When we sat down at a table by the window in Bahama Breeze in the Orlando airport, I saw a QR code on the table. Interesting. I could scan, order, and pay right on my phone. Sweet. About five minutes later, when no server had come to our table, I decided to give it a try.
I scanned the code, brought up the menu, and started clicking boxes for our meals. Salad, fish tacos, drinks. Done. Easy-Peary. I clicked on the shopping cart to check out.
A message popped up. “A server must open a tab for this table to use virtual ordering.”
Wait a minute. I thought the purpose of this was to bypass the need to wait for a server. If a server had come to our table, I wouldn’t need to order online.
Finally someone did come over. Paola greeted us, saying, “I guess I’m your server.” There were very few servers working a couple dozen table, so she was hustling. She did a good job and I gave her a nice cash tip.
But hey, don’t tease me with a QR code if you’re only going to lead me to a dead end.
Members have access to this gym twenty-four hours a day. It’s not a big gym. It probably doesn’t have too many members. It’s a hole-in-the-wall kind of place in a strip mall next to a Cuban restaurant. But it’s well-equipped, close to my house, and extremely affordable.
It was a Thursday, outside of my usual Monday-Wednesday-Friday routine. On those days I join about a dozen other people to workout.
But this day, three others were there at 9 am. Fifteen minutes later, they left, and I was alone. The front door was locked, 90’s metal music filled the air, and I still had a few sets of bench presses to go. It felt weird. Not creepy, just unusual.
So what’s better? A room full of people to work around? Having to wait your turn at a bench? Or having the place to yourself, with no one watching you, judging you, or waiting for you to get done at a station?
It really doesn’t matter. Most people just do their own thing. They’re not watching. They’re focused on doing their own thing. I probably do more observing than most.
And maybe that’s why it felt so strange. There was no one to notice, no one to watch.
How would you feel if you were the only one at the gym?
He was already in the window seat when I slid into the center seat and stuffed my bag under the seat in front of me. He didn’t nod or look or even notice me. He just stared out the window, cell phone in hand. I don’t think he moved even once during boarding, the long wait for takeoff, and 150 minutes in the air.
As we were just about to land, his phone caught a cell signal and I spied on his oversized texts with someone on the ground.
[We’re landing head to the pickup area]
[Where are you]
[We’re landing go to the pickup area]
We were just about to touch down at DFW. The Dallas – Fort Worth airport has five terminals, and each terminal has multiple pickup areas for arriving flights. You need to let your ride know exactly where you will be.
[Which terminal are you in]
[I’m in the big yellow plane]
Spirit airlines has big yellow planes. Lots of them. And they seem to be everywhere.
[Where are you]
[I’ll find you when I get off the plane]
Infrequent fliers must be intimidated by air travel through some of the huge airports. Maybe I should have offered to help. Or, maybe I shouldn’t have been looking over his shoulder reading his texts.
Yeah, he was talking to me. Sixteen-ish, the young man was chatting it up around the gym, making sure everyone knew he was there. A little shorter than me and quite a bit heavier, he helped me add twenty-five-pound plates as I got ready to do some squats. When he watched me get ready for some deadlifts he reminded me that I was the oldest guy in the room.
I’ve been called Grandpa and Apa by my grandchildren. In fact, when I was playing with a bunch of MOPS (Mothers of Preschoolers) kids, they all called me Grandpa because my grandson did. But I’ve never been called “Gramps” before. It’s a label I’ve always associated with someone much older than me. Apparently, I qualify.
Is it normal to feel younger than your chronological age? My dad would argue with me about his age. When I asked him, “Did you ever think you would live to be ninety?” he would chuckle and say, “I’m not that old.” So, I’d ask him, “When were you born?” He would correctly answer, “1924.” “So, you are in your nineties!” He’d shake his head in disbelief.
There is one older gentleman I see in the gym just about every time I am there. Ed walks with a cane, sits on a few machines, and cranks out a few light reps. I give him credit. He’s there, doing more than most people. When he’s there, I don’t feel like “Gramps.”
Anyway, I’m just going to receive that comment as a compliment. I’m there doing more than most, too.
The sign on the door threatened, “If you let anyone in through the front door when the owners are not present, you will be dismembered.”
Well, OK, I exaggerate. The sign didn’t say dismembered. If caught, you’d be charged an extra month’s membership fee.
My insurance pays for a gym membership, so I found a 24-hour place a few miles from my home and got back into weightlifting after years of mostly bodyweight HIIT workouts. The owners are on-site from 11 am to 7 pm during the week. The rest of the time, members enter with a fob that unlocks the front door.
I guess some were letting nonmembers in to work out for free, so one morning, a very specific sign was on the front door. Don’t do it. Don’t let anyone in when the owners aren’t here. Or else.
I wasn’t there to work out, but the first time I stopped by to look at the gym, someone let me in the door. They simply said, “The owners aren’t here right now.”
The business is small enough that the owners know all the members. One of them must have stopped by unexpectedly and discovered some non-members working out.
Anyway, I was in the middle of some squat sets when I saw a couple at the front door, reading the sign and peering in the window. A large man got up and let them in through the door with the threatening sign.
They were dressed in workout clothes, but they didn’t stay. “We’ll come back a little later.”
That’s the way it is, right? Rules don’t deter. If a sign is up long enough, soon you won’t notice it anymore. Locked doors pique curiosity rather than keeping someone out. Warnings are for sissies, right?
There’s another sign at the gym: “Rack your weights – in the right place.” Naturally, when I walk in the floor is littered with plates, collars, bars, and dumbbells. When an owner arrives, he spends thirty minutes picking up and putting away equipment. You do what you have to do.
Although I tend to be a “rules” kind of guy (I always put my weights away), I have my kryptonite. I’ll always flip a light switch with a piece of tape over it to see what happens. I like to check out rooms labeled “Employees only.” Are we past the expiration date? I say, “Let’s see if it still tastes good.”
As I was driving around today, I thought of a number of reasons why I will enjoy autonomous cars on the road in the near future.
These cars will use signals for all right and left turns and lane changes. I know I’m not the only one dismayed by the rare use of the turn signal.
Self-driving cars will not roll through stop signs nor will they run red lights. I pause when the light turns green. Too many cars have sped across my path in defiance of a red light.
No autonomous cars will be riding my butt on the highway. They will maintain a safe and reasonable distance behind me. That will be refreshing.
That’s because they will be driving the speed limit. They will not be pushing the envelope to see how fast they can go.
Self-driving cars will not cut me off in town or on the highway. They will not weave in and out through traffic.
They will park amazingly well. Straight and between the lines. What, no dings on the door? And not on my front lawn.
They will go when the light turns green. Self-driving cars will not be distracted by phones or kids, but will pay attention to the traffic signals.
No autonomous car will be driving fifteen miles per hour below the highway speed limit either.
And they will all know where they are going. They won’t ignore wrong way signs and turn into incoming traffic. They won’t crawl through town looking for a street. GPS will guide them right where they need to go.
We’ll be in self-driving cars sooner than we think. Is that a good thing? We’ll soon find out.
I had to go to a lawyer’s office yesterday to sign a piece of paper. It wasn’t out of my way. I went there while running some other errands in the area.
The office was located in a large suite of offices. At least six buildings surrounded a large parking lot, each housing twelve professional offices.
I found the right one without any trouble. As I walked in the door, I expected to see a nice entrance to a law office. Once inside, though, I found two white doors and a stairway leading up the stairs. The firm’s name was etched on a simple black plastic sign on one of the doors. At least I was in the right place.
When I tried the door, it was locked. I had called ahead of time and they told me when they would be open. Puzzle, I read the very small sign over the doorknob, “Ring for entrance.” I pushed the button, expecting an electronic lock to open for me. When I tried the door again – nothing.
I heard someone talking from inside. They must have been on the phone. They said, “Can you hold on a minute?” About fifteen seconds later, the bolt turned and the door opened. A friendly face greeted me. “How can I help you?”
I explained who I was and followed her in. The office was nice but simple. Not nearly as fancy as I expected. It wasn’t a rough part of town, but I suppose you have to be careful. You don’t want just anyone walking in the door unless you’re expecting them. More and more places keep their doors locked.
I’ve encountered locked doors when I’ve stopped by doctor’s offices, churches during the week, certain floors of a hospital, hotel fitness rooms, and some public bathrooms. I wish so many good things didn’t have to be secured behind locked doors.
My four-year-old grandson decided to get into the ball basket on our porch. He still fits, but just barely. To fit, he had to toss out each ball, and work his way to the bottom of the 2×2 foot basket.
He threw out fuzzy snowballs from some Christmas in the past. Plastic baseballs we used to hit in the yard. Pimple balls – inflatable balls covered with little bumps. Various colored balls that every grandchild played with as babies. Balls that light up when you bounce them on the ground. A couple of soccer balls we kick around the backyard. A little basketball with dog teeth marks in it. Little balls that roll down chutes.
He unearthed Andy and Annie (from Toy Story). And “something.” He was almost at the bottom of the basket when he came upon something he couldn’t identify.
I went over to see what he had found. It was awesome. It was the dried skeletal remains of a lizard.
Yes, this is awesome on many levels.
First, it means that the lizard who had been living on our porch, who we could never catch or expel for the porch, was an ex-lizard.
Second, just look at this guy. You can see his whole skeleton. LIttle boys and grandpas get a lot of joy from skeletons, lizard, dinosaur, or human.
Third, he’s dried and preserved. We could take him home and keep him along with other treasures we’ve accumulated. We’ll put him on a shelf or in a drawer. Mom will never find out.
Have you ever gone to a museum or a science center to see the dinosaur skeletons? They are huge, awesome, and memorable. On a smaller scale, we have our own dinosaur-esque bones. We can start our own museum or road-side attraction!
I think this is one of the reasons grandfathers are so important. Moms will scream, “Get that thing out of here. Now go wash your hands!” Grandmothers will call for grandfathers to take care of the skeletal invaders. Dads will say, “Go ask your mom if you can keep it.” But grandpa (aka moi) will come up with all kinds of cool reasons why you should take it home and keep it.
This is a brand new house in our neighborhood. With a brand new dent in the garage door. A work van, an SUV, and a pickup truck are usually parked in the three-car-wide driveway. The van usually occupies this spot.
I can’t help but wonder about the moment this happened.
You thought you had shifted into reverse, but you were in drive. A little tap on the gas and BOOM, you’ve smashed in the door.
It’s late. It’s dark. No moon in the sky. No one left the outside light on. And you were looking at your phone. It’s the perfect recipe for a close encounter with the garage door.
A few too many Coronas for Cinco de Mayo? Actually, I think it’s a Russian family. More likely a little too much vodka.
Did someone lose their temper? “Oh no you don’t. You aren’t going to lock me out the house.”
“This is a hurricane-proof door. Look, I show you. I’ll bring the bumper of the van right up to the door and you’ll see, it won’t buckle at all.”
“I told you there was something wrong with the brakes!”
Waite for it... 