I know people.

I have a friend in the State Senate. I’m connected.

He told me a pretty cool story today.

This week he took a “behind the scenes” tour of the governor’s mansion. I guess he knows the governor or so he says.

The intimate tour group was taken to a room in the masion not apart of the regular tour. In the room they were shown a secret panel that revealed a safe.

And what is kept in this safe?

No one knows.

Apparently, in 1979 after the residing governor left office, he took the combination with him and shortly there after to his grave.

That hidden safe behind that secret panel has kept its contents a secret ever since.

Hello?

Why didn’t they call a safe cracker? A lock smith? The safe manufacturer?

Well wouldn’t you know it, some time ago they did happen to find the safe’s manufacturer.

Yep, the company still exsist.

And what did said safe company tell the governor’s office when they called to retreive the combination?

No receipt, no combination.

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Seriously?

Hey mechants of America, your credit card machines are beyond dumb.

Stop using them.

I hear you whining every Christmas that consumers are spending more money online.

This is why. You are dumb and your technology is dumber.

You now have become so lazy, you make us check out by ourselves and yet half the time you need to help us. These fancy new self service check outs are pretty cool and high tech with big button menus. But then it all breaks down when you go to scan our card.

You suck.

All because of how you chose to process our credit cards.

As Maroon 5 would say, “and it goes like this:”

1. First scan your card – check. And check out lady I know how to do this. You don’t have to tell me how or do it for me. This is not the problem.

2. Choose the type of payment. Debit or Credit. I use credit. I click credit, always – check.

3. Enter your pin number. Ok, here is where to dumbness begins. I just clicked credit. Credit cards do not use pin numbers, you know this. There is no excuse for this. Fix this or I will stop using your service.

4. There are no instructions, in most cases, for what to do next. In the intuitive user interface world we now live in, it would be so simple to fix this, and yet, you don’t. You suck.

Yes, mean people suck, but you suck more and you’re dumb.

Oh, but in some cases there are instructions which read, “click cancel for credit.” In most cases, I need to ask the bozo in the red vest what to do next. They usually say, “click cancel for credit.”

HUH?!

Wouldn’t clicking cancel actually do something like, oh I don’t know, CANCEL WHAT I’M DOING?!

How does this make any sense?

What is truly amazing to me is that all of these stupid little boxes are the same in this regard.

So, I’m telling you again, get your crap together, hire a Jr. High programmer and fix this.

Until then, Harry and Lloyd got you beat.

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My parents are in town visiting the Zipopery for a few days. Last night after dinner, my Dad told me a truely unbelieveable story.

In 1957 when my Dad was 12 years old, he was sitting at the kitchen table with his Father. His Mother had to make a quick drive over to her sister’s house and help her with a few things.

About 15 minutes after his mother left, my Dad for some reason began drawing a gun on a piece of paper. When he finished the drawing, he told his Dad, “Mommy is going to be shot tonight.” And showed him his drawing.

His Dad quickly dismissed his comments and told his son not to worry. “Mommy will be back soon.”

A few moments later they began to hear sirens. My Dad said, “see I told you, Mommy’s been shot.” Again his Dad told him to stop worrying and nothing was going to happen.

Then the phone rang. My Grandfather answered the phone. “Sir, your wife has been shot in the face.”

My grandmother left the house that late afternoon to help her sister. She was having problems in her marriage and her husband had been down at the local tavern all day. She asked my Grandmother to drive her down to the tarvern in hopes of bringing her drunk husband home.

The two sisters soon found themselves running out of the bar back to their car being pursued by a shotgun whelding husband.

He shot twice straight into the windshield of the Studebaker. The first hitting the winddshield frame peppering my grandmother’s face with glass and buckshot. The other hitting her sister in the chest.

Somehow my Grandmother managed to back out, head down the street, turning right onto main street only to be met face-to-face with a shotgun blasts once again.

The doctor told my Grandfather he did not expect his wife to live longer than two weeks. And unbeknownst to anyone, the doctors, the family nor even my Grandmother knew she was carrying her 4th child.

My Grandmother’s sister made a full recovery to spend many, many years in the company of her alcoholic husband. He served only seven years in prison.

Grandma recovered well enough to raise 6 children – although legally blind and having many surgeries and eye transplants along the way.

Her children, grandchildren and even a couple great grandchildren admired her dearly for her loving effection, strength and forgiveness.

My Grandmother, to her dying day 10 years ago, never spoke an unkind word nor harbored any bitterness toward her sister or the man that nearly killed her.

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