insanity

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  • 29 Jan

    Snow More, I Beg You

    Mother Nature is capable of snarling even your best-laid plans.

    Earlier this week, a snowstorm rolled through our area at the perfect time to make an apocalyptic scene of the evening rush hour. I had watched the forecast on the local news for days, and had a pretty good sense of just when the worst was supposed to hit.

    That led to a plan to beat the snow, which actually just worked to put me right in the middle of the madness.

    I normally drive to the Metro at about 8:30 p.m. in order to arrive at work sometime between 9:30 and 9:45. But the morning of the snow, every meteorologist said the worst of the snow was going to start between 4 and 5 p.m., and that we would get a total of about 3-5 inches of snow where I live.

    With that information, my plan was simple — drive to the Metro parking garage at 3:30, nap there for a few hours, then take an early train into the city to grab a bite to eat before work.

    I slept for a few hours, and woke up to check the latest forecast. In that time, the timeline for the worst of the snow had been moved up and the expected amount of snow had been doubled. Awesome.

    As I walked out the door just before 3:30, traffic was moving smoothly on the road in front of our neighborhood and only a light sleet was falling from the sky. I felt encouraged and confident that my plan was going to turn out well.

    Given the conditions, I skipped the small, windy road I usually take to the Metro, opting instead for a series of highways (Fairfax County Parkway, Route 50, Interstate 66) that I assumed would be in better shape. Unfortunately, so did everyone else, and the moment I got onto the Fairfax County Parkway, traffic came to a complete stop.

    And then the snow started.

    Having grown up in this area, I know it only takes a few flakes to turn normally insane drivers into something that resembles a herd of newborn giraffes trying to find their footing. Cars slide left and right off the road. A driver slams on the gas, sees that isn’t getting him anywhere and decides to just keep flooring it in hopes something magically changes. In short, it isn’t pretty.

    The route I chose usually takes about 20 minutes to drive. In the ever-deteriorating conditions on this day, it took me six hours. The trip was 360 minutes of driving 10 feet, stopping for 10 minutes, driving seven feet, stopping for 15 minutes, dodging stalled cars, merging two lanes into one to get past the guy who couldn’t make it up the hill and watching as pedestrians easily out-walked even the fastest car.

    In short, it was a nightmare. If it weren’t for a phone equipped with the Internet and an iPod packed with podcasts, I may have gone insane.

    At about the two-hour mark, I had made it roughly four miles from my house. I was on a section of the Parkway that features a slight uphill. The slow pace of traffic was actually helping a lot of drivers — since we weren’t going more than two miles per hour, it was rarely necessary to touch the gas pedal. But some people missed the memo.

    It was here that I had my only close call of the trip. A driver had managed to get his car sideways across both lanes about midway up the small hill. I watched, almost in a daze, as he repeatedly slammed on the accelerator, alternating between forward and reverse, in an attempt to get pointed in the right direction. The result was a lot of noise, and a car sliding uncontrollably sideways down the hill. A few times the car came within inches of my own, until thankfully there was enough of an opening for me to squeeze by safely.

    A lot of drivers recognized their lack of ability to handle the conditions (or just became frustrated and gave up), abandoning their cars on the side of the road. Or sometimes in the middle of the road. As each piece of a mile went on, I had a rolling mental calculus going to consider my options. The range started at pull over and walk home, pull over and walk to my parents’ house, pull over and walk to the Metro, and of course pull over and start a dance-off in the middle of the snowy road. OK, maybe not the last one.

    Strangely though, at no point did it occur to me to take a picture of the scene. I mean, it’s not like I didn’t have the time. So to make up for my lack of photo evidence, please enjoy this photo from snowy Alaska featuring my aunt, grandfather and mom holding a group of fish:


    Photo unrelated in any way to this story

    The option I decided to pursue was basically, “I have gone this far, I might as well keep going.” As the hours and hours rolled on, I took solace in the small milestones: getting to the next intersection, passing another snowplow idling on the shoulder, seeing another police car dodge oncoming traffic instead of using our lanes. I can’t even describe my excitement when I actually exited onto a new road.

    Of course, the entire time I was driving I became more and more sure that I was going to make it to the Metro, only to have them close down the above-ground portion of the system. That would include the station I was driving to, and supposedly happens when there is eight inches of snow.

    Shortly before I arrived at the station, I checked Facebook from my phone. One of my contacts had posted something about Metro shutting down…the bus system. I only had a small heart attack when reading the first half of that sentence. Thankfully though, the train portion of my trip was entirely uneventful and I made it into work only half an hour after my shift started. My dinner plans shifted to what I could get out of a vending machine, but at least I was there.

    On the way home the next morning, the carnage was really incredible. The roads were passable, but the huge collection of abandoned cars was quite a sight. I would estimate I passed at least 100 cars ditched in the snow, some of which were still sitting in the middle of a lane.

    So I guess the lesson is here is that planning ahead is good, but planning ahead better is better. Oh, and sometimes the uneventful 20-minute drive is something to be celebrated.

    By cjhannas insanity snow Uncategorized
  • 04 Nov

    Rent-A-Pet

    You come across some interesting things working overnight shifts. And by interesting I mean weird.

    Last night we confirmed that no matter what kind of crazy idea follows the question, “I wonder if there’s a…” there is someone out there ready to sell it to you.

    Case in point: Flexpetz. Sorry, FLEXPETZ, according to the website.

    We were talking about dogs, and one of my co-workers said she wanted some kind of small yapper-type dog (my description, not hers). I think it was a Pomeranian. She said she wasn’t ready to get a dog, and that I should get one instead. Under my current lease agreement, that would require some effort on my part and I believe some sort of extra monthly fee.

    So the question became, for those who can’t or choose not to have a pet in their home, is there a service that rents dogs? On the surface it sounds great — play with the dog, enjoy it short term and don’t shoulder any real responsibility.


    My brother’s dog, Matics. Not available for rent.

    That’s where FLEXPETZ comes in. They will basically rent you your choice of dog for a few hours or a even for a number of days. Like any good rental service (hello, Netflix) they even offer delivery.

    Of course, there’s a fee for that. And for 17 other things with this service.

    Delivery? $25. Daily rental fee (minimum 4/month)? $45. Monthly membership? $99. Then there’s the $150 initial training/orientation session and a $99 annual administration fee. Oh, and don’t you dare return the dog late. That will run you another $75 per day.

    So if you are responsible and can return a dog on time, a year of worry-free pet time can be yours for the low low price of $3597.

    I guess you could just volunteer at an animal shelter or get a friend who has a dog. But a “rental” dog is a much better conversation pet.

    By cjhannas animals insanity Uncategorized
  • 18 Sep

    Dream a Little Dream

    I just had one of those dreams you really want to document, and fortunately my laptop happened to be a few feet away. Clearly this one has great meaning and should be analyzed for insights into my life:

    I’m in a car, or more like looking at the inside of a car. Skateboarder and MTV reality superstar Rob Dyrdek is there with former MTVer Christopher “Big Black” Boykin and one other guy. There’s a man at the door asking for IDs, so I assume we were at some sort of club.

    I watch at Rob gets out of the car and calmly walks inside the building, which doesn’t look at all like a club. He turns to his right to a bank of elevators — more like a hallway of 50 or so elevators on the right side and then a few more straight ahead of us.

    Rob puts his hand on the “up” button at the first elevator, gets a big grin on his face and then runs straight ahead, pressing the button on most of the elevators as he goes. An employee of whatever kind of establishment we were at starts yelling and chasing after Rob. Just as he gets to the end of the hallway, the last elevator opens up, and a group of girls walks out. Rob jumps in the elevator, the doors closing just as the angry employee gets there.

    For some reason I am not actually on the elevator, not just watching Rob like he’s on TV. A family is in the back, hiding behind a curtain in the now oddly huge elevator. You could park a car in there. We get to the top and I get out. I realize we are in a really tall building, but decide the elevator is not the best option for getting down.

    I pass up the escalator too, instead opting for the stairs, which look more like big plastic slides. It’s like Chutes and Ladders without the ladders. I sit down at the top and don’t budge. There’s some kind of traction-y stuff on the chute that won’t let me move. I get up, feeling like an idiot because people just saw me assume that thing was a slide. But then all of a sudden I am sliding down, and the chute becomes more like one of those giant wavy slides you see at a carnival.

    I get to the bottom, and now the mystery building is a mall. And somehow it is clearly identified as being in Atlanta. I decide that stores in different parts of the country get different items, so I should buy some new shoes.

    I go into Finish Line and turn to the shoe wall on the right. Another customer sees the polo shirt I’m wearing and asks me if I know the price of the shoe he’s holding. I do not. I look back at the wall, which doesn’t have very many shoes on it. Lots of empty little shelves there there are supposed to be shoes.

    For some reason the shoe wall turns into a wall of video games. Most of them are used. I turn to walk out and start discussing the lack of cool games with a friend — who I guess just magically appeared at the Atlanta mall/club/elevatorium.

    Wake up.

    By cjhannas insanity sleep Uncategorized
  • 27 Apr

    Pleasures of Insomnia

    Sleep has become quite elusive in my life.

    Initially that didn’t seem like such a bad thing, bringing the potential for more productivity in the increased waking hours. But of course in such a state it’s more difficult to focus on things and I think I have become less productive.

    The cause of this insomnia uptick is probably multifaceted, but even without those factors it’s not like I have been a sleeping champ in recent history. Not long ago I was talking to a friend about sleep and figured that it has been a solid 4-5 years since I have slept through a night.

    Partly to blame is a wacky work schedule that began two years ago. It features a lot of overnight shifts — but not enough to let my body adjust to that as some sort of new “normal.” In practicality it essentially meant skipping a night of sleep every week for about eight months at my old job. Now in weeks where I take those shifts as a freelancer (like last week and this one) I am reminded of just how it feels to get that little sleep.

    Of course it doesn’t help when you do have time to sleep…and…just…can’t.

    It’s not easy to just drift off when you have a lot on your mind, especially when you’re lying there thinking things like “how the hell did I get myself into this situation?” Forgive me for any necessary vagueness that follows.

    A few weeks ago I found myself in exactly that situation — staring at the ceiling recounting the many steps and permutations of a personal relationship that jumped into rather uncharted territory. (I just wrote and erased a few things I probably shouldn’t say).

    Hm. OK. So there are some people who have compared me in certain ways to Jim from “The Office,” and hopefully Jim has reached a popular culture status that doesn’t require any explanation there. But there are certain aspects of the Jim character’s life that I want no part of. Sure, he seems to have just about everything he wants at this point, but there was a pretty rocky/borderline shady period to get there. I know several people who would not (or have not) let that kind of barrier hold them back, but that’s just not me.

    While part of my wants to grab the other party and yell things like “AHHHHHHH” and “NOT FAIR” and “YOU HAVE WHAT YOU WANT,” there is a friend side that says more calmly things like “just frustrated” and “drunk” and “it will be OK.” Right now I don’t know which side is going to win, or if there is a middle ground. Can the “friend” route possibly work without ending up right back in the same situation?

    In all relationships there are tough times. Some people hunker down and work through anything while others are better at cutting and running away. I’m probably better at option B, which is probably due to the Drama Avoidance chip embedded deep in my brain.

    Though even when you are in what should be the most drama-free situation possible (single, living with two longtime male friends), a girl can still leave you staring at a ceiling with three letters going through your head — w.t.f.

    Happy sleeping.

    By cjhannas insanity sleep Uncategorized
  • 10 Mar

    Gimme a Break

    On ABC’s 20/20, John Stossel has a segment called “Gimme A Break.” In that portion of the program, Stossel presents a situation that makes you question what people were thinking, or how they could possibly think what they were doing or had done was a good idea.

    They are never huge, national issues like the budget deficit or our Iraq policy. But they are always something big enough to warrant attention and some sort of rectifying action.

    What might be worse are situations that don’t rise to the “Stossel Level,” ones that get too much attention even though they are virtually meaningless and aren’t hurting anything.

    Today I was 11 minutes late for work. Yesterday I was 10 minutes late for work. That’s a total of 21 minutes in two days. I have been early for 99 percent of my shifts at this job over a year and a half. Often those early arrivals have been at least 30 minutes before I was scheduled to begin.

    “What’s with your tardiness?” I was asked as I entered today. Given as evidence of this apparent epidemic was yesterday’s and today’s late arrivals. Gimme a break.

    The majority of the other employees are regularly tardy, often much later than my recent transgressions. Just yesterday, another employee was 38 minutes late for work. Remember, I was a total of 21 minutes late over two days. Apparently it’s not a problem when other people do it chronically, just the two times I do it. Maybe we should fight the big battles first.

    I am not a salaried employee. I am compensated only for time in which I am in there and on the clock. If anything, I should be praised for saving the company 21 minutes of my compensation. After all, those hours are apparently incredibly limited these days.

    So employer, you’re welcome!

    On a related note, I watched Office Space last night. One line that resonated:
    “Can you just zonk me out so that I don’t know I’m at work? Like, can I come home thinking I was fishing instead?”

    By cjhannas insanity mall Uncategorized
  • 18 Jan

    Please Make it Stop

    I’ve been here for 7.5 hours. I have sold one pair of shoes. That sale was 6 hours ago. In that time I have had four times as many glasses of water (4). Another employee, who has not even been here for three days, has sold just as many pairs of shoes as I have (1). I have consumed as many cheesesteaks as pairs of shoes sold (1). I have consumed as many Cinnabons as pairs of shoes sold (1). I have consumed as many hot chocolates from Cinnabon as pairs of shoes sold (1).

    Shoot me now.

    EDITOR’S NOTE: I arrived at 12:58 p.m. I made that one shoe sale at 1:47 p.m. for $59.99. I left at 9:30 without making another sale, and somehow without killing myself.

    PPS: The next day, I had a $74.99 shoe returned the next day, making my two-day total negative.

    By cjhannas Cinnabon food insanity mall shoes Uncategorized
  • 20 Apr

    He’s Using Listening Devices Against Me

    Of course, I must start with a show link. (April 13) Last one of the year. Don’t cry too hard.

    And the goods.

    Yesterday Jason and I went to the golf course down the street. We wanted to play a quick morning 9 holes, which at 13 bucks was a pretty good deal. Turns out on Wednesdays, you get to play 18 holes for that 13 dollars. Sweet.

    We play about 13 holes with these two other random guys, Bob and Bruce. Bruce then leaves, and the FUN begins.

    The three of us remaining are putting on the next hole. We look back and see this very impatient-looking woman standing 100 yards away like she’s about to hit a ball at us. After we tee off on the next hole, we ask if she would like to either play through (pass us), or join our group. Thankfully, she decided to join us. Not two seconds into announcing her decision, she tells us that she’s “pretty hot right now,” which I mistakenly thought was a reference to the warm weather.

    Turns out, she was actually quite pissed. At her husband. And his “recording equipment on a golf course.” Um. What? I thought she saying her husband had some sort of bluetooth earpiece deal and was rudely taking calls on the course. No no. She said he was taping their conversations. He also apparently could say whatever he wanted, but the second she started trying to add her own opinion to a conversation, he would simply ignore her. Like when she was telling him about what Jane Fonda said “on the TV the other night” about how it was better to have pain in your knees than anywhere else. Um. What?

    She told us ALL of that before taking her first shot. Bob, who was a very nice older guy–probably a good 70 years old and a better golfer than Jason or I–looked the woman square in the eye and said “Miss, take your shot.” At this command, the woman took several steps toward the tee box. But apparently she wasn’t done and came right back to us and said she was going to move to Canada and find someone who would treat her right. Um. What?

    The husband was apparently also taping everything at home. There was recording equipment all over the house and in her car. The information has already been used against her, and her neighbors have already done her wrong. Um. What?

    Things go OK for a couple of holes. She steams quietly to herself while we play and wait for the next treasure trove of information. Nothing new until the end of the round. Typically, after everyone finishes you have this little shake hands nice playing with you routine that takes 20 seconds and you all part ways and continue with your lives. The woman says “I’m sorry if I brought my negativity and situation to your day.” We all say that’s no problem and exchange pleasantries with the others. But the woman didn’t stop there. She went on about how she was ashamed of having a sister-in-law who had the name of Senator Benson and about how she has already tried going to court against her husband, but since she didn’t have a lawyer she didn’t have a chance.

    So Jason and I pack up our stuff and get into the car. We mention the possibility of waiting around in the parking lot to see this husband come off the course and a big confrontation to go down. But then another possibility strikes us. What if it was all made up? At this point I’m about 75 percent sure none of that ever happened to her. But I’m also 100 percent certain she brought some added enjoyment to my day.

    By cjhannas golf insanity Uncategorized
  • 26 Jan

    Someone is Stealing Your Dreams

    According to Zorel, someone is tapping into your dreams, making a copy of your brain and using that information to steal money from your bank account. The same process is also being used to tap into the U.S. Government weapons department. But if you don’t live in Maryland, don’t worry, the antenna is only being used around Silver Spring, Md.

    I wish I could have made this up, but alas, it is all too true. Today in the UMTV newsroom we received a call from Zorel telling us of the existence of this antenna and evil plot to copy brains and steal money. I was sad to learn that he was calling from Miami, and thus I could not interview him. After all, he has a sixth sense and was able to predict that Bush would be elected in 2000, that Hillary Clinton would be elected the same year and that Avian flu would break out in Asia.

    If you feel you have been a victim of the brain-copy plot, he encourages you to call Montgemery County Police, though I would recommend you call the MontgOmery County Police who might be able to better help you because they actually exist.

    By cjhannas insanity Uncategorized
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