Are they going let her check trash bags in?" This situation is definitely one to watch.
The queue was unbearably slow and my anticipation of seeing the situation unfold was getting the best of me.
Finally, she reached the head of the queue.
Gosh, I wish I had a camera for the expression on the faces of the airline check-in agents! The look of surprise and the attempt to hold back laughter while trying to pretend for this passenger that this happens all the time. One of the agents had to look away to hide her lost of control of her facial expression.
Well, the answer to all my questions were "no". She can not carry on nor check in a couple of garbage bags. So, the agents gave her a couple of flat unassembled cardboard boxes and packaging tapes. Then, they sent her off to properly box her luggage.
It took her quite a while to fold and tape up the cardboard boxes and even longer to stuff them with her belongs. Finally, she rejoined the back of the queue once again.
No, her excitement hadn't faded, yet.
Unfortunately, by the time she reached the front of the queue, they had already closed the gate and the aircraft had started to taxi to the runway. So they sent her to the ticket counter to change her flight. (Note to the Pittsburgh Airport people: The distance between the gate and the ticket counter is too far to be practical for anyone who has to change their itinerary when they are already at the gate.)
So she, left the gate area with determination on her face.
This passenger was gone only a couple of minutes when the aircraft came back to the gate. Apparently, the pilot encountered some mechanical failure while sitting on the runway.
Hmmm... Looking like an episode of some television sitcom.
When she arrived back at the gate (about fifteen minutes later), she dropped her cardboard boxed, rush to the head of the queue and started talking frantically with the check-in agent. The agents agreed to watch her boxes and she dashed back to the ticket counter. In the mean time, the check-in agents started talking (I think) to the cabin crew as the other passengers in the queue waited with impatience on their faces.
Uh, oh! There's bad news on the faces of the check-in agents.
When the hapless passenger returned, the agents informed her that the flight is full and she's unable to board.
Back to the ticket counter for her!
Another fifteen minutes later, she returned to the gate area clutching to her new ticket as if clutching for her life.
She collected her cardboard boxes and joined the back of the check-in queue once again.
Suddenly, the door to the gate opened and a very irritated passenger stomped out. The thirty-minute wait was too much for this portly passenger.
The check-in agent frantically waved the trash bag passenger over, grabbed her two cardboard boxes, and sent her dashing to the ticket counter, once again.
Fifteen minutes later, she came running back into the gate area, her arms raised as if to break the tape at the finish line.
She made the flight and they closed the gate.
With all the waiting, I've acquired a hobby of people watching. And no matter the situation, there's always an interesting story to tell when I finally arrive at my destination.
Usually, I'd tell the story to my friends and we'd have a good laugh; then, I'd forget about them. Recently, I realized that many good stories are being lost. That's when I decided to start this blog: "Watching the Wheels Go Round and Round" and record the richness of life as it plays out while I wait for something.
I encountered a doozy of a story when I had a layover in Pittsburgh. There, I observed the most ill-prepared passenger ever in the history of commercial aviation. And her traveling woes were compounded by a series of unexpected airline mishaps. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes and someone were telling me this story, I would have thought that the speaker was weaving a tall tale.
As I wait for my flight, a young women ran in to join the queue at the check-in counter at the gate. There was excitement on her face, like that of a child on Christmas morning. Looked like her first time flying.
Nothing interesting about that.
But wait... She's carrying two large black plastic trash bags for her luggage!
I wandered, "Does airport security allow the carrying of fully stuffed trash bags? Are they going to allow trash bags as carry-ons? Are they going let her check trash bags in?" This situation is definitely one to watch.
The queue was unbearably slow and my anticipation of seeing the situation unfold was getting the best of me.
Finally, she reached the head of the queue.
Gosh, I wish I had a camera for the expression on the faces of the airline check-in agents! The look of surprise and the attempt to hold back laughter while trying to pretend for this passenger that this happens all the time. One of the agents had to look away to hide her lost of control of her facial expression.
Well, the answer to all my questions were "no". She can not carry on nor check in a couple of garbage bags. So, the agents gave her a couple of flat unassembled cardboard boxes and packaging tapes. Then, they sent her off to properly box her luggage.
It took her quite a while to fold and tape up the cardboard boxes and even longer to stuff them with her belongs. Finally, she rejoined the back of the queue once again.
No, her excitement hadn't faded, yet.
Unfortunately, by the time she reached the front of the queue, they had already closed the gate and the aircraft had started to taxi to the runway. So they sent her to the ticket counter to change her flight. (Note to the Pittsburgh Airport people: The distance between the gate and the ticket counter is too far to be practical for anyone who has to change their itinerary when they are already at the gate.)
So she, left the gate area with determination on her face.
This passenger was gone only a couple of minutes when the aircraft came back to the gate. Apparently, the pilot encountered some mechanical failure while sitting on the runway.
Hmmm... Looking like an episode of some television sitcom.
When she arrived back at the gate (about fifteen minutes later), she dropped her cardboard boxed, rush to the head of the queue and started talking frantically with the check-in agent. The agents agreed to watch her boxes and she dashed back to the ticket counter. In the mean time, the check-in agents started talking (I think) to the cabin crew as the other passengers in the queue waited with impatience on their faces.
Uh, oh! There's bad news on the faces of the check-in agents.
When the hapless passenger returned, the agents informed her that the flight is full and she's unable to board.
Back to the ticket counter for her!
Another fifteen minutes later, she returned to the gate area clutching to her new ticket as if clutching for her life.
She collected her cardboard boxes and joined the back of the check-in queue once again.
Suddenly, the door to the gate opened and a very irritated passenger stomped out. The thirty-minute wait was too much for this portly passenger.
The check-in agent frantically waved the trash bag passenger over, grabbed her two cardboard boxes, and sent her dashing to the ticket counter, once again.
Fifteen minutes later, she came running back into the gate area, her arms raised as if to break the tape at the finish line.
She made the flight and they closed the gate.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
A Clash of Bathroom Cultures
Someone posted comments to an article from the McClatchy Newspapers web site. The title of the article is "At U.S. Base, Iraqis Must Use Separate Latrine". The person who posted it was angry at the U.S. treatment of the Iraqi nationals on U.S. Bases in Iraq. She calls the act racist.
The response to the article made me laugh. Having traveled in the area, I totally understand why there are separate bathroom facilities. It is to accommodate a clash of bathroom cultures.
In the western bathrooms, we sit on toilets to "do our business". However, in that part of the world, they have squat toilets.
We, in the western world, consider it perfectly fine to sit, with our bare bottoms, on something on which someone else had put their bare bottoms. However, doing so, is a bit disgusting to those who are used to the bathroom fixtures that do not require the touching of one's bare bottoms on something on which someone else had put their bare bottoms.
I remember my mom having once told me that before she came to America, she's always had used the squat toilet and it took a lot of time for her to overcome the disgust of putting her bare bottom on something on which someone else had put their bare bottom.
On the other had, when I went with a group of my friends (Americans) to that part of the world, they tell me that they had a hard time adjusting to the squat toilet. They just weren't used to squatting for a long time; their muscles were not developed for that activity.
Also, in the Muslim worship, there's a call to prayer several times a day. Before the worship (or maybe as part of the worship) they need to wash their feet. (In middle eastern culture, "the foot" includes both the lower leg as well as what we consider the foot.)
Once I was on a project whose clients were from Saudi Arabia, we had to install special fixtures for washing the feet before prayer. If these special fixtures were not available, they would wash there feet in the sink.
I can imagine the U.S. troops getting pretty grossed out having to brush their teeth and shave in sinks in which someone had washed their feet and lower legs; feet that has been marching in combat boots all day long.
It's funny how simple differences in our cultures dictating the how one conducts the bare essentials of life can separate us so.
p.s., A Muslim wipes himself/herself after "doing his/her business" with the left hand and eats with the right hand. One time, an American friend of mine, who's left handed, offered a Muslim friend chewing gum with his left. The Muslim friend frowned and hesitated to accept. However, when my American friend switched hands and offered the gum with his right hand, the Muslim friend accepted without hesitation. i.e. After my American friend had already touched it with his left hand. lol!
The response to the article made me laugh. Having traveled in the area, I totally understand why there are separate bathroom facilities. It is to accommodate a clash of bathroom cultures.
In the western bathrooms, we sit on toilets to "do our business". However, in that part of the world, they have squat toilets.
We, in the western world, consider it perfectly fine to sit, with our bare bottoms, on something on which someone else had put their bare bottoms. However, doing so, is a bit disgusting to those who are used to the bathroom fixtures that do not require the touching of one's bare bottoms on something on which someone else had put their bare bottoms.
I remember my mom having once told me that before she came to America, she's always had used the squat toilet and it took a lot of time for her to overcome the disgust of putting her bare bottom on something on which someone else had put their bare bottom.
On the other had, when I went with a group of my friends (Americans) to that part of the world, they tell me that they had a hard time adjusting to the squat toilet. They just weren't used to squatting for a long time; their muscles were not developed for that activity.
Also, in the Muslim worship, there's a call to prayer several times a day. Before the worship (or maybe as part of the worship) they need to wash their feet. (In middle eastern culture, "the foot" includes both the lower leg as well as what we consider the foot.)
Once I was on a project whose clients were from Saudi Arabia, we had to install special fixtures for washing the feet before prayer. If these special fixtures were not available, they would wash there feet in the sink.
I can imagine the U.S. troops getting pretty grossed out having to brush their teeth and shave in sinks in which someone had washed their feet and lower legs; feet that has been marching in combat boots all day long.
It's funny how simple differences in our cultures dictating the how one conducts the bare essentials of life can separate us so.
p.s., A Muslim wipes himself/herself after "doing his/her business" with the left hand and eats with the right hand. One time, an American friend of mine, who's left handed, offered a Muslim friend chewing gum with his left. The Muslim friend frowned and hesitated to accept. However, when my American friend switched hands and offered the gum with his right hand, the Muslim friend accepted without hesitation. i.e. After my American friend had already touched it with his left hand. lol!
Wednesday, August 8, 2007
And I thought I've seen it all...
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Although I live in downtown Baltimore, I don't take the downtown Baltimore exit when I drive home on I95. The traffic on that exit ramp is too unbearable. So I take prior exit, Washington Boulevard.
Washington Boulevard is also the exit the truckers take. Because of the trucker traffic, Washington Boulevard is also the road in which prostitutes thumb for johns.
These days, I'm so used to the scantly clad women on Washington Boulevard that I'm now anesthetized to their presence, barely noticing any of them except to avoid one when she runs across the street as a trucker screeches to a halt to pick her up.
However, today, I saw a site that nearly caused me to drive off the road.
On the side of the road was a wrinkled old grey hair woman with tight jeans, three inch heels and see-through blouse thumbing for a john.
This woman looks like someone's grandmother. Heck, with the high teenage pregnancy rate in that neighborhood, this woman could be someone's great grandmother.
For the first time in a very long time, I was so shocked that I was completely speechless.
Four blocks down the road, a thought finally popped into my head.
If someone actually picks her up, those two would undoubtedly be the two most desperate people in Baltimore.
Although I live in downtown Baltimore, I don't take the downtown Baltimore exit when I drive home on I95. The traffic on that exit ramp is too unbearable. So I take prior exit, Washington Boulevard.
Washington Boulevard is also the exit the truckers take. Because of the trucker traffic, Washington Boulevard is also the road in which prostitutes thumb for johns.
These days, I'm so used to the scantly clad women on Washington Boulevard that I'm now anesthetized to their presence, barely noticing any of them except to avoid one when she runs across the street as a trucker screeches to a halt to pick her up.
However, today, I saw a site that nearly caused me to drive off the road.
On the side of the road was a wrinkled old grey hair woman with tight jeans, three inch heels and see-through blouse thumbing for a john.
This woman looks like someone's grandmother. Heck, with the high teenage pregnancy rate in that neighborhood, this woman could be someone's great grandmother.
For the first time in a very long time, I was so shocked that I was completely speechless.
Four blocks down the road, a thought finally popped into my head.
If someone actually picks her up, those two would undoubtedly be the two most desperate people in Baltimore.
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