This morning was the first visit to the newly renovated local neighborhood Target. It is the first time we have been there since it was transformed in to a “Super Target.” Now, I realize that I am in the minority on this one, but even before it was “Super,” Target has never been one of my favorite places to shop (sorry, JJ). The thought of a “Super Target” was akin to a “super hemorrhoid” in my mind.
It was the usual freak show worthy of any carnival. There were, of course, those who are unable to shop without cell phone attached to face - “So he was acting all weird, ya know, but I decided to go out with him anyway, and like, ya know, it was all just kinda weird…” I DON’T CARE ABOUT YOUR LIFE GET OUT OF MY WAY! (the women are just as bad). While negotiating the carneys and celluloids, I wound up in the food section of the “Super” store (I think this is the part that is supposed to make it “Super”). What I saw turned my head and may have forever changed my perception of Target (“Super” or otherwise).
It was… the wine aisle.
Now, Claire (and anyone else who may read this), you know that I am fond of wine and while not an expert, I have more than a passing knowledge of the noble grape. I have my favorite wine countries, regions, grapes, blends, and even keep a few particularly good bottles around for special occasions (like a Saturday evening). But, Claire!!! They have discovered something to simplify the whole wine experience that is nothing short of genius! While they cannot take credit for discovering that wines actually come in colors now, they have this brilliant system for categorizing wines. Forget countries, forget vintage and non-vintage, forget cork, screw cap and box o’wine… Look!
That’s right, white wine now comes in “Rich” or “Crisp.” (!!!) No longer do I have to read every bottle to see which one is rich and which one is crisp, country by country, grape by grape. Think of all the time I can save. I can decide that I want a crisp white wine to go with my Tyson Chicken Tenders and just reach out and grab a bottle. I don’t even have to look at which one I picked! Finally; freedom from choice… But just when I thought I had seen the best of some Targety genius’ epiphany, there was this: 
I have seen the Promised Land and it is in “Super Target.” Wine selected specifically for someone of my (and most of my neighborhood’s) persuasion. Let the GLBT community rejoice, for we have been given the gift of Fruity Wine. I knew that all of the boys in the store would soon be crowding this section at any moment, so I snapped the picture as quickly as I could. I do think, however, in all fairness, that they should have at least one small section of “Straight People’s Wine.” Bisexuals can grab a bottle of each.
It was all too much to take in, so I did not actually buy a bottle of wine segregated exclusively for my demographic. Maybe next time…
So it is with a sincere apology and a big mea culpa that I retract anything negative I have ever said about Target. It truly is “Super.”
It is time for me to whine (again) about working for a non-profit. Specifically, the dreaded Fundraiser (or as I affectionately call it, the Fundbeggar). …
I am not a fundraiser, nor do I aspire to be one. I can be a whore for my own personal gratification, but somehow, doing it for a living is something I find distasteful – of course, I am grateful to those who do and make my paycheck possible. I am a finance guy who would love to have no other responsibility than to crunch numbers, produce financial reports, and make overly complex spreadsheets. For me, fundraisers are like going to the dentist – you dread it before you go, it is painful while it is happening, and you still hurt the next day. We only do a couple of major ones a year, although they seem to be growing and having babies. Last night we had one of two big annual fundraisers and while it is necessary, I don’t like that part about coming home after midnight and being so sore from standing for hours, that I can barely walk today (wah, wah, wah).
Since before I actually started working there (as a volunteer), I have been responsible for the same task at each event – collect the money, be a cashier, make change, run auctions… etc. Any place that money needs to be paid or received is where you will usually find me. This time was different. I decided that I am not being an effective manager if I cannot have my staff do the work, thereby allowing me to “work” the event by talking to our donors, board members, and other guests. I almost pulled it off. I chose a simple task that allowed me to meet and greet the attendees as they arrived. The problem was that people arrived over the course of a three hour period and I was standing in one spot most of the evening. Ouch… my feet and back are not happy today. That, and getting home at 12:30am, still completely wired… oh well, it is part of what needs to be done (but I don’t have to be happy about it, wah, wah, wah).
Everybody wants to do outdoor events in Florida. Then they remember why it is not such a great idea, i.e. heat and humidity (“Gee, it is not usually this hot in October”… yes it is – another manifestation of that sun brain damage I wrote about last time). By the time I left I was so completely soaked through that I could barely peel off my clothes when I came home. Did I mention I hate heat and humidity? (wah, wah)
So here I am, the morning after, glad through all of my aches and pains that we have another one behind us. Tomorrow we count the money and see to what degree it was worth it. (wah)
AND, work on the next four events are in process… oy.
While I do not consider Facebook comments to be a source of any great expertise or authority, there is one factoid I had to check out. A comment was made about handheld cell phone use while driving, to be illegal nationwide. Looking around from day to day, if that is true, there are a LOT of people breaking the law down here. I knew that it was probably not true, especially here in the land of “anything goes” (except when it comes to “family values” and non-Cubans washing up on shore). So I did a little investigating. Not only is there no law prohibiting handheld cell phone use in Florida, there is actually a Preemption Law that prohibits local jurisdictions from enacting restrictions. Wow… even if someone wakes up at the local level, their hands are tied by the state. Brilliant…
But it is not just bad behavior with cell phones that we are here to discuss today.
It has long been my contention that Floridian’s brains are permanently fried from the sun. Ask anyone who lives here what it is like to try something as simple as a trip to the local supermarket. Pedestrians will mill about and just stop right in front of your moving car, or leave their cart in your path. Drivers have no sense of keeping to the right and if you are driving sensibly on the RIGHT side, you will get an earful for being in their way. Then you have the joy of negotiating your way through the parking lot. It resembles playing “Frogger” for those who remember that old video game. When you get to the entrance, once again, there is no enter and exit on the right. People will run you over with their cart rather than go to the RIGHT side. Who exits and enters on the left? Did I miss that ordinance? Once inside, when you actually get past the people who stop right in the entrance to either start chatting or just stand there having some strange epiphany that keeps them from moving forward… it gets worse. When I first moved here, I was very forgiving… for a while. “Excuse me” turned to “EXCUSE ME” which turned to physically moving the carts that are part of a mid-aisle cart-side conversation that has no discernable end in sight. I raise my hands and invoke Divine Intervention and if they do not part like the Red Sea, I move them. Makes people crazy. Makes me crazier.
Back to the cell phones. Can anyone shop without a cell phone? “Which kind of mustard do you want? There is yellow, Dijon, honey mustard… what? OK, which brand? Well, there’s Hellman’s, Kraft, Grey Poupon… what? Which one is on sale? Well, let me get out my glasses…” etc. Wow… Crispy critters, all. You have to shout “EXCUSE ME” louder at these people because they can’t hear you over the phone conversation (or the little internal epiphany they are having). Once I have performed the parting of the carts enough times to make it to checkout, there are those damn cell phones again. People will complete their entire transaction without ever exchanging a word or making eye contact with the cashier. Of course, since the cashiers are in constant conversation with each other (be it English, Spanish, Creole or some bizarre combination thereof), it doesn’t really matter. On to the exit where the same person is still trying to hear what the voices in the sky are trying to tell them and then the people entering the building on the wrong side pushing your cart aside as they squeeze past you rather than go in the ENTRANCE.
I know many nice people down here. Most of them are crazy, but they are nice. It is the bad behavior that I have a problem with. I think the ultimate experience of complete abandon of reason was on my commute to work one day. A man on a motorcycle with no helmet (no helmet law here – I consider it to be Darwinism at its finest), no shirt, wearing shorts and… wait for it… Crocs, with a cell phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. A close second was the man I saw this week in full business suit riding a Segway down the center suicide lane. To add to this moment of Zen, it had a basket on the front – ala Pewee Herman.
All of this seems to be perfectly acceptable behavior. What is not acceptable is for me to get married – In fact, same-sex marriage and civil unions were constitutionally banned by the voters of this fine state last November. I also, should I choose to do so, cannot adopt a child. This is only true in Florida and Arkansas (aka Darwin’s waiting room). I cannot give blood, even though there is nothing wrong with my blood – I am considered a high risk, unlike the people who sleep on the sidewalk and sell their blood. Other than those trivialities, I can chat and text on my cell phone without a care, toss trash out of my car window and nobody would mind, go to a “Pain Management” clinic and get enough oxycodone and xanax to kill an elephant (where they dispense the drugs on site), be fired from my job with no reason given (it is not a “right to work” state), and have a private conversation with aliens (the kind from space) in the middle of the entrance to any public place.
As I start the day with a morning temperature of 80 degrees at 5:30am in the middle of October, I ask myself the question that I often asked before I moved here. Why does anybody live here on purpose?
I’m waiting…(This is a rant and all subject matter, including the humor, is intended to be taken seriously and offend nearly everybody.)
I think I need to be self employed again. Anybody got a couple of $100K they don’t need?
When I really sit back and think about work, it is not all that bad. I have a good position, I really like my boss, business is showing signs of an upturn, I have flexible hours and lots of vacation time… so why is it that I want to run out the door half the time, and the other half is measured as the space between vacations? On vacation days (like today) I just want to sit quietly in solitude and not have to interact with anyone – no matter what I have planned.
This is not like me. I am a social creature, but I feel like I am withdrawing more and more. I try to avoid most people at work, which is quite the challenge considering how small our office space is. I think it was easier (in a way) when I was just a nobody at work and did what I was told. Now that I have the ear of the CEO and the respect of the board of directors (well, most of them) I have a voice, an opinion, and an influence on how business is conducted. I said it before when I worked at HP – the closer you are to the decision making process of a business, the scarier it gets. That part is pretty scary right now because it all feels so out of control. So my opinion, voice, and influence prove to be mostly a frustration when I hear, “you’re right.” Well, I think I would rather be happy than right.
Yesterday, I was reminded of my true nature – you know, that aforementioned social creature. I actually unchained myself from my desk and met with the (a?) VP of our bank. In the process of negotiating our business line of credit (quite successfully, you’re welcome) I spoke to about four or five people, engaging in conversations from simple pleasantries to serious business matters. All polite, pleasant, and even… dare I say… fun. I was in my element. I left feeling good and then returned to work, put the chain back on, and went back to juggling balls, switching hats, and putting out fires.
“Oh, by the way, the meeting with the bank was very productive.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, not only will we renew, we can increase the limit if we want.”
“That’s great, good job.”
“It‘s what I do.”
Then I turned back to my computer and continued working while I ate lunch at my desk.
I know it is easy to glamorize the past, remembering all of the positive things and forget the drudgery that happens in the day to day. But when I had my own business, there was energy, there was satisfaction, there was… joy. I never worked so hard in my life and looking back, it took a serious set of balls to leave a successful job with a major corporation and jump into the unknown. Possibly the best choice I ever made – at least in the top three.
That is not to say that I have made or I am making bad choices since then. Now, it is more about making the only choice. It is about taking responsibility and understanding consequences. I suppose I should be glad that I had the experience and just get on with dealing with the realities of getting by in this economy and living in a place where the cost of living is disproportionate to income.
But it is also about that elusive joie de vivre… seriously, I only need about $250,000. Anyone?
That’s right, white wine now comes in “Rich” or “Crisp.” (!!!) No longer do I have to read every bottle to see which one is rich and which one is crisp, country by country, grape by grape. Think of all the time I can save. I can decide that I want a crisp white wine to go with my Tyson Chicken Tenders and just reach out and grab a bottle. I don’t even have to look at which one I picked! Finally; freedom from choice… But just when I thought I had seen the best of some Targety genius’ epiphany, there was this: 
I have seen the Promised Land and it is in “Super Target.” Wine selected specifically for someone of my (and most of my neighborhood’s) persuasion. Let the GLBT community rejoice, for we have been given the gift of Fruity Wine. I knew that all of the boys in the store would soon be crowding this section at any moment, so I snapped the picture as quickly as I could. I do think, however, in all fairness, that they should have at least one small section of “Straight People’s Wine.” Bisexuals can grab a bottle of each.
