Posted on August 13, 2013 under Storytelling with 5 comments

I have made a few mistakes in my day.  I guess that qualifies me as a person who is somewhat normal.  Errors in judgment are common and it is only upon quiet reflection that we see the trouble that we could have avoided.  If only …

Today was one of those days.  My wife had dutifully rolled up all kinds of small coins and asked me to take them to the Credit Union.  En route, a roll of dimes fell to the ground, scattering hither and yon.  The plastic casing they were housed in was destroyed so I soldiered on with fifty dimes in one hand and the other rolled coins in the other.  I entered the Credit Union and my heart sank.  The lineup stretched to the entryway.  It was cheque day.

Back in 1908, the Federal Government introduced the Canada Pension Plan to provide Canadians with   retirement income, provided that they worked and made contributions to the plan.  In 1927, another income support program, Old Age Security, came into being, entitling people who had met residency requirements to receive a guaranteed monthly cheque.  Towards the end of every month, the government issues these cheques and every month seniors clog the premises of financial institutions across the country.

I wasn’t thinking much about the genesis of these programs when I entered the building.  I just knew that I was in for a long wait if I decided to tough it out.  My options were to step outside and fling the fistful of dimes, feigning charity, or carry them back home, a walk of some 2.5 kilometers.  I checked my watch and decided, “What the hell”, and soldiered on inside.

If you think Pamplona, Spain is dangerous during the running of the bulls, just go to any financial institution on cheque day.  Everybody in the lineup has white hair or no hair.  I would like to think of my own coif as a hybrid of the two.  The lineup looks like a box of Q-tips marching toward the tellers … Queue-tips, perhaps.

It is obvious that Christian charity has been deposited outside the front door as seniors jostle for their rightful place in the lineup, especially the low wicket with the armchair specifically set up for seniors with mobility issues.  I understand this concept on most other days but on cheque day, we should all be allowed in that queue.  From all appearances this” seniors’ wicket” should be renamed the “seniors’ wicked”.

I don’t wish to exaggerate but I have been told by some of the tellers that on occasion, seniors nearly come to blows if someone tries to jump the line.  Now I understand the popularity of mixed martial arts (MMA).  Anything goes.

And did I mention privacy?  I am in the financial business and client confidentiality is paramount.  So it seems odd when you hear a customer shouting out his account number and PIN # for everyone within earshot to hear.  However, since most of us in the line have impaired hearing it’s not that big a deal.

And don’t you just love the conversation in the lineup?  It’s a good thing that we have the weather to complain about along with all of our aches and pains.  Sometimes I think that I’ve mistakenly shown up at the ER rather than the Credit Union.

I shouldn’t complain.  In twenty years or so when the last deposit is made (at the cemetery), there won’t be any lineups at financial institutions.  The younger generation does their banking from their smart phones.  When that time comes, I think that the banks should simply convert their buildings to seniors’ residences where the conversation about health and the weather can continue unabated.

 

 

 

 

Posted on August 11, 2013 under Monday Morning Musings with one comment

We’ll start out the week with a little quiz. Who is Jennie Shontell and what was her signature song? A hint… if you’re not over the age of 55 you might struggle with this one.

I celebrated my 26 th. birthday on the weekend. Or was is 62? Doesn’t matter. I feel young and that’s good enough for me. I had more birthday greetings in one day on Facebook ( over 100 ) than I’ve had in all previous birthdays combined. Thanks . It got me to thinking about memorable birthdays and I suspect that every one of you can remember one that stands out. Either something spectacularly good happened or it was one of those that’s better left in the archives. Let me know about your most memorable.

As some of you know, I was a school teacher and principal in another lifetime. All teachers would like to think that they made a difference in the lives of their young charges. Even after 35 years of not teaching, I still get e-mails from former students. Recently I heard some stories that caught my attention and it wasn’t what I was expecting. I stole a line from the old Crosby , Stills, Nash and Young song in writing a new piece called “Teach Your Children Well”. Coming soon.

I made reference the other day about couples taking road trips together. GPS devices have not completely eradicated discussions between husbands and wives when it comes to directions and driving styles. One of my readers had this beauty of a line: when his partner is getting on his nerves he suggests that he steer while she drives. Ouch!

Coming Tuesday is a new story called “Chequed”. Most of us do our banking on line these days but occasionally we need to go into our financial institutions to get rid of coin or maybe get a money order or some U.S. cash. If you happen to go in on “cheque day”, be prepared to wait. Many things crossed my mind as I stood patiently in line a few weeks ago.

OK. Put up your hands. How many of you used to watch “Stacey’s Country Jamboree”, a show beamed in from Bangor, Maine? It was a live production with some really good entertainers and some really bad ones. Google up Jennie Shontell and hear her rendition of “Wings of a Snow White Dove”. I’ll let you decide whether or not she’s got talent.  Don’t ask me why I thought about this but as you are coming to discover, I have all kinds of unusual thought processes!

Hope you all have a good week and stay well. Live, love and laugh.

Posted on August 10, 2013 under Storytelling with 2 comments

I have always dreamed of flying on Emirates Airlines.  It is supposed to be the best airline in the world, and the most exclusive.  No expense is spared for the super- rich.  Only sheiks, athletes, super models or politicians need apply for passage.  Pampering takes on a whole new meaning.  I am pondering this as I check in for an economy class flight with Tango from Halifax to Edmonton, via Toronto.

I don’t travel enough or fly far enough to warrant first class fare.  In many ways, airline travel has come a long way.  Gone are the days when you would be subjected to a plane full of acrid cigarette smoke and because booze is no longer free, outlandish behaviour has all but been eradicated.  Flights, more or less, take off and arrive on time.  Sometimes more, sometimes less.

But no matter how you cut it, flying economy is still a stigmatizing experience.

One of the first things they do at an airport is scan the barcode on your boarding pass.  I often wondered why this was done and after exhaustive research, I can tell you.  The barcode sends a secret message throughout the entire airline network that I am a regular Joe.   An “economy” passenger.

I tested my theory today.  When we arrived at the airport and I asked the ticket agent if my bags would be checked through to Edmonton, she giggled.  When she put the smiley face on my bag along with a sticker that said “good luck, sucker”, I knew my fate was sealed.  We went through security flawlessly although they questioned me about the lucky marble in my pants pocket.  I didn’t see this as a threat to national security.

The flight to Toronto was uneventful.  Many of the other passengers connecting to Edmonton were Maritimers, probably heading for Fort Mac.  A quiet group; I suspect that they are a bit rowdier on the return trip back east.

We had time to kill at Pearson so I opened my laptop to do a bit of work.  I was sitting in an area that obviously had WI FI capacity, as many well-dressed business types were madly pecking away at their keyboards and checking e-mails.  It appeared that I was connected but all attempts to get on line were thwarted.  An error code flashed up on a screen accompanied by another smiley face.  My blood began to boil.

And then it was time to board the plane for the second leg of the trip.  The announcement came over the public address system: “Would all Elite, Super Elite, Super Duper Elite, Executive Class, Gold and Platinum members please proceed to the Priority Boarding Red Carpet”.  The rest of the cattle were herded in a separate lineup.   I fully expected the executive class people to be going to a separate airplane.

Did I mention that I was travelling with my guitar?  We ran the gauntlet through the first class passengers nursing their pre-flight drinks.  Our seats were at the very back of the plane, near the Manitoba border.  At least we were close to the washrooms, which is always a blessing on a long trip.  The flight attendant told me that I would have to play her a tune if I wished to use the bathroom.

We enjoyed a gourmet meal of water after hearing the chief steward announce to anyone who cared that those in executive class would be receiving their hot meal shortly.

The plane landed and I am reasonably sure that the Elites were already on their connecting flight to somewhere exotic by the time the last of the cattle (us) disembarked from the plane.

I didn’t bother to check and see if my luggage had arrived.