Bogart's Green Tea

Early for my appointment I entered one of those very modern, hipster, over-priced cafes on University Place, just looking to kill time.   It was crowded and apparently everyone else in the place was killing time, too.   And from the looks of them it looked like time was killing them.   They all looked to be suffering, greatly, except for a group of students at one of the large tables.    Wait.   They were all students.   Everyone in the place was at least 30 years younger than me.   But they all looked so serious and sad.   Not a smile or a welcoming face anywhere.    God forbid I should share a table with one of them.   Screw them.

I stood on line and when it came my turn the guy behind the counter (I refuse to identify him as a, "barista,") asked for my order.

"Uh, I'll take an iced green tea and one of those empanadas."
"Okay.   Your name?"
"Hah?"
"Your name," he asked again.
"Oh, uh, Joseph."
"Okay, Joseph, when your order is ready the girl will call your name."
"Oh!   That's why you wanted my name?   Wow.   What a system.   You know,  I could have said anything there, couldn't I?    I mean, I could have said,  "Rene Descartes, or Orville Wright. and she would have to call it."
"Yes."
"Change it." I asked.   "I want to be called, 'Humphrey Bogart.'  Can you change it to 'Humphrey Bogart?'"
"Sure."
"And I want to be called, Humphrey Bogart,   Out loud."
"Oh, she'll call you, all right."

I couldn't resist the chance to belittle their system by playing this immature and childish prank.
Yes,  I'm "Humphrey Bogart," and she's going to have to call that name out loud for all to hear.

I started practicing my Bogart imitation.   "Okay, doll. . .hand over the tea, if you knows whats good for ya..."   Good. . .   and, "Say, shweetheat, how'd a doll like you end up in a dump like this?"    Perfect.

After a few minutes I got a little nervous.   Perhaps this was a little too childish and immature, even by MY standards.    I should ask him to change it back.   No, then I'll look insane!   Too late.   I made my choice.  Screw them if they can't take a joke.   Besides these people look like they could all use a laugh.   What a pathetic group, the customers and the workers.  

Suddenly, I heard, "Humphrey Bogart!"

She was not smiling.

I cupped my ear with my hand.  "What was that name again?"
"Humphrey Bogart!"  she shouted.   Perfect now everyone heard it.   Humphrey Bogart's order was ready.   No one flinched or even looked up.    Did I pick the wrong iconic actor?   Should I have chosen Gable?   Or, Flynn?  Or, Jolson?  

What did it matter?  In a group like this, of twelve-year-olds, it wouldn't matter.   They wouldn't know Bogart from  Clara Bow.

In my best Bogey imitation I walked up to the counter-girl and said, "Hey sister.   I don't ground shouting your name around the restaurant, now do I?"
"Here you are, sir."
"Thanks, toots."

The sound of crickets was barely audible.    .

How sad.  

CONFIRMATION, PLEASE!!!

I called the cable company on Friday.    I had to make an appointment for a technician to come to my house to address the problem I was having.    He or she was scheduled to come on Tuesday from 4 to 6 pm.    No problem.   I could wait.

But by Sunday, I had received at least a dozen "confirmation" calls, automated calls, asking me if I wanted to keep the appointment and reminding me who had to be there.   By evening, I as shaking in anticipation of the next "confirmation," call.   Didn't the first twelve confirmations count for anything?   Did they think they were going to catch me in a lie?    "Yes, I'll be here."   Ha!   Pulled one over on them!  I'm goin' out!   Let them try to get in!   Hilarious!

No.    Why would I do that?

Then, it came.    The thirteenth confirmation call.    I hung up in the middle of it and called the cable company myself.

"Please press 5 for 'Customer Service."
At last, a human.
"Hello, my name is Natalie, how may I help you?"
"Hello, Natalie.  I'm calling because I have an appointment for a technician to come on Tuesday."
"Yes, I can see that on your account.   Would you like to change the appointment?"
"No!   No, no, no.    You see, Natalie, I have only received about three dozen confirmation calls from Time Warner in the past 4 hours, so I was getting a bit concerned.    I would like to confirm that appointment and also ask you if I may have about fifteen more confirmation calls tonight, and about a dozen more tomorrow.   Would that be okay?"

Natalie was cool and at this point fully caught on.

"I'll remove your phone number from the confirmation call list, Mr. Ciolino."

"No!  No!   Please no, I need those confirmation.   I have to have them!   Suppose they don't show up?    Then what?   Can you confirm another confirmation call!   Please!   I can't take the uncertainty!"

Poor Natalie.

When The Music Stops, I Cry

Dammit.   Every damn time.

When the music's playing, I'm fine.   Really.  I know you don't want, or have trouble believing that.   But it's true.   Okay, maybe not TOTALLY fine, but so much better.   I dance, dammit.   I dance when the music's playing.

When it stops, it's like death. 

If a tree falls in the forest. . .

Answer: no.

Sound is that which is perceived, it has no existence apart from the "hearer."   Vibrations.  Only vibrations exist.    They turn into "sound," when our brains, (or the brains of any living thing) interprets those vibrations, identifies them.    Then, sound exists.  

The universe is silent.  

Music, therefore, does not really exist at all.   As a life-long lover of music, particularly classical music you may find it difficult to believe that I can say this.   But it undeniable.   Music, cannot exists apart from the hearer because it is only "vibrations."   Okay?   I hope I don't have to repeat myself.   

So, what happens when the music stops?

Ah, that, as they say, is another story. . .