WAHOOTWO – AUGUST 12, 2015
Jobless Crisis – American Held Hostage: Day 80
You know what I miss about applying for jobs online? The rejection. Yeah. I’m at the point where I would even enjoy a rejection.
I went to a Beach Boys/Herman’s Hermits concert at the local minor league baseball park Tuesday night. I enjoyed it more than I expected. Very good, fun show. Tickets were $35. When I went to buy the tickets online, I noticed an additional $5.50 was tacked on as an “online processing fee.” Since I was getting four tickets, this would hike up the price an additional $22. I checked my schedule and saw that I had no plans all week, so I drove to the stadium to buy the tickets at the box office. This would save me the “online processing fee.” I bought 4 of the best available. It came to $162. I didn’t realize I was charged the “online processing fee” until I got home. In between sending out aimless job applications, I tapped out an angry e-mail to the Boulder/Provident Bank Stadium. Yeah, another sign of a retiree is sending out angry e-mails. I wanted to know why I was charged an “online processing fee”. In the return e-mail, I was told I wasn’t charged an “online processing fee” but a “Ticket Service Charge.” Some more “blah blah blah” was included. I wrote back wondering if those buying tickets online are also charged the “Ticket Service Charge” in addition to the “online processing fee.” Answer: No, they aren’t.
Stop the nonsense. Is it an “Online Processing Fee” or is it a “Ticket Service Charge”? We all know it’s a game. Why not be an adult and just say you’re charging $40.50 a ticket.
Ahh, what’s in a name?
And if that wasn’t bad enough . . . no Al Jardine!
“Damn, and I had Geno Smith on my fantasy team” – Things Nobody Says
I sometimes feel like Jack Nicholson in “The Shining”. My wife Denise notices the hours I search the job sites on the computer. And if she looked, she would find that all I’ve accomplished is pages and pages of “All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.”
Breaking News: “Fantastic Four” changing its name to “Four”.
Lots of people were sharing their Jon Stewart story since he retired. Here’s mine. The Late Show was playing The Daily Show in a softball game, 1999/2000-ish, De Witt Clinton Park at the end of 53rd Street. Being my non-assertive self, I let those who need control to decide what position I should play. For some reason, they deemed I was suitable for right field. Sigh. Right field is usually reserved for the kid whose talent isn’t in sports. I remember thinking, “Hey, look at that, the person who needs control thinks he’s a shortstop.” So I’m playing right field and Jon Stewart comes up for the Daily Show. And he’s a lefty! Right-swinging hitters tend to hit to left field; the more rare left-swinging hitters tend to hit to right field. With the lefty Jon Stewart at the plate, right field was now in play. From his warm-up swings I could sense he knew how to handle a bat. I could tell he’s played this game before. I take a few steps back and over towards the right field foul line, knowing lefties like to pull. The pitch . . . and Jon smacks the ball deep deep deep over my head. I turn and run. When I played softball back in my day, chasing down a fly ball was a complete joy. I would eye the ball in the sky gliding softly and quietly through the air as if it were waiting for me to arrive before its descent. But not tonight. I hadn’t played the game in years. The ball in the sky was violently jumping all over the place. I couldn’t focus on its path. My run was unsteady, and so was the ball. I knew I was getting close to the fence. The ball, the fence, and I were converging at the same time. I knew there was no way I was going to be able to catch this ball. I took my best guess and jumped as the ball came down. The ball found my mitt as I found the fence. I crashed to the ground and the dust came up. I caught it, no one more shocked than me. A taxi driver beeps and gives an excited Spanish shout. It was the third out of the inning. As I run in from right field, Jon Stewart redirects his run of the bases and veers out to right field. He mocks anger and puts me in a headlock. We both wanted to show off to the young kids we were with. It was the last “great catch” I ever made.
And that’s my Jon Stewart story.
And that’s what you call an Ego Tale. About a quarter of the way through I realized no one would be interested but I continued anyway just for me. Because I wanted to read it.