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Welcome to the BOMB.

The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

My photo
My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Tuesday, June 20, 2017

My Fifty Cents Worth

I made a purchase at a local store tonight and the cashier rang up one of my items as fifty cents more than the advertised price.

The half dollar is NOT the issue.

As a Registered Nurse I make enough money to not have to fret over two quarters. However, I felt the item was over priced at the advertised price, so I told the cashier to remove  the item since it rang up incorrectly higher. After I checked to make sure the advertised price was in fact the lower price I believed, I called and asked to speak to the manager. When I explained why he just lost a sale his response was, "If you had said something in the store we could have discounted it for you."

Here are some of the problems I have with this statement:

1)  I work for everything I get, I'm not looking for a handout or a discount when I voice a complaint, concern, or  compliment. I want you to fix the problem. Bottom line. Plain and simple. Fix it. Or, in the case of a compliment I want you to recognize the good you're doing, so you can continue doing good.

2)  Selling something in excess of the advertised price is illegal.

3)  Offering to give me a "discount" that is actually the advertised price,  is first, not a discount;  and second, it's insulting--it implies I'm too dumb to realize you are merely doing the right thing by selling the item to me at the price you advertised.

4)  Offering to fix the problem for me only, does not fix the problem for anyone else.

5)  When I am in your store and I see an overpriced item, I can put it in my cart and pay the advertised overpriced amount, or I can decide not to and place it back on the shelf. If I decide to purchase the item,  that is my choice.  I will not accept being duped into paying a higher price at the register because your system is corrupted.  (Notice I did NOT accuse the manager or the store of being corrupt--this could have been an honest pricing glitch, or a mis-keyed price when it was keyed into the system--this last is unlikely since I've paid the advertised price at least 6 times this season.  What I said was the SYSTEM  might be corrupted--as in error-ridden--I also did NOT say the system itself was a corrupt system.)

When I informed the manager I wanted him to do something about the discrepancy his response was, "I'll put up a new sign."

This statement indicated to me that he was perfectly fine with charging the higher price without even checking it out. (This item has been advertised at the lower price this whole season--and as previously stated, is IMHO pricey even at the lower price). The manager realized what he was saying and quickly backtracked and said, "Or change the cash register system to reflect the advertised price." (Good answer.  In fact, this is the action I sought.)

So here's the problems I have have with this little interchange:

6)  The manager was okay with pulling the sign advertising the lower price (which has been in effect all season) and continuing to charge the higher price.

7)  His offer to check this discrepancy out and take appropriate action, came far too late in our conversation--by the time he said it, he had totally lost my faith in his ability to take the right, honorable, and moral action.

I realize it's after midnight and the night-shift manager, who sounded young on the phone, is most likely fresh out of High School and still wet behind the ears.  As such he's probably not going to be as skilled at conflict resolution as the day shift manager; however, if he's risen to the rank of manager, and was smart enough to catch himself when he realized he mis-spoke, he's a sharper crayon than his box-mates. I just wish I had confidence to believe he will take this matter seriously enough to research it and correct it.

It's not about the fifty cents.

It IS about the priciples of integrity,  honesty, follow through, and honoring your committments.  It's about doing the right thing--not just oiling the squeeky wheel. It's about doing the right thing for everyone.

Integrity:  Doing The Right Thing even when no one else is watching.

And that's my fifty cents worth.

Sunday, June 18, 2017

My First Shiner

I'm sporting a shiner thanks to a recent cat fight. Okay. Maybe shiner is a bit heavy handed. But my eye is black enough you can tell I was in a brawl. Let me just say, I do not normally become engaged in common street behavior.  I can ignore name-calling no matter how vicious. I usually walk away when l'm  bumped, pushed, or shoved. However, when the first punch is thrown, I don't run away. Just ask Mark Kelso. 

Mark Kelso and I lived in the same Eglin  Air Force Base neighborhood and rode the same big yellow bus to elementary school. I don't remember anything about Mark or his family--except our fight.  

One  day, on the bus ride home, Mark passed my seat and, totally unprovoked, bashed the top of my head  with his wooden yo-yo. It was hard enough I saw stars. I bided my time. When the bus stopped at our stop we got off with a bunch of neighborhood kids. We milled around until the bus turned the corner and was out of sight, and then the fight began. I'm not sure if I threw the actual first punch or not--in my mind the yo-yo was the first punch. I held my own against the bully and his yo-yo, which he continued to use. Again, I saw stars when he hit the side of my head. Since this was only my second lifetime fight I had not developed any sophisticated fight strategies. I just aimed and swung.  I don't know if I had enough strength to make him see stars, but I hoped I did. The fight didn't last too long.  I'm not sure if someone called the APs (Air Police--now I believe they are called MPs in all branches of the military, but they will always and forever remain APs to me), or, if he was on his regular drive through. For whatever reason, the AP was there and he intervened.  

Back in the day, when a military brat got into trouble, the Sponsor and his/her Commanding Officer received calls. Most kids I ran with tried to keep from having their Dad meet up with his CO because of something they did. Our gang was no where near perfect. We just kept our noses clean for the most part. When Mama and Daddy heard about the fight and the events leading up to it,  they told me there's never a good reason to fight, and  I should report bad behavior to the authorities. Mama didn't give me the whipping I was expecting. This surprised me since she was forever spanking my butt for some infraction. But not this time. Daddy and I had a "date to talk." Daddy was the second line disciplinarian. "Talking" with Daddy in situations like this was like being called before the CO of your CO.  My Sister and I generally avoided doing anything so egregious as to incur The Discipline of Daddy.  

When Mama took me for a walk outside, it was to collect a good spanking switch. But Daddy didn't gather a spanking switch.  And his belt remained secured at his waist. We had a short talk. He reiterated that I was to avoid fighting. I should attempt to solve differences nonviolently by talking them out. It was the smart way to handle bullies. Daddy said, "No child of mine will be bullied or picked on.  If it comes down to a fight, you are never to throw the first punch." And then he showed me some boxing moves.  As I recall they were mostly defensive blocks; however, there were a few offensive punches, and how to hold my hands to minimize injury. But more importantly, this lesson took place In the front yard where all the neighbors could see. In fact, we were in the corner closest to where Mark Kelso lived. To my recollection, that was the last time I was involved in a fight. Until I got the shiner in this weeks Cat Fight. 
Cat Fights are typically between two girls.  I'm atypical. Yep. I was once again in a fight with a boy. For the third time in my life. Did I honor Mama and Daddy's wish that I exhaust all nonviolent options?  Yes.  But sometimes talk goes in one ear and out the other. Unheeded. Just like Daddy's defensive move lesson. Had I been more cognizant of my vulnerability and past lessons learned, my eyes would have been protected.  But I was not.  I failed to protect my eyes and as a result, he got a shot in and gave me a shiner. It's not a big shiner. But its present and noticeable.  A reminder that I physically tangled with someone.

So this weeks cat fight the guy gave me a black eye, but unlike my last fight, this time there was a definite winner. 

My goals were to apply the ointment to both Moggys eyes (per vet instructions) and coax him into eating more than the gravy off his wet cat food. I instilled the ointment into the bad eye. He was too squirmy for me to safely instill it in the second eye.   And then he promptly left without even licking the gravy.   Cat Fight Results:  Moggy 2, Me 1, plus the black eye which goes into Moggy's win column, making it Moggy 3, Me one.  Except my win is actually a win for Moggy that he does not realize yet. So the final score is Moggy 4, Me nada. 

In a decisive victory, I have been thwarted by my 8 pound cat.