February 20, 2013 article

The old coot asks, “What’s so special?”

By Merlin Lessler

 

I have an issue with the “Today’s Specials” that many restaurants offer. The ones that are scribbled on a sign out front or on a chalkboard near the hostess stand.  “Today’s Special – Cow lips, poached in a special sauce with a hoof salad on the side.”  At least, that’s how I hear it when “My-name-is-Jimmy-I’ll-be-your-server-this-afternoon” describes the mush that comprises the special of the day. If it’s so special, why isn’t it served all the time?

 

Today’s specials are like hot dogs; it’s what they do with the left over stuff. They don’t want to waste it, so they make it into hot dogs, or in the case of restaurants, into “Today’s Special.” It’s usually at a special price too, about twenty dollars more than the entrees on the regular menu.

 

I’m not welcome in most of the restaurants that offer a “Today’s Special because I ask for a “customer’s special” instead. “What’s that?” the waiter will ask. So, I tell him. “I’d like ½ a BLT, a dozen French fries and 1/2 glass of ice tea. (I know what my tank will hold and I don’t want to over fill it.) “I don’t think we can do that,”(Jimmy-I-wish-I-didn’t-get-this table) will respond. “Sure you can,” I assure him. “Put one slice of bread in the toaster, cut it in half when it pops up, butter it with a dollop of mayo, add a slice of bacon, a half slice of tomato and a piece of lettuce. Put it on a plate and stick a toothpick in. Throw 12 french fries in with another order and add them to the plate. Pour ice tea in a glass to the half way point. You can do it! It’s easy.”

 

“I don’t know. I’ll have to check.” A minute later I see the chef peek out the little window in the kitchen door. His look says it all’ “Oh darn! It’s that old coot again.” Pretty soon the manager comes over. “Is there a problem sir?” That’s what his mouth says, but his body language says something quite different. Something unprintable! “No problem,” I respond. “I just want less food and drink than your normal portions consist of. Can’t a customer get what he wants, something right off the menu, just less of it? I’m trying to avoid becoming a whale.”

 

I get the “It’s highly unusual” speech. And, then the “Just this one time” concession. I don’t understand the problem in giving us what we want instead of what they want. It doesn’t seem to be a problem when I ask Dillon at the Barleycorn for a half glass of Yuengling, or Bob at the Cellar to split a burger and put it on two plates, or Diana at John’s Fine Food to get me three slices of American cheese and two slices of German bologna. That’s why I like small towns. They let you get what you want. Everyplace else, you get Today’s Special

February 13, 2013 Article

The Old Coot is afraid to repeat.

By Merlin Lessler

 

It’s funny how a certain word, a seemingly innocuous word, can send you reeling. “Repeat” is such a word for me. An “ugh” word. It started in grade school, as it was called back when I attended Public School #13. I served my sentence for 7 years, from kindergarten thru 6^th grade. I got out on good behavior, because REPEAT was a threat the teachers hung over my head. “Print neatly or you will have to REPEAT your work!” – “Write on the top line of your paper, I will not shoot spit balls in class, and REPEAT it 100 times.” And, “Pay attention or you’ll have to REPEAT 3^rd grade.” They used it to get us to stop saying ain’t. They used it to make us memorize that 9 times 7 was 63. And, they used it to make us behave.

 

Every time I was sent to the dreaded cloak room for acting up, that long narrow closet at the back of the classroom, I was reminded that I might have to REPEAT the grade if I didn’t shape up. I lived in a state of dread! Even the kids whose papers were plastered with gold stars were under the REREAT gun. Good marks didn’t guarantee you’d get promoted.

 

But, I also figured out if you were REAL bad, your behavior could trump your poor grades. It might even guarantee your promotion to the next grade. The teacher would move you along so she didn’t get stuck with you for another miserable year. It’s why the bully that started kindergarten with me, kept moving ahead, in spite of spending more time in the hall, the cloakroom and the principal’s office than at his desk in the front row, within an eraser throw from the teacher.  

 

It wasn’t just in the school where the REPEAT word haunted my generation. It popped up all over the place: when I mowed the neighbor’s lawn (for the grand sum of one dollar) and left a few islands of tall grass between the rows, I was told to REPEAT the whole job. When I mumbled, “Damn,” under my breath and was ordered to REPEAT what I’d just said; it got me sent to my room for the afternoon with the awful taste of Ivory soap in my mouth. REPEAT dominated my childhood. Especially, when I was within reach of a mother (any mother) or a teacher. They claimed to have eyes in the back of their heads and I believed it. I couldn’t get away with anything.

 

Now, I’m the one using the REPEAT word, preceded by the WHAT word. It can’t be my hearing can it? It has to be that people are talking softer these days. Maybe they communicate by text message so much that their vocal chords have dried up. TV sets, too, don’t seem as loud as they once did. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s global warming. All I know is I’m saying REPEAT all the time. REPEAT haunted me as a kid and now it’s back, haunting me as an old coot.

February 6, 2013 article

The Old Coot reveals a secret.

By Merlin Lessler

 

“Surprise! I grew up!” I’ve had six little people who bunked with us say that to me. It’s something you never think will happen when they are toddlers. Maybe if we did, we’d skip some of the stupid things we do or say in our role as parents. Especially if you consider the prospect that one day it may come back at you, Dad, I told you not to bring your old coot buddies in here when I’m not home. As long as you live under my roof, you’ll go by my rules! You’re grounded!

 

It’s a long list, the stuff that can come back to haunt you. I just gave you $20 yesterday; how can you be broke? – You’re not going out in public dressed like that! – Your friends are a bad influence; get some new ones. –  Call me if you’re going to be late. It can happen even if you don’t live under their roof. The role reversal between you and your kids is inevitable. The trick is to avoid it as long as possible. Don’t let it get started.

 

It takes work to fake it, to act as though you are a fully functioning adult. You should never talk to your kids about your physical deterioration. Save that for your old coot buddies. That’s a conversation for coffee shops and diners. In addition, it can save you money and time. If three of you have a sore knee, then do a round of, Rock-Scissors-Paper. The loser has to go to the doctor to get a diagnosis. Even if your symptoms are different, he can get an opinion, and then throw a few more symptoms on the table, and get another one.

 

NEVER let your kid know anything about it. And NEVER have them take you to an appointment. Even if your knee is so sore you have to stop every few steps to cry. If you let them take you, another of your child rearing statements will come back at you. Tell the doctor what you told me.  The secret to independence is called “KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!” You know how. You perfected the technique when you were a teenager, when you told your parents absolutely nothing. Now, it’s your kids you have to keep out of the loop.

 

It helps if you can get them bickering. If they’re not speaking to each other they can’t discuss your deteriorating condition. Do you think dad/mom is slipping lately? – He/she can’t remember stuff. You can’t let them get into these conversations. Do things that will keep them feuding. Give an heirloom that one of the kids “always wanted” to his sister. That should keep them at odds for a while and keep you safe from role-reversal parenting.

 

And, most of all, get out of the house, get out of town. Don’t be a homebody. Go south with the snowbirds; you’ll be in safe company. Go to the early bird specials, no young people will see you and report your odd behavior to your kids. Take rides, like those old Sunday drives that were a popular form of entertainment half a century ago. Keep moving! Keep your mouth shut! That’s the secret to a happy old coot existence.