The Need For Fulfillment

This first part is not part of this post. Just a notification. I've recently discovered that the sidebar doesn't show up when this blog is viewed with Internet Explorer (just one more reason to hate this browser). So those of you who've experienced frustration with leaving comments, following, and so forth should use Mozilla Firefox instead. Now, on to the other non-important stuff.

A couple people have read this thing in the past, and the general consensus is that funny is appreciated. Well here comes disappointment. First of all, I'm too dry to be very funny. Secondly, this post is going to be cathartic if anything. I apologize in advance.

A strange thing has happened with this writing outlet of mine. It has become a focal point itself in many ways. Much like taking pictures or video only to immediately watch what just occurred. I find myself looking at my life through the filter of how I can write about it, and that's not the point. I want to live first, and write in a way that allows me to release the pressure of what's in my head. So I haven't written in a while. I've been to San Diego, Portland, and done numerous entertaining things since then, but I just needed time to live. And some pressure has built up.

I have learned that my life has check-points. I think most people have them. Everyone has heard of a "mid-life crisis." Those who experience only this check-point are probably very happy overall. Some people experience check-points often, and they are generally depressed. They explode upon me once or twice each year. As you may have guessed, I'm in the midst of one now. It's not a pleasant experience, but it is the place where life-altering decisions are made.

In my life there has been much discussion on the topic of "Choose Your Own Adventure" books lately. You know, read a couple paragraphs and then choose from the three options at the bottom of the page. I think this is a rudimentary example of how life works. People live, get all emotional about their personal dramas, and react. But every once in a while a truly important decision arises, the result of which sends that person on a path to experience certain dramas until the next important decision. We set ourselves up to encounter those things that we need the most, and when we don't ignore the lessons we can move on to a different drama.

I am stuck wondering what to do with my life.

As you may know, I love disclaimers. I won't spell them out individually here, but know that I AM happy. I love my wife, I love my son, I love my home, and I am grateful to be employed at a time like this in our history. I have great friends, and I genuinely like spending time with them. But something is missing that none of these factors can fill.

I need to find what makes Matt happy.

I worry so much about the happiness of others that I forget to live. I want Nancy to be pleased with me constantly. And when I feel like (or know) I have failed, I get disoriented. Sorry Nancy that I'm not my best at these times.

I want to be the best Dad possible, but when I feel like doing something that doesn't involve Oliver, I feel guilty. I love you my son, but sometimes daddy needs time to himself. It has nothing to do with you.

I write things about appreciating my father-in-law, and immediately feel guilty that I haven't expressed similar feelings in writing about my own parents. I'm sorry Mom and Dad that I haven't written about you yet. Hopefully you know that I love you because I've actually told you so - many, many times throughout our lives. I don't say things I don't mean.

If a friend gets excited about something, I try to help them achieve their goals if I can. I just feel bad when I can't dedicate myself because I want to spend time with my family.

When I see my work go through a difficult time, I just want to help because I think I can. Plus I feel like I'll feel fulfilled because I could actually use some of the skills I paid thousands of dollars to acquire through school and help someone I care about at the same time. Except I'm not sure I'd actually feel fulfilled or if I'm just imagining things. And I feel bad when I put Deb in the difficult position of telling me I can't help her financially. I understand that everyone there is a family member or a friend or both, and there's potential for weirdness. I'm sorry that I didn't major in marketing.

At the end of the day, I've always known that something good will happen to me. Again, this isn't a family thing. It's most closely a career thing, although I'm not sure it has to be. I just know myself better than anyone else possibly could. A lot of things have happened in my life that have resulted in a lot of soul-searching. And I KNOW that I am honest to my core. I KNOW that I truly care about the happiness of others, and I mean people that I don't know too. I KNOW that I don't have ulterior motives. And so I've been sure that being a good person would bring to me, eventually, something that makes me feel fulfilled. Just typing this makes me feel awful, because Nancy could read this sentence and think that she isn't enough and neither is Oliver. I am glad that Nancy knows what I mean, though. She knows that I mean making a positive impact on the world around me, and being able to make a living in the process.

I'm sorry that being good isn't enough to make me happy. I'm sorry that I am a middle-class, white male who finds room to complain in a world filled with difficulty. But comparisons have never been real enough to remove me from my own emotional body. I am human, and my story is just one of many. But it's very real to me.

At the risk of offending some, the problem is not spiritual either. If anything, this area is one of my strengths. The soul-searching that I've mentioned has led me to an inner peace that can't be summed up by one traditional religion. Nor is it a conglomeration, per se. It is simply what I believe to be true, what I have felt quite deeply at times throughout my life.

Sometimes at the end of the day, I reflect and notice what my motivations have been. They are generally the desires and expectations of others. And then I resist. But not for long. The cycle always starts over again. And I don't necessarily want to stop it. I will always love people, but when will I love myself?

So this is where I shut off my computer, turn off the lights, and hope that tomorrow is the day that the answers come.

Wally

Can you believe this man is 70? Incredible, I know. We were lucky enough to have Wally and his wonderful wife Nancy visit us for his birthday. We managed to sandwich a surprise birthday party at Nib in between many crossword puzzles, jumbles, and a lamb being born. It is always great to see them.

But as I've said many times, this blog is about how I see things, and I have in front of me a wonderful opportunity to talk about my father-in-law. So I will. We should start at the beginning, and by the beginning I mean the year 2000.

I met Nancy at Barnes & Noble. She actually worked there for a while before I talked to her, mostly because she was intimidating. She was tall, beautiful, obviously strong, and gave off the vibe that said "if you are a man, go away." So away I went. Which is why I didn't fully get the message when she started coming on to me. Plus I have self-confidence issues, but that's a subject for another place than this one. Anyhow, once the message became obvious (I mean she was coming over to watch pro-wrestling, for God's sake!) we were inseparable. Then came the fun part.

Yes, meeting the parents. All I really knew was that Nancy yelled at her Mom at least once per phone conversation, and that she always talked to her Dad first. And that she was an only child. A beautiful, wonderful, only daughter of a man who was 41 when she was born. So I expected him to be conservative in just about every way. Just to make things more interesting, when I met him I probably looked something like this:



And I bet when he first laid eyes on me he wished I was in fact walking away with a plastic bag and a blanket or whatever else I needed in order to go in the opposite direction. But he was very nice to me. Why, I'll never know for sure. My best guess is that he could intuitively tell that his daughter, whom he loves as much as a father can love a child, was truly happy. So he gave me a chance. And then Kat and Corey got married and I inexplicably melted down at their wedding. After a (deservedly) firm tongue-lashing from both father and daughter, I was given yet another chance. So of course Nancy and I decided to move to Oregon.

This was scary. I knew it was bad because Nancy was scared. Nancy does not get scared. But she was. So I was. Nancy and I sat down with her parents, and Nancy told them all the logical reasons why we were going to Eugene. She was done with the community college in Tucson, she was sick of the heat in Arizona, California was too expensive, and Eugene (with the University of Oregon) made perfect sense. We knew that no matter what, Nancy's mom would resist, so strangely her resistance did not matter. When Wally asked a question, however, we needed to have a good answer.

Wally asked me this: "With my daughter being so far away from me, how do I know she will be safe and taken care of?" Good question. After I finished resisting the urge to poop my pants, I told him (yes, I was looking him in the eye) that I loved his daughter, for real. Not in a high school crush kind of way, but the real thing. And that if something did happen between us I promised I would make sure she was taken care of before going my separate way. And THAT WAS IT! Good enough!

Basically what I'm trying to say is that Wally is the most tolerant guy I've ever met. He just rolls with what life brings his way. He's obviously been through some ups and downs in his life, but he always seems to take it all in stride. It truly is amazing. If some day I have a daughter and she brings home a guy that looks like I did, is not in school like I wasn't, and has a job that most 20-year-olds could attain, I'd probably challenge him to a duel or arm-wrestling or Jeopardy or something! Wally took us all out to dinner. He is a better person than I am.

And a good thing too. Now Nancy and I are happily married, Oliver is a crowd favorite, and we've built a wonderful group of close friends, all because Wally didn't kick my ass when he probably should have. A lot of people probably think it's amazing that Wally looks like he does at 70 (I mean, his hair is the EXACT same now as it was when he was 8). And it is amazing (must be the Native American genes, eh Wally?). But what I think is amazing is that someone can love their daughter enough to put their opinions aside in deference to that daughter's true happiness. I thank you Wally, very much, for being the man that you are. And Oliver thanks you, too.

We Had It Our Way

Part 2 of a recurring series

This is the first of many disclaimers in this article. Brad Knopp and I were young when we had this job, and therefore did a lot of stupid things. The purpose of this is not to glorify immature behavior. It is simply a documentation of what happened, and most of the things worth writing about from this period are, well, pretty dumb. Are some of the things funny? Yes. Would I do it again? Unfortunately.



Oswego, New York
1993-1994
Booger King*

*For legal reasons, I will not mention the large corporation I worked for by its real name. Perhaps you can put it together yourself?

Strangely, the first job in this series did not involve Brad. Get used to him now. He will be a character that pops up from time to time (Six all together). This story starts with him because he preceded me at Booger King (henceforth BK for short, just thought that sounded good and has nothing to do with the other BK). He got me the job. Sweet Jesus, if only the moron in charge knew what they were getting themselves into! Sadly for said moron, they don't really get to choose from the cream of the crop, so they got Brad and me.

It is time for character development. When I started, I put frozen meat patties on the conveyor belt thing, and their corresponding buns on a lower belt. Yep, that's it. After about 12 seconds, I was ready to move on. I wasn't even particularly driven (I was 16), just not mentally handicapped. However, one person (let's call him John Nettles) was possibly challenged in some way. But he was a genius in school, so it couldn't have been mental. The thing is, he had been there a long time and NEVER moved past the very first job. And he would also call out "sending singles" every time he'd put single hamburgers on. Just in case we didn't see them coming out at 5 feet/hour one minute later. Or needed to warn someone because all of our motor functions suddenly dissipated.

Anyhow, Nettles was an interesting guy. He would talk to me in excruciating detail about the velociraptors from Jurassic Park, even though I told him I'd never seen the movie. It is also possible that we would mock his "sending singles" (his voice was...I can't think of a kind way to describe it - sorry, use your imagination). It is also possible that one time Brad and I teamed up to draw a smiley face in ketchup and mustard on the back of his shirt. He didn't know.

Here comes another disclaimer. One manager, let's call him Paul, was a really cool guy. He was older than us, but cool in his circles which included older brothers of our friends. I appreciate now that he was in a difficult position. He was cool and understood when things were funny, but he was also not 16 and trying to be semi-legitimate.

So it was probably his dilemma that caused him to come out of the office, yell "Knopp, Trent!," only to stifle heavy laughter as he returned to the office. Sorry Paul.

Character development part two. There was a very, very stupid person who worked there. Let's call him Jeff R. Poor Jeff was not smart. Brad convinced him that he was a devil worshiper, to the point of Jeff going out and purchasing some kind of Satanic Bible. Disclaimer: Brad is not particularly proud of this, but insists he was young. Somehow, Jeff was too dumb to balance on one foot. I know, I didn't think that balance and intelligence were related either, but if you knew Jeff you'd know that they are. His lack of balance kept him out of the military. Imagine being rejected by the military?

The best part about Jeff was his gullibility. After he had been at BK for a short period, he asked Brad one day what he was doing. Brad was doing inventory. Jeff wanted to help. Poor Jeff. Brad told him that he needed a count of the ice cubes in the ice cube maker. The mercy killing happened somewhere North of 800. Jeff was not bright.

Employees were not the only victims. Windy's (another burger joint with a similarly spelled name) was next door. They were consistently bombarded with rotten tomatoes. This was especially satisfying in the winter, as entire sheets of snow could be shaken loose, thus plummeting to the sidewalk. Legend also tells of a time that predated me, where an employee went on the roof with a BB gun, and deflated the giant blow-up Windy during Classic Weekend (much more on Classic Weekend later, perhaps even in this post).

And poor customers. There were two particular "favorites" that come to mind. 1. On a Whooper, smashing down the top bun material until it formed a bread bowl. Then filling said bowl with mayonnaise and scraping it level. 2. Injecting the mustard and ketchup bottle tips into the burger, and squeezing. And squeezing. And squeezing some more. Basically, squeezing until the patty itself rose considerably. For both methods, the burger would then be wrapped and served. Somehow, some way, nobody ever complained as far as we know. That is disgusting.

Despite our best efforts, BK was a food establishment. And so we ate there as well. Sometimes we even paid. Most other employees always paid, dearly. If they did not come back to the kitchen and prepare their food themselves, Brad or I would chop the burger, like a pizza, into somewhere between 8 and 32 pieces. Since that wasn't nearly annoying enough, we would then wrap the fragments between 8 and 100 times. We were not interested in reducing, reusing, or recycling at this point in our lives.

We did not pay often (this theme may pop up again at a later job). For example, Brad would build a triple Whooper just the way I liked it. He would then put it in the microwave. Coincidentally, I would happen upon that same microwave moments later. Seeing the ginormous burger inside, I would accidentally drop it down the front of my apron. This really made me have to pee. So I'd go to the bathroom, and while I was already there, I decided that I may as well eat. Another example would involve switching the names Matt and Brad in the above example.

We also quickly learned about shelf-life. Chichen Tenders (perhaps this is normally spelled differently also?) were only good for 2 hours. Hmm...this gave us an idea. If a customer ordered, say, a four-piece, what would happen if we put 50 in the deep-fryer? You guessed it! Forty-six would be "bad" in 2 hours. The rest of this story goes how you might think. Disclaimer: I actually don't feel real bad about this one. I mean, we did this a LOT and no one really noticed? Frankly, that's on management.

BK had microwaves that were not normal. Brad and I are pretty sure that one second of BK microwave equals one minute of any other microwave in the world. And do you know what happens to a burger when it's microwaved for 2 1/2 minutes in a BK microwave? The patty ends up the size of a half-dollar. I know this because I tried messing with the front-end girl by handing her a nuclear hamburger. Sadly for me, the trick didn't work. She must have touched it so briefly that she didn't feel it's burning-emberness, or else she simply deadened her nerve-endings. Either way, that burger went out! Thankfully, it was for a customer who was eating in. So I did the responsible thing and ran to the customer and took his burger away. It was then that the half-dollarness was discovered. Whew!

You must now be wondering how we could have possibly done all this without dying or killing someone else. Sorry to ruin the ending, but neither Brad nor I died. And besides accidentally elbowing a handicapped person in the face (Which instantly caused a yard sale. The items for sale included a hat, bow tie, glasses, burger wrappers, and whatever else she was carrying.), neither of us hurt anyone else, either. But...

When I started, we had a streak of one year without injury. Brad ended that. He was being slightly crazy, jumped up and hit his head on the hood over the oven, and needed to go to the ER for stitches. The next day, I decided to try and start a new streak, and so I sliced my finger half-off cutting a chicken sandwich. Disclaimer: Don't ever go to the Oswego hospital if you're injured. I waited so long that my finger healed before I could get stitches. The doctor even tried opening my cut back up (aggressively), but to no avail. The next day, the streak was extended. But this needs a little set-up.

Greg was our friend, and he was funny. Bud was the Head Manager, and he was lame. Primus had a song called "My Name is Mud" at this time. So of course we would walk around doing the bass part and singing things like: "My name is Bud. I'm the manager at Booger King and I'll be here the rest of my life my name is Bud." And so on. Well, on this fateful day, Greg was performing an especially inspired version of the song, complete with stage moves. Unfortunately for Greg, one of his stage moves was to jump with his "guitar." Remember the hood from Brad's injury? It got Greg, too. Only it knocked him out. Cold. The best part is that he landed propped up against the burger freezer, so he was essentially out sitting straight up. I'm pretty sure that a minute later he asked "what happened," but I was laughing to hard to say with certainty.

Final disclaimer: This is longer than I ever hope to write again. However, there is still more to be told. Brad will insist that I tell the rest. What I really want to know is, are you gonna go my way? No, that's not it. I mean, do you actually want to know more, or are you disgusted by our hi jinks? Let me know, and perhaps the next installment will be about Booger King, as well.

Otherwise, the next installment will be...Little Caesars!