Have you ever had a nightmare, wake up, then you’re so scared you have a hard time going back to sleep? Why is that? Your brain made the whole thing up, it knows it was fake, now it’s too wigged out to sleep? Shouldn’t it just say, “Yeah, I was just yankin’ ya. I was ticked about that stupid Sudoku thing you made me do this afternoon. We even? Let’s get some sleep.”

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Readin’, ‘ritin’ and ‘rithmatic. The basis for our educational system and two of the words are misspelled. Is it any wonder our schools aren’t doing so well?

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A local children’s hospital has launched a new advertising campaign for the summer. It features a large number of billboards and neighborhood signs showing children dashing after dogs, balls, a kite, that sort of thing. The tagline for the ads is “Children dart. Drive smart.” The message, of course, is kids are tiny little idiots who will run directly in front of your car without warning, so you should be extra careful during the summer to not crush them under your wheels.

Now, that’s all good and fine, but the thing is, I don’t believe their sincerity. Think about it. This is a children’s hospital. They make money by healing sick and injured children. Why would they want you to take extra precautions to avoid driving over them? That’s money out of their pocket. The more kids you run over, the better their bottom line. I know, from a PR standpoint they can’t actually advocate the vehicular mauling of toddlers, but I don’t buy that they’re going to be all that upset if you do. It’s the same thing as Philip Morris encouraging you not to smoke, or Budweiser admonishing you to drink responsibly. Sure, it sounds like they care, but it’s less cash for them if you actually take them up on it.

Never trust when a company encourages you not to use their product.

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My local Kroger grocery store has, in their deli section, a large sign reading “Cheese Cutting Station.” As happy as I am that they’re asking people to limit their flatulence to a designated area, I’m not too sure that’s what I want going on behind me while I’m trying to buy some salami.

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I believe I’ve mentioned in previous posts about how utterly suck my apartment complex is. I know I’ve mentioned the parking debacle, but now we have a fantastic new development.

We live on the top floor of a three-story building. There’s empty space above us, I think for ductwork and such, but no apartment and no people. About a week ago, my fiancee and I heard a strange scratching, rustling sound coming from the ceiling. We tapped the area with a broom handle and were rewarded with scampering footsteps. Obviously, some sort of local wildlife had found its way into the attic area directly above our apartment and was making itself right at home. Not comfortable with rodent-based life forms living overhead, I called the apartment office the next day to report the problem.

“We have some sort of animal living in the area above our apartment.”
“What makes you think it’s an animal?” they asked. Personally, I thought that was a pretty stupid question.
“Well, it’s running around and, by the sound of things, chewing on wood and wires. So unless you’re missing a maintenance guy who’s gone feral, it’s an animal.”
“We’ll send someone over right away.”

Turns out “right away” actually means “never” as a week has gone by and absolutely nothing has been done. The critter is still up there. Worse, it sounds like now he has friends, and some of them are large. We’ve had some pretty serious thuds from up above. I envision a raccoon and a ‘possum helping each other drag in little couches and end tables.

I’ve called the office twice more, still with no results. I called again today, Sunday, and was told that there were no maintenance people available on Sunday, apparently because nothing ever breaks on the weekends.

“You do understand that this thing is chewing up your property, right?” I asked the woman on the phone. “Isn’t it in your best interest to stop it before it does any more damage?”
“There’s nothing I can do today. I can put in another maintenance request and have them call you, if that would help.”
“How exactly will that help?”
“Well… you’ll know that they’re going to look into it.”
“Can’t you call Animal Control?”
“No, this is a maintenance issue.”
“Well, they’re not around. Tell you what, I’ll call Animal Control for you.”
“Oh, no. You can’t do that. It’s not your property. We have to do that.”
“OK, then do that.”
“I can’t. That’s a maintenance issue.”

They all used to be government employees, you can just tell.

So as I type this, the increasingly bold critter and his friends sound like they’re having a rave party directly above my head. And they’re chewing on the rafters for appetizers. And all I can do is wait for tomorrow for the maintenance guy to call (assuming he even will) which will somehow miraculously fix all of our problems.

I wonder if I can at least charge the furry little bastard rent?

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If a slender, petite woman marries an exceptionally fat man, is she still considered his “better half” or is she more his “better one-eighth”?

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I’ve been seeing a lot of signs posted along the side of the road lately that say, “Stop Paying Rent!” and then there’s a phone number. Frankly, I think this is a fantastic idea and have chosen to take the sign’s advice and stop paying my rent. I’m sure my apartment complex will understand. If they give me any grief, I’ll just have them call the phone number on the sign. Let them sort it out.

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