Proxy Bitch

I had breakfast with my brother the other day. As I sat there watching him drink his diet Pepsi it occurred to me that he was getting royally screwed by ordering that soda. I should clarify this for you. While most people in the US of A drink coffee or tea with their eggs, my brother has never had his lips touched by coffee. I was almost done with my second cup of coffee, but no problem, here comes the waitress with the pot and another refill for me. It was then that I looked over and saw that his Pepsi glass was almost empty. Did the waitress offer him a free refill, hell no! Did she ask if he wanted another, even one he would pay for, hell no! It was then that it occurred to me how screwed the soda drinkers are.

Soda cost restaurants very little, a dribble of syrup and a squirt of seltzer and yet they charge what, a $1.00, $1.25, whatever. I think at today’s prices that cup of coffee probably cost them the same, but think about this. After my usual cup and three refills, now we divide the $1.25 coffee price and lo and behold, I’m having thirty cent beverage.

Since that day, I’ve been thinking about why the soda drinkers don’t get asked. It’s because the waitress will have to grab the glass, go all the way back to the service area, put some ice in the glass, pour the soda, and travel all the way back to the table. Compare this to the coffee refill procedure. Grab a pot and walk by and take care of half the restaurant in one easy trip. I really felt sorry for my brother who has often reminded me of his plight.

I call this little blog my Proxy Bitch.

January 1, 2008

Watched the “Ball” come down in Times Square to welcome the New Year for the umpteenth time. Is it my imagination or are the crowds getting bigger each year? What a mind-boggling mass of humanity. On the news yesterday I heard that the masses started arriving around 2:30. My question every year is where do they pee? Let’s see, if my math is correct that’s at least ten hours in the street. They say that Camels can hang in there for a long time, but come on, ten hours? There’s certainly no men in that crowd with enlarged prostates. Speaking from experience, two hours is about it for me.

While on the subject of the Times Square celebration I have to express my anger at the TV Networks. We stay at home old timer’s sacrifice our precious sleep time and labor to stay up to see the New Year in. We get one short glimpse of the throng and then it’s off to commercial time. After five minutes of the usually stupid commercials they finally get back to what we’ve been waiting hours for and humor us with a 1-1/2 minute view before the “Ball’s descent. You would think they would have a little mercy on this once a year event. After all they’ve had the whole year to saturate us with endless car and drug commercials. To tell the truth, without all the car commercials we probably would have to go back to radio.

By the way, I admire Dick Clark for his courage and dedication to the tradition he established, but don’t you think it’s time to pass the baton?

Well our illustrious weather forecasters did it again; they filled the grocery stores again as people loaded up the larders against that New England terror, the dreaded Nor’easter. Even my cautious wife loaded up the thermos with hot water (we don’t have gas), got out the candles, lanterns and flashlights in preparation for the worst. Let me tell you, my back is aching from clearing off that ¼” of white. I can’t think of another job where being wrong so often continues to be rewarded, well maybe politics and sports.

Looks like I’m back on the bitch wagon again. Till next time.