Just Joking

Someone once asked a senior jewish comedian why it seemed so many of the top comics were Jewish. His reply suggested that their families had suffered so much through the years and found humor was the only way to deal with their plight.

Correct or not, it seems most people enjoy a good joke. The emphasis is on the word "most". The worse the times the more frequently humor is both sought out and appreciated. Therefore, we are seeing some truly funny jokes recently.

One such joke appeared in yesterday's USA Today and was attributed to Carol Leifer, author of When You Lie About Your Age, The Terrorists win.

The joke is as follows: Mother Teresa died and went to heaven. God greeted her at the Pearly Gates.'Be thou hungry, Mother Teresa?', asked God.

'I could eat,' replied Mother Teresa.

So God opened a can of tuna, reached for a chunk of rye bread, and they began to share it. While eating this humble meal, Mother Teresa looked down into hell and saw the inhabitants devouring huge steaks, lobsters, and pastries. Curious, but deeply trusting, she remained quiet.

"The next day God again invited her to join him for a meal. Again, it was tuna and rye bread. Once again, Mother Teresa could see the denizens of hell enjoying lamb, turkey and delicious desserts. Still she said nothing.

"The following day, mealtime arrived, and another can of tuna was opened.

She couldn't contain herself any longer. Meekly, she asked,'God, I am grateful to be in heaven with you. But, here in heaven, all I get to eat is tuna and a piece of rye bread, and in the Other Place, they eat like emperors and kings! I just don't understand it . . . '

God sighed. "Let's be honest, Teresa,' he said. For just two people, it doesn't pay to cook.' "

If you enjoyed the joke, perhaps you will like to share it with a friend. If one of your so-called friends hears the joke, acquires a furrowed brow, and asks, "How is the joke teller so sure God isn't a woman?" - move on to the next friend as quickly as possible.

There's nothing tougher or less rewarding than to try to explain a joke to someone who possesses a dubious sense of humor.

Monday's Meanderings

" Old people like to give good advice, as consolation for the fact they can no longer set bad examples". - Francois de La Rochefoucauld".

You gotta love the guy. I know I'd buy Frankie a Cabernet, if he ever dropped by at Geckos.

------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just when I thought I was getting my arms around this whole Michael Vick/ Roger Goddell matter, I have to stop and regroup.

From the voice of reason comes a quote critical of Goodell's inaction in making a decision in the matter: "It's almost like kicking a dead horse in the ground!"

Yeah, that came from the elder statesman , Terrell Owens. I really wanted to hear more. So I was about to go to the newspapers most likely to be interested in their favorite son:, The San Francisco Chronicle, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and The Dallas News. Then, I remembered, "No, now it's The Buffalo News."

Just my luck. They were apparently closed due to an unexpected snowstorm.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------

From Monday's USA Today:

"Delaware will not be intimidated " by a lawsuit the four major sports leagues and the NCAA filed to block his state from introducing sports betting this fall, Governor Jack Markell, said in a statement Sunday.

Hey, haven't we had enough investigations of goverment officials recently?
-------------------------------------------------------------------------

"African- American scholar Henry Louis Gates and the police officer who
arrested him last week are likely to get together at the White House soon as President Obama tries to quell a furor his words helped fuel"

That was the lead sentence in a report filed by Susan **** for USA Today.

"Susan, the policeman's name is Sgt. James Crowley".

I guess U2 was right; unintentionally or not, "Words Are Weapons"

------------------------------------------------------
O.K. No more sage advice. From the same source as the first quote (Reader's Digest) comes this: "Socrates was a Greek philosopher who went around giving people good advice. They poisoned him." (anonymous)

THOSE WHO SERVED

After reviewing my last few blogs I realized it might be time for a vitriol change and maybe temporarily get rid of my old f--- rampages.

One pleasant memory I have of the past was about those who served.

It was WW II and we resided in Pittsburgh. Those male adults who were disqualified for service due to age, family obligations or health complications found other ways to contribute. One such job was that of Air Raid Warden, a position for which my dad actively campaigned and was rewarded with his white pith helmet - marked with the triangular air raid designation.

He was also the proud bearer of a flashlight whose lens was painted with Mom's dark red nail polish except for a tiny pinhole in the center providing a sliver of light so he could patrol our narrow streets and protect all the women and children from those devils from overseas.

He left two young sons, a wife, and a baby behind as he made his rounds.

We were all located under the oversized heavy wooden diningroom table that had Popeye like arms for table legs. We were not allowed to move from our safe house until we heard the all clear siren coming from the borough building.

It was at this time that one of us fled our protective zone and sought the Philco radio for any sign we could still listen to The Lone Ranger on the Mutual Radio network.

It was not easy being the son of an Air raid warden. God bless us if we had been foolish enough to leave the air raid flashlight in the backyard shack the night before the air raid. We would surely feel Dad's wrath.

Our home, like that of our neighbors, was camaflouged by the absence of lights, and on occasion, had towels or a heavy blanket strung across the top of curtain rods to conceal any unusual light source.

While we waited in our makeshift cave, Dad and the others had the responsibility to identify any home or business where the residents had failed to quench all the lights during the air raid

We were never advised of the punishment meted out to the wrongdoers. We assumed that was 'secret squirrel stuff' and silently went on our way, grateful that our family had not been identified as the ones commiting such an elitist or careless act.

We were glad we weren't attacked but more than that, we were proud of our Dad, the Air Raid Warden - he who proudly served.

Putting The House Before The Cart

There are many reasons given as to why someone in their senior years can become so appalled at the actions of other generations.

Yeah, we admit many of us are ticked off about getting old and more infirm, but, that's not the main thing. Sometimes it seems as if we took a nap and when we woke up almost everybody else had received a frontal lobotomy. The courtesy and ethics we were taught became archaic.

Maybe the real reason we're upset is that we DID follow the dictates and teachings of an even older generation at a time when that was the appropriate thing to do. That info no longer seems to apply.

Please give us some slack here. We do remember the teachings of the Bible that taught us you don't do 'good' deeds for the 'wrong' reasons.

Maybe our displeasure comes from nothing more than wishing we had tested the inpure water a little more - before, you know, we became that "nice" person. Nothing pleased my Mom more than when some neighbor said, "Your Barry is always such a good boy!"

Let's face it. We did get some bad information. For example, our nose did not fall off from telling lies, although, I might have been willing to sacrifice a few inches here or there. There were many other examples

We did not suffer "our death of cold" from going outside without wearing 15 layers of clothing. Besides, we sometimes got hot chocolate and marshmallows when we came back in to ward off the chill.

We also later discovered we could go out swimming after consuming a full meal without experiencing any disastrous results. Similarly, we found it was possible to be out in the blazing sun - come inside -go directly to the fridge - empty Dad's ice water bottle - and not die from cramps. (now, we might have died from fright if dad had caught us.)

We admit those are really minor things. What really upsets us is what appears to be the almost complete abolition of courteous acts. We simply can't figure out when, as my mother might have said, "everything went to hell in a bushel basket!" ( I doubt if she would have said hell, as even using the word "hate" met with some warning that God didn't approve of the word.)

See what we were up against? Where were the rest of the parents when all of this stuff was going down in our neighborhood? Was poor location the reason their own kids turned out to be discourteous idiots?

We older folks, and particularly this writer, sizzle over the lack of courtesy we see displayed - and it's not just being done by younger folks. There is good and bad in all generations. Actually, Bernie Madoff does look a lot like a congenial Uncle we might have had.

As a matter of fact, maybe this loss of courtesy etc. was due to the lack of monitoring. Like the banking/mortgage industry, people stopped looking at what we were doing and we, in turn, stopped looking over our shoulder.

What ever happened to the simple things in life that were expected of us males? O.K., I admit you have to be wearing a hat to tip it and it's even tougher to do when you're wearing it backwards.

Arising from a dinner table when a woman enters the room nowadays may have as much to do with not taking Flomax as attempting to be courteous. ( in all fairness, nowadays it isn't always easy to determine the new arrival is a woman.)

Phyl and I like to sit outside on the patio of a local restaurant with our tiny Chihuahua. We do this partially because a respected author wrote that to avoid having a snippy, barking Chihuahua, we should get her out around people, early and often. Bella is constantly praised for her manners. I guess that's a lot like being a "nice person".

Our favorite table provides a view of the front door and we are people watchers. We are amazed at the number of guys who, as they approach the restaurant, blast past their kids, wifes, and/or girlfriends, to be sure they go through the door first. Surely, there can't be that many weak bladders in a small town like ours.

We can possibly understand the guys action if the two females behind the guy were, in order, his wife and his girlfriend. Taking evasive tactics could well be in order, even if lacking in courtesy.

Let's talk about shopping carts. I.G.M is the new prevailing attitude that translates to "I Got Mine". It applies to 10 items or less lines, taking up two parking spaces, jumping to the front of a ticket line, and shopping carts.

Please tell me, "Why, after shopping, is it so repugnant to walk another ten to twenty feet to place the cart into the receptacle designed for the completion of just such an act of kindness? Has the cart deposit location somehow been designated as a dangerous neighborhood with unseen crack houses?

The sight of all these abandoned carts after the customers hastily depart suggests to me I don't want to take a tour past their front yards.

This is plain and simply a case of people saying, "Look, I finished my shopping, and even if I added to the number of parking spots you enter at your own risk by attempting to avoid abandoned carts, when I leave, someone is perfectly free to take my old spot." I Got Mine!

Today when we finished our shopping at Walmart I took ours plus about 10 abandoned carts and lined them all up in an open parking lot space, freeing up 10 more spaces. Passing motorists looked at me as if I had abandoned my senses.

Yeah, I'm different. My ultimate ideal job would be to drive around shopping lots in a reinforced Army Hummer, equipped with a huge amplifier, and a airhorn. As I spot an offender, even one who put the cart up on the grass islands, I'd yell out appropriate curses as they are leaving.

So, what do you think God would think about that, Mom?

DRAWING A LINE

When I was a kid during WW II we lived at 120 Sumner Avenue in Forest Hills, Pa. Prior to that we lived at 119 Sumner and 23 Sumner. Yeah, that was us Sullivans- just crazy devil- may- care nomads. The street was two short blocks long.

The homes were fairly close together in this Norman Rockwell community.

Facing our home from the street, the neighbors to the left were separated from us by a tiny lot. It was unoccupied except for a fruitful Peach tree whose carcasses helped to fertilize the soil. Neither neighbor seemed to feel they had the responsibility to clean it up.

The lot to the right supported a house occupied by the Dicoskey's and was almost within reaching distance of our house.

Because the homes were so close together, the unoccupied lot also served as the main route from Sumner Ave and Lennox Avenue to get to the Atlantic Avenue School and the various sports we all pursued. When I was a kid, quite a few future college athletes traversed the steep slope up to the alley behind our home and then on to the playground.

The next door neighbor to our left had two young kids close in age to that of my brother Jim and myself. My brother Tom was a baby.

The neighbor kids and Jim & I had a number of scrapes and arguments. I fought often with the oldest who was about a head shorter than I was. He got even later in life when he became a highly respected ENT doctor in Harrisburg, PA, and I was referred to him to have my earwax removed.

All of us played in the lot between our respective homes. But, our first love wasn't playing together. It was arguing.

Our biggest - or at least - most consistent argument as kids - was that pertaining to the location of the true property line that separated one home from the other. We would stand nose to nose, outside their home while they argued that we were standing on their property. We argued just as strongly it was they who were the offending party. Neither side seemed willing to "forgive their trespassers".

Eventually, one or both groups drew a line in the dirt that was meant to serve as the true and unquestionable boundary measurement.

Of course, neither side had any idea who was right or wrong. It really wasn't important. We probably just enjoyed the noise and the right to bicker about something on those hot summer days. Besides, we were kids and we weren't expected to be responsible.

Sunday was another hot summer day as I was reading about the latest childish spat between the Democrats and the Republicans. The subject was whether or not Congressional leaders were sufficiently well informed about the 'proposed' CIA counterterrorism program after 911.

These two groups are also noisy, but, they sure aren't kids, unless youth is starting to bald extremely early.

USA Today devoted a quarter page to the current argument on Page A-4 of this Monday's issue. I'm sure had this been a slow news day it would have led off Page one. When you're not selling many ads, failing to include the scores of night games in the home delivery edition, and cutting down the number of pages in your paper while raising the price of same, you got to fill those front pages with something.

USA does not publish a paper on Saturday or Sunday, therefore, I received broader advanced coverage of the issue via the Sunday's St. Petersburg Times.

The Times had the lead on Page 1. It followed on 10-A and went on for what could have been a full page rather than the two columns it utilized. Fortunately, the Times still has the ability to sell advertising space and that occupied the rest of 10-A.

The two columns - one atop the other - expressed conflicting views as to which side was telling the truth. The Republican argument was on top - in my opinion, one of the few times they have been on top of anything in the past two years plus - and I'm a lifelong registered Republican.

Both sides made good use of the space allotted for their opposing opinions.
My point is; however, when - if ever, will these two political parties get it?

Most of the public they are supposed to be representing doesn't give a rat's rearend as to who wins one more specious foolish argument in their continous jousting for position. What the citizens truly want is for them to do that for which they are being paid - help legislate us out of this mess.

I would say to them, "for once, folks, put your country's huge 'needs' to re-establish our lives in front of your own tiny insignificant 'wants' that have to deal with whether or not you are re-elected".

Many, many years ago I had taken over a rural office when it was announced my assistant had just been promoted. Full of myself and my new position I sat her down to give her what I felt was the requisite advice and wisdom she sought as to how to carry out her new duties. After three minutes, at most, she got up and said, "Barry, I already got the job."

It was a great response. I know today she can't possibly be a Democrat.

When I was a child, I remember asking one of my parents, "Where does the sound of talking, crying, and music go?" It must have been a foolish question as I don't recall the answer.

I still think about the question. I'm convinced global warming may not be solely the result of gases that no one took the time to cap. My thinking is that the biggest component is loud and persistent rhetoric that accomplishes little and, like a birthday balloon that strayed, must find a resting place somewhere.

We can only pray that nobody is reading the contents of my blog out loud. That's the place to draw the line.

The Pirates - Be Patient - Part II

A friend of mine with the first name Harry once suggested I write a blog, so I did. I hesitate to include any more information regarding Harry. I can picture any blog followers I might have, gathering rocks and heading for his home, posthaste.

However, I am grateful to Harry. I appreciate his comments and support. He must be a friend as he managed to wade through the epistle regarding the Pirates and then provide affirmative feedback.

We are of the same generation. Much of what he writes about in his blog brings a smile to my face and even a little jump in my step. These are not accomplishments acquired easily.

Now, on the other hand, my wife may cross the street if she sees Harry heading in her destination. I say this with tongue planted firmly in cheek as she really likes Harry also.

The problem lies with the fact that my new hobby of blogging is going the same way as did so many of the other hobbies that I tended to overdue.
They include golf, music, mystery novels, and sleeping in on the weekend.

Many an early evening, Phyl finds herself cooling her heels in the kitchen awaiting "the blogmeister" to finish editing the current blog, so the three of us can go out.

Waiting for "The Blogmeister" is not nearly as interesting as "Waiting For Godot", a popular play by Samuel Beckett, which is now in revival. Her fate is compounded by the fact there are only so many times she can take the two year old, two pound Chihuahua Bella out to tinkle without raising the neighbor's suspicion she has become a "Peeping Tomasina".

I became most concerned when I discovered a bag of rocks tucked away in the corner of our shed. And, yeah, she does know where Harry lives.

So, this log will be mercifully shorter than the last one.

When I was finishing up my college studies I lived in a third floor walkup in Oakland, a section of Pittsburgh that also housed Forbes Field, an edifice into which I could walk two blocks to enter.

Money was tight then but, on those fortunate nights when The Pirates were in town and I was home, I could put down the books when the seventh inning started and attend the game for free. They left the gate open to the bleachers on the third base side at about that time of night.

There, I would sit and eat my homemade sandwich while cheering for the game to go into extra innings. I doubt if the current organization encourages either actvity.

I also attended Pirate's games with my family and occasionally glanced over at my dad in vain as I attempted to interpret the hieroglyphics he was steadily entering into his scorebook.

As a family, we often sat up on the porch atop the garage at home. For some reason KDKA's baseball game reception seemed to be best out there. We sat the portable radio on top of the brick wall facing Avenue F. I remember one night that it was there we sat one night as we listened to Harvey Haddix attempting to win the infamous baseball game whose anniversary was recently celebrated.

Lest any of you who read "Pirates I" conclude that I hate the Pirates, please be assured it is just my sadness as to what they have been allowed to become that arouses my wrath. I have fantastic memories of The Pirates of my youth and early adulthood.

They include my departing the Liberty Tubes and heading across the Liberty Bridge knowing I was late for work. That didn't matter. A lot of people were. It was at this location and point in time I heard Maz hit the winning World Series homerun that changed the town of Pittsburgh forever.

I have to go now. My wife just entered the room and inquired: "do you think they will ever be able to remove the callouses from your fingertips?"

Hey Harry, do you think that was a message?

The Pirates: Be Patient - Part I

My brother Jim has done much to re-educate me regarding The Pittsburgh Pirates and I appreciate it. I have a lot of catching up to do.

In the years I was gainfully employed I was very busy and didn't have a clue what I was doing. I had to prioritize my life, and organize my time. This forced me to conclude neither the Pirates nor the eight track tape player were going to make a comeback.

Now I'm retired with a lot of time on my hands. I write a blog and also have begun to follow the Pirates again. It's a little bit like starring in a remake of a movie about Rip Van Winkle.

Please don't get me wrong. I very much admire the faith, knowledge, and wisdom that my brother, and my oldest son Bruce possess in their love for the Pirates. I suspect it's in our DNA as Mom & Dad loved their Bucs.

My problem is I'm new in my attempt to acquire continuing education credits. I'm also older, lack their patience, and root for the Pirates only because I'm a hopeless romantic.

My love for the Pirates goes back to the time in the 40's when my mom and I went to watch them at Forbes Field on Ladies Day. We travelled by streetcar and/or bus. We didn't always have good luck with our seating positions and often drew straws to see which of us would sit behind the pole. Yet, we valued those seats like they were today's Stadium Boxes.

No matter how bad we were losing, Mom refused to leave until she was sure Kiner wouldn't come up again in the bottom of the 9th. I mention all of this only so you will understand the vitriolic message that is about to follow.

I love watching the Bucs in Spring Training in Bradenton. I now realize this joy is like pre-marital counseling. It can't possibly prepare you for what's to follow.

My hope was the Buccos might regain their image as a Major League Baseball team. Unfortunately, I'm told that requires locating, signing, and developing talent, plus spending money in an intelligent fashion.

I'm aware that people with no real expertise in a particular business can sign on as a CEO and turn their new company around. However, to be successful as a baseball owner it is suggested that one's knowledge of the game should be more than having been a recipient of a Little League trophy for perfect attendance. Baseball is a whole new ballgame.

This job of team owner requires that you do not allow your GM to convince you a washed up pitcher is worth more than 5/6 million of your hard earned cash. It also requires you to be pro-active. You need to support your management team with constant personal attempts to convince both the media and the public you really are more interested in the fan's interest and satisfaction than you are in recouping losses caused by your earlier naivette. It's a real squeeze play and it may help if your father's name is Gipetto.

To accomplish your goal you must employ the same type of PR firm that convinced many people Barney Frank had nothing to do with the lax standards by which Wall Street robbed our kids of their inheritance.

Even then, you may not be successful. People are less trusting given what they have seen represented recently as Truth and Ethics.

I recently read a criticism of the Pirate's owner. The gist of the critique was that the owner was accused of being guilty of "taking from the rich, but, giving 'Nutting' to the poor". In this scenario, the rich were depicted as the other Major League owners who subsidize the Pirates. The poor were, of course, the Pittsburgh taxpayers and devoted fans who helped pay for the new stadium. They also include this writer, the "late to the party" critic.

Presumably these taxpaying fans thought a new stadium would allow them to attend future games where both teams were of major league quality. After all: new stadium, more revenue, more money to acquire good players.

TILT! Even a beautiful stadium, thought to be among the best in both leagues, cannot hide the truth about the Emperor's lack of satorial splendor. Where the money from the increased attendance went is up for grabs.

What makes it worse is that our Pirates who are housed in this beautiful stadium can't win against the other teams in a below standard division. Trust me. They ain't that good either. Yet we're paying major league prices to watch AAA team's compete. Most of our division opponents can only beat us and their minor leaguers are not a lot better than our minor leaguers.

My suggestion is to go back to what we did as kids. When we play these division clubs, bring all the eligible players out on the field before the game starts. Let the team captains take turns picking their teamates from this pool on a rotating basis. Regardless of uniform, whichever Captain's team scores the most runs at the end of the game get's the victory.

In this way we get to root for a whole different bunch of guys each night, & we don't have to let the kid play who was the only one with a new ball.

Now I grant you, this might not work with our players. Apparently many of them would be highly incensed if some of their friends were on the opposite team. They cling to those past friendships with a ferocity that would be more welcome if employed when they come up to bat with men in scoring position.

Hey, they're kids. But, the question is how did we revert to becoming a minor league team with minor league talent without Branch Rickey?

Well, you might start by looking at the combined strategy of the baseball commissioner, the Major League Player's Association, and the Major League Owners. When you do, you'll discover the reason there is little hope our Pirates are going to make a comeback anytime soon.

When you examine these three supposed independent entities you'll no doubt recall they're are all members of the unholy trinity that brought you the infamous "Sammy Sosa/Mark McGuire Home Run Derby".

A couple of years ago their spokesman, Bud (they're all males), came to you and asked: "Oh my, do you really think our ballplayers were taking drugs when they smashed all those sacred records, filled the ballparks with fans, and the pockets of the owners, players, and union coffers with cash?"

C'mon! You mean, up to this point, none of them were suspicious as to what was going into the mouth and veins of our idols? Ever hear of the three monkeys: Hear No Evil, See No Evil, and Speak No Evil?

What would be their motivation? What? You missed the Jerry McGuire movie? It's all about the money. They'll suffer both fools and the Pirates.

Finally Bud took action. He hired a former member of Congress to beat the bushes for the truth. Nice start. Unfortunately, he was surprised to find that George Mitchell was not the same as kindly actor, Thomas Mitchell, from the tear jerker movies in the 30's, 40's and 50's.

This guy not only wasn't seeking re-election, he truly thought Bud was serious. Now he was not given any subpoena power nor was he given a lot of lattitude apparently as to naming names. He was also given no sign his Mission Impossible had the support of "the other two monkeys".

It ended sort of the way we thought it might. We remain frustrated. Our goal was to receive information to answer the questions our kids and grandkids were asking us on the way to Little League practice.

Trust me. The 'out of the mouth of babes' questions were clearly more poignant and penetrating than the ones the owners and their management team had been asking the players. But, the kids didn't have to deal with the Union either.

Finally, Congress got involved. In case you've forgotten, that's the group of intelligent people who granted MLB the anti-trust exemption. They only threaten to withdraw this largesse when the pancake makeup is applied and they are assured that their best profile will be shown at the hearings.

You know this all could be a sequel to the Breslin book: "The Gang Who Couldn't Shoot Straight". Maybe Grisham has some spare time.

We, the fans, continue to wait until God comes down and reveals who did and who did not cheat. Then the media will know who to rightfully vote into the Hall of Fame, cause they don't seem to have a clue either. Perhaps, they're afraid of the Union, also.

To paraphrase comedian Johnathan Winters on one of his comedy albums, when they finally reach their conclusion: "We can sit around the campfire, throw the roast beef up in the air, and join Friar Tuck as he proclaims, "Robin's a friend. - Robin's a friend!"

To all involved, I advise: "If you choose to repeat the lie declaring that Baseball is America's pastime, please have the decency to emphasize the word "past". We allowed greed to ruin the sport we loved so much as kids and young adults. It's now time for all of us to sit down with the kids and grandkids and tell them the truth.

Chances are they can handle it much better than we can. If you're still waiting for God to resolve this for us I remind you the last time he got involved with baseball was when he sent the Angel down to Forbes Field to speak to Paul Douglas in the B-movie, "Angels In The Outfield". Don't look for a sequel.

That was a long time ago; maybe about the same time the Pirates started their rebuilding program.

Will I keep following the Pirates? You bet your boots. It's good conversation material for my brother and my kids. Besides, I still hide my upper plate under the pillow each evening with the firm belief the Tooth Fairy will reward me one of these nights, if I just remain patient.

One of these years we're going to do it, Mom. Hang in there.

Customer Service - The Alphabet Game

Someone was kind enough to mention recently that they enjoyed our telephone message - and the sound of my voice as - I delivered a clear concise message.

My kind wife, whose job requires her to use the phone much more than I, tells me she has heard similar comments from clients & employees.

Those favorable comments puzzle me. Let me explain. The feedback suggests to me in sort of a multiple-choice fashion:

A. My message is well organized, or
B. My syntax is easy to understand, or
C. I have more intelligence than "a pet rock".

Here's the source of my so-called puzzlement. They are called Customer Service Representatives - or CSR's - in current "corporate speak". In my recent telephone conversations with CSR's I find the correct answer to my multiple choice question is: D - "None of the above".

The CSR's work for either the local cable company, a large utility company, or one of the largest banks in the country. The marketing departments assured us that if we had a problem we would receive compassion, information, and understanding. (CIU)

We did have a problem and found the marketing people lied. Greeted by a recorded message asking us to wait while they were serving other customers, the message also told us we were valued and important.

The voice on the recording also lied. If they were serving other customers it must have been at a barbecue and the "other customers" were on a spit
.
When they finally got on the line, these CSR's told me at various times either my problem can't occur, they don't understand the nature of my questions, and/or finally, whatever went wrong was my fault. I believe this latter technique is referred to as deflection and is not conciliatory.

Assuming she ever had one, my guess is each of the CSR's we encountered would have found their way onto even Mother Theresa's "enemy" list.

I don't know about you, but the CSR's I have the most difficulty with are those I refer to as: Overseas Operators, (O.O's). They are working because they are the beneficiaries of Customer Service outsourcing. (CSO).

You may ask why we're outsourcing these jobs when unemployment is at a recent all time high. I have two theories: The corporations can hire O'O's for a little bit less than the Dutch paid the indians for Manhattan. (2) It's a great gimmick to increase CEO bonuses.

They cut costs by greatly reducing service and then reap the benefits of the decreased costs by putting the money back in circulation in the form of executive bonuses.

Don't get me wrong. There is nothing wrong with cutting costs. There is something wrong if you do it at the expense of practically eliminating Good Customer Service (GCS)

At one point GCS was one of the highest priority goals a corporation could have. Companies bragged about their ranking in customer service surveys. Unfortunately, GCS & Ethics appear to have left the Corporate building at the same time, skipping out of the foyer, holding hands.

It's all about the money, gang; and you are the victims of this new attitude.

Why did they eliminate good customer service? Answer: Because they could. At some point you come to realize the "service" company to whom you are writing an increasing larger check each year no longer works to please you - unless you own stock.

Recently, a conversation with a O.O. was going so bad I asked to speak with her supervisor, hoping for a friendly advocate with whom I could have some reasonable discourse regarding my problem.

I asked for and reached a supervisor who clearly was conversant in my native tongue. She promptly proceeded to perform all the diversionary tactics I listed above. I was in hostile territory and getting nowhere.

The supervisor, Tony, was well named, and spoke down to me in the most aristocratic manner I could imagine. I was now "the pet rock".

I was surprised. It was like I was a doctor gently using a small rubber mallet on someones knee to test their reflexes. The knee remained firmly in place, but, the patient's hand jerked across their body and punched Doctor Barry in the mouth.

I decided to become a facilitator with Supervisor Tony: "Tony, I seem to be causing you to get upset as your responses do not seem to match my questions. Perhaps, I'm not making myself clear. I obviously am not doing a good job of communicating my problem. Therefore, I apologize and would like the opportunity to start over."

For those of you who remember your old elementary school reading material, please know that I used my best Dick & Jane logic, short of saying: "This is Spot. Spot is a dog. See Spot run?"

We found a common ground. Perhaps Tony & I had the same reader. I obtained the information I was seeking and our conversation ended with Tony and me agreeing not to exchange Christmas cards.

Now, some of you reading this explanation may see me as a coward or a weakling. The fact is I just didn't want to have to make one more phone call.

Besides, the technique I employed used to be a textbook example of "good customer relations" (GCS). Our raises, or lack of same, were based on our success in that area.

To me it was as simple as "Always Be Conciliatory" or "A.B.C", as it would be known in "corporate speak" these days.