A blessing on your head, Mazel Tov, Mazel Tov

This scenario happens a lot:

Me: *coughitycough*

Them: Bless you!

Me: Thanks.

Them: Wait--did you sneeze or cough?

Me: That was a cough.

Them: Oh. Never mind, then.

What the heck?

They'll bless me if I sneeze but a cough somehow doesn't rank a blessing?

Am I any less in need of a blessing if I cough than if I sneeze?

Now I'm not generally one to turn down a blessing from anybody but based on their "only sneeze" policy, when I do sneeze and they bless me, how much stock should I put into it?

"I want to make you move because you're standing still"--Finger Eleven

Maybe you can solve a mystery for me.

Yesterday evening, it took me an extra half hour to get over the Woodrow Wilson bridge and it got me thinking.

I accept that I live far from work and there will be times my usual 40 minute commute will stretch toward infinity, like so many white women Sweatin' to the Oldies.

I understand that weather will paralyze people, that construction will completely confound people, that a truck stopped on the side of the road will be a tantalizing mystery whose depths must be plumbed.

People who are already bad drivers will get on their cells and become ridiculously worse drivers. In fact, I am always disappointed when I drive by a terrible driver and discover they are not on the phone. I do so want to be able to blame something besides their basic ineptitude.

But all this is the reality. What I don't understand is this phenomenon:

When the traffic finally clears ahead after a long back up where drivers have inched along for miles, why doesn't everybody resume normal speed?

I was going 10 miles per hour for the last 20 minutes so I guess I'll just keep doing that. La, la, la.

WHY?! At least drive the posted minimum speed limit!

I wind up swerving around these road blocks and wonder what they could possibly be thinking.

It's like people fall into a trance. I don't get it.

You can't get there from here*

I am beginning to believe we are the last two people on Earth with cars that do not have a GPS navigation system. Once hubby and I buy a TomTom 2000 or a Garvin DLX or a BillyBob's GPS Xtreme with Raspberry Swirl Flavor Crystals**, they can just stop producing them.

But we haven't bought one yet. Nor did we pay extra to have one in our rental car last week.

I do have a phone with Google Maps. I can plug in a starting address and a destination address and it will walk me through directions, noiselessly (read: without the aggressive voice that says "You missed the exit! For the love of god, turn around now!")

And, I know, that by virtue of having this phone, I am "on the grid" and the secret phone police can find me at any point.*** But I have yet to figure out how to make my phone locate where the heck I am for me and plug the address into the directions.

This can be problematic. We spent some time last week like this:

Hubby: Call up your Google Maps.
Me: Okay. It's up... *65 keystrokes later* I've plugged in the destination address. Now, where are we?
Hubby: I dunno.
Me: Me, either.
Hubby: See any street signs?
Me: Nope. Think one of those goats over there can help?****

We did take precautions for some of the trip: Hubby printed out a series of directions from one remote location to another or as close as we could get (one of the places we were wasn't known to Google--how's THAT for remote?!)

At some point the printed directions said to travel "207 ft" to the next turn. 207 ft?! My odometer doesn't do feet.***** Why not just say <.1 mile? I imagine someone getting out of the car with a ruler. Or hanging out a window with one of those snappy advance/retract tape measurey doohickeys saying "Keep going... keep going..."


* Years ago, I knew someone who worked inside the entrance of a state park. Let's call it X Park. People would drive right past the huge sign that said "Welcome to X State Park" in 4000 font and up to my friend who was in a park uniform. They'd ask, "Can you tell me how to get to X Park?" He'd say, "Sorry, you can't get there from here." And, you know what? I think he was right.

** Sure, the crystals burn a little, but I like that.

*** Not that there's anything wrong with secret phone police. I think they're wonderful. I've always said that. You can ask anybody. Please, don't shoot me.

**** Goats are great once you get past the smell. They like to barter. Note to self: Next time offer goats limited edition soda can collection in exchange for directions.

***** And I subscribe to the Barbie theory on math.

Do you think they'd look nice displayed with my Franklin Mint Elvis plates?

Photo I took:

Photo of can taken by someone who hasn't ingested hallucinogens:


According to the Interwebs: People can collect six different "Indiana Jones"-themed cans of Dr Pepper or Diet Dr Pepper.

Okay, I get that some people collect movie stuff and some people even collect vintage soda stuff but how many of you are scrambling to collect these beauties? I saw one of these Diet Dr Peppers while traveling and was shocked to see the words "limited edition" on the can.

I can collect Dr Pepper cans of soda?

Really?

*blink* *blink*

Really??

Oh, look, I can buy the whole set of six on E-bay right now for $5.99. And that's WITH the soda! Do I have to keep them in pristine condition to maintain their value? I so want to collect those pull tabs to help that poor child with cancer but then what will the experts on Antiques Roadshow say when I bring them in?

Life Would Be a Breeze, Shaboom, Shaboom

[A couple different Breezeways for your viewing pleasure.]

Greetings from Delta jail.

We flew Delta last week. When they started boarding they used a relatively standard order:

1) Special Assistance
2) First Class
3) Frequent Flyer Elite
4) Zone 1
5) Zone 2
etc.

The strange and wondrous part was that once they got through with the Special Assistance folks, they insisted that the First Class and Frequent Flyer Elite category people use the Breezeway and that other categories use the non-Breezeway route.

They had a divider consisting of two metal poles and a segment stretched between the poles like you might find in a bank. On one side was a mat that said "Breezeway". That was the only distinction we could see: the mat. Whether you went on the plebeian left side of the divider or the elite right side of the divider, you wound up at the gate in the same number of steps and dealt with the same Delta ticket checker.

When they called for First Class and instructed them to use the Breezeway, the First Class fliers dutifully lined up on the Breezeway side except for one, who was busy yammering on his cell phone. He tried to use the non-Breezeway side (!) and the Delta people snapped at him until he went back to the Breezeway side. Ahhhh, they say you get treated differently in First Class and it's so true!

When we landed, we walked through the gate and I saw a Breezeway mat and I WALKED ON IT. It was everything I'd dreamed of and oh, so much more! I'll long remember the gentle plushness of that Breezeway mat under my feet. Finally, I know how the other half lives. Sure, they carted me off to Delta jail but it was so worth it!

Please don't forget me. Tell my story so that one day we might all enjoy the blessings of the Breezeway. Oh, and please send supplies. Anything except Fisher peanuts, Lance crackers or Biscoff cookies. I'm sick of those.