Admittedly, I have never been fired from any job I've ever held. Now there were occasions when I went out of my way to try and get fired, such as my appointment to Urinalysis NCOIC of my last unit when I was in the Army. The title says everything you need to know why I so despised that job...essentially, when a male soldier had to be screened for drugs, it was my job to ensure that he filled up the little bottle. We were dealing with nuclear weapons and Uncle Sugar didn't want the wrong people guarding them. If the government didn't trust it's soldiers with nuclear weapons...you think they were on the honor system of filling up that little bottle? That's right, someone had to physically watch the fluid leave the body and enter the container...enter your Urinalysis NCOIC. Damn, I hated that job!!
Then there are jobs that I absolutely love. My current gig as an Environmental Engineer with NCDOT is one of them. It can be rather mundane and tedious at times but there is no greater calling than helping out good 'ole "Mother Nature." OK,you got me, I do enjoy the job but I added that last line for the benefit of my bosses, who may read this on occasion and I hope they might spare me when the next round of budget cuts are needed.
I also worked part time at the RBC Center where the NHL Carolina Hurricanes and NC STATE University Men's Basketball team play. Initially as a Suite Host for about three seasons and the past two as a suite server. It was only to be temporary but I stayed mainly out of my love for sports. I will never forget the '06 Stanley Cup Finals between the 'Canes and Edmonton. Absolutely the most electric and contagious atmosphere I've ever been associated with and the catalyst that has made me a raving "Caniac." Also, there's no bigger rush than watching Wolfpackers rush the floor after beating those despised tarheels...it is indeed a rare occasion but never gets old.
The last two years have been great monetarily speaking as I was able to make some serious tips serving in the suites...but it was also a hustle gig. I took a pedometer into work one time just to see how many miles I was getting...8. Yeah, I was averaging that many miles walking back and forth from the suites and to the kitchen. The pay made those aching hooves of mine hurt a little less. I honestly have a new profound respect for wait staff...not that I was ever dis-respectful to those who waited upon me, but it was a job I deemed beneath me til I got on at the RBC Center. The other keen aspect I took from this position was the attention to detail needed to succeed. These clients were pretty successful in the business community and if you wanted to get paid, you had better bring your "A" game. You needed a "shtick" to succeed and being the "old soldier" in the group I became "Sarge." I fared well in this role but you always had to be at your best.
Here's where I ran into the Turk. You all know him...the Grim Reaper. He's also that guy in the NFL camps who has the unenviable task of informing players that they've been cut. I was getting ready for the new season, running...busting my ass to get into shape...well, the "busting my ass" part might be an exaggeration...but this was going to be a playoff run for the Canes and my Wolfpack were breaking in a new coach... I was jacked...til that subtle knock at the door with a guy yelling at me to report to the coach with my playbook...which in this case turned out to be an email from my supervisor which read: We have reviewed your HR file and have decided not to invite you back for the upcoming season.
It's a business; the 'Canes are struggling to sell their suites. I get it and I wasn't the only one shown the door. In all fairness, they did offer me a demotion to a position within the building minus the tips. That was swell of them, but no thanks. Remember, this is the first time I have ever been fired. Technically, I was "released," but damn if it doesn't feel all the same...just like a gut punch. What's more aggravating is the cowardly manner in how they drop the bomb on you...a cordial way of saying "fuck you very much!"
Don't cry for me Argentina. I'll be just fine. In fact Claudia is down right giddy over the prospect of me being home more...I'm worried now. This also gives me a chance to get into a rhythm physically. Part time work at my age is hard on the body and doesn't allow me to function on a normal routine. I'm going to use this time and focus on my running and my day job with NCDOT...Lord knows, I don't want the Turk paying me another visit. It also affords me the opportunity to write more on this here blog...you never know, I might even become so popular with blogging, someone might pay me to write about stupid shit. Take care everyone and do what you can to avoid the Turk.
Saturday, August 27, 2011
Friday, August 12, 2011
The Beach in Me
Let's face it...we all have a favorite beach. Here lately Folly Beach, SC and Corolla on the OBX are receiving honorable mention votes. Folly for their incredible bar and music scene and those damn fine Bloody Mary's at the "Lost Dog Cafe." Corolla just has a mood and vibe that I thoroughly enjoyed. Myrtle Beach is still a favorite among the young crowd, I'm assuming, and I still have fond memories of hanging out there with Trent Palmer and Pete Sill right after High School graduation and I can tell you that if you live in the Wilmington Area, Wrightsvillle and Carolina Beach would be great places to live year round as Wilmington offers a nice distraction during the winter months.
There are some very exotic beaches I would like to explore also, such as South Beach, Maui, Laguna and Bermuda...one day, I hope, my pay scale will be commensurate with my robust imagination and I can just jet on down to these places and order "Brie" and spread "Grey Poupon" on my "samich." Until then I'm going to settle for a working man's beach. My favorite is Holden's Beach right here in North Carolina. It's like a trusty old friend you haven't seen in awhile; instantly upon reacquainting it's like you haven't skipped a beat.
Holden's isn't fancy, heck it can be down right dull if you compare it to any other beach. It's nicely tucked away at the South end of the North Carolina beaches between the far more popular strands of Long Beach and Ocean Isle and it is approximately thirty miles from both Wilmington and Myrtle Beach. There's only one way onto the island, it's about eight miles long and it does have it's own fishing pier. The island is dotted with your "run of the mill" beach homes; all elevated with a customary fancy name adorning the abodes such as "Sun of a Beach" or "Wasting Time." It does have one or two places to eat, a couple of boat launches and a RV camp ground. That's about it...seriously, it's quaint, and a quiet beach that seems to have been passed by time...Thank God.
It was at this particular RV camp ground where "Growing up Laugisch" was firmly rooted...only back in the late seventies it was just a campground for trailers...RV is just a fancy word for those big rigs used today known as penthouses on wheels. Call me crazy, but anything being towed by another vehicle is a damn trailer!! The more opulent "trailers" were actually Airstreams...which we didn't own. Dad was right proud of the Prowler trailer he purchased in 1977 that, under the right circumstances could sleep 20 people if you lined them up just right. There were six of us, so plenty of room.
I think the thing that attracted Holden Beach to my parents was the fact that back then you could rent a "trailer" spot at the camp ground for dirt cheap...I'm not exactly sure of the cost...but trust me, my Dad would have known...he took advantage of things like that. He and Mom would drive it down there the weekend after school let out in June and would keep it there the week before school started in September. They didn't spend the entire time at the campground as they both still worked and get this...they would leave us boys...sometimes just one or two of us to "sorta mind the store" while they went back up to Fayetteville for the week.
Your probably asking, "What the hell kind of parents leave their children alone at the beach like that?" In our defense, we were 13,14, and 15 years old respectively...it wasn't like when we were younger and we were so bad, Mom was asking our neighbor to come beat us when Dad was in Vietnam...no, we had become more refined Laugisch men by our teenage years. Besides we were sort of shocked that they actually trusted us...suckers. I'm going to be honest with you: we were not going to mess up this golden opportunity.
Think seriously about this for a moment...three young teenage brothers left to their own devices on a beach...your probably thinking the "Rock Star" Laugisch boys were living the dream in a MTV video with bikini clad models, parties til dawn and David "Diamond" Lee Roth wanting our autographs? Yeah...we were too. Nothing could be further from the truth though...did I mention this was Holden's Beach? Mom and Dad weren't that crazy and we assumed they strategically chose this beach because it was pretty desolate. Throw in the fact that we had no car and they only left us about 10 dollars...that's right, 10 friggin dollars to last the three of us all week. To their credit, we had food in the trailer and we all knew how to make grilled cheese sandwiches. The camp ground was also situated near one end of an EIGHT MILE island that was THREE miles from the damn fishing pier. It also had a small convenience store(with phone for emergencies) and a men's and women's shower facility. Everything you needed was situated nicely at that campground.
We didn't need much to keep us occupied. Our daily routine consisted of swimming at the beach for a couple of hours, maybe fish in the surf...depending on the tide, eat lunch, walk the three miles to the pier and play video games til we ran out of money and then fart around on the pier til we got bored...walk the three miles back...take a nap, play Gin Rummy til we caught Hank cheating, watch the 3 Stooges in the afternoon, play basketball, eat, watch TV and play more Gin Rummy til we caught Hank cheating again...then sleep. We'd wake up and more or less do this every day.
This is not to say, that our routine wasn't intermingled with more adventure...please, we were teenagers...raging hormones and all that...yes, we were most definitely occupied with trying to get the attention other teenage girls...when they were there...remember, this was Ice Station Zebra!! The majority of these girls would stay a week at best and were under the watchful eye of more responsible parents unlike ours who had abandoned us...we were the misfit toys on the island!! Every now and again there would always be an older guy 17 or 18 who could get beer and we would go drink it on the dunes for fear of being caught and ruining our gig of being at the beach. Schlitz Light never tasted so good. Hey,we were desperate and didn't know what "good" beer was...Those were good times.
We did this for a couple of summers til reality set in...we figured out we were teenagers...we wanted all those things associated with being one...which meant you needed money for a car and clothes and soon, finding a job became more important than perfecting my hook shot and getting tanned. I recently spent a weekend on Holden's Beach and the flood of memories came roaring back when we drove down to the campground. The 'ole basketball court is still there and it's still 3 miles back to the pier according to my odometer. For the life of me though...the one thing that I still can't comprehend is that Mom and Dad trusted us at such a young age...for that I will always be grateful and I can still see clearly in my memory bank the scene of our entire family sitting underneath that awning of that trailer watching The Love Boat on a Saturday night while in the background you could hear the waves pound away at my favorite beach. Take care everyone and go enjoy the beach.
There are some very exotic beaches I would like to explore also, such as South Beach, Maui, Laguna and Bermuda...one day, I hope, my pay scale will be commensurate with my robust imagination and I can just jet on down to these places and order "Brie" and spread "Grey Poupon" on my "samich." Until then I'm going to settle for a working man's beach. My favorite is Holden's Beach right here in North Carolina. It's like a trusty old friend you haven't seen in awhile; instantly upon reacquainting it's like you haven't skipped a beat.
Holden's isn't fancy, heck it can be down right dull if you compare it to any other beach. It's nicely tucked away at the South end of the North Carolina beaches between the far more popular strands of Long Beach and Ocean Isle and it is approximately thirty miles from both Wilmington and Myrtle Beach. There's only one way onto the island, it's about eight miles long and it does have it's own fishing pier. The island is dotted with your "run of the mill" beach homes; all elevated with a customary fancy name adorning the abodes such as "Sun of a Beach" or "Wasting Time." It does have one or two places to eat, a couple of boat launches and a RV camp ground. That's about it...seriously, it's quaint, and a quiet beach that seems to have been passed by time...Thank God.
It was at this particular RV camp ground where "Growing up Laugisch" was firmly rooted...only back in the late seventies it was just a campground for trailers...RV is just a fancy word for those big rigs used today known as penthouses on wheels. Call me crazy, but anything being towed by another vehicle is a damn trailer!! The more opulent "trailers" were actually Airstreams...which we didn't own. Dad was right proud of the Prowler trailer he purchased in 1977 that, under the right circumstances could sleep 20 people if you lined them up just right. There were six of us, so plenty of room.
I think the thing that attracted Holden Beach to my parents was the fact that back then you could rent a "trailer" spot at the camp ground for dirt cheap...I'm not exactly sure of the cost...but trust me, my Dad would have known...he took advantage of things like that. He and Mom would drive it down there the weekend after school let out in June and would keep it there the week before school started in September. They didn't spend the entire time at the campground as they both still worked and get this...they would leave us boys...sometimes just one or two of us to "sorta mind the store" while they went back up to Fayetteville for the week.
Your probably asking, "What the hell kind of parents leave their children alone at the beach like that?" In our defense, we were 13,14, and 15 years old respectively...it wasn't like when we were younger and we were so bad, Mom was asking our neighbor to come beat us when Dad was in Vietnam...no, we had become more refined Laugisch men by our teenage years. Besides we were sort of shocked that they actually trusted us...suckers. I'm going to be honest with you: we were not going to mess up this golden opportunity.
Think seriously about this for a moment...three young teenage brothers left to their own devices on a beach...your probably thinking the "Rock Star" Laugisch boys were living the dream in a MTV video with bikini clad models, parties til dawn and David "Diamond" Lee Roth wanting our autographs? Yeah...we were too. Nothing could be further from the truth though...did I mention this was Holden's Beach? Mom and Dad weren't that crazy and we assumed they strategically chose this beach because it was pretty desolate. Throw in the fact that we had no car and they only left us about 10 dollars...that's right, 10 friggin dollars to last the three of us all week. To their credit, we had food in the trailer and we all knew how to make grilled cheese sandwiches. The camp ground was also situated near one end of an EIGHT MILE island that was THREE miles from the damn fishing pier. It also had a small convenience store(with phone for emergencies) and a men's and women's shower facility. Everything you needed was situated nicely at that campground.
We didn't need much to keep us occupied. Our daily routine consisted of swimming at the beach for a couple of hours, maybe fish in the surf...depending on the tide, eat lunch, walk the three miles to the pier and play video games til we ran out of money and then fart around on the pier til we got bored...walk the three miles back...take a nap, play Gin Rummy til we caught Hank cheating, watch the 3 Stooges in the afternoon, play basketball, eat, watch TV and play more Gin Rummy til we caught Hank cheating again...then sleep. We'd wake up and more or less do this every day.
This is not to say, that our routine wasn't intermingled with more adventure...please, we were teenagers...raging hormones and all that...yes, we were most definitely occupied with trying to get the attention other teenage girls...when they were there...remember, this was Ice Station Zebra!! The majority of these girls would stay a week at best and were under the watchful eye of more responsible parents unlike ours who had abandoned us...we were the misfit toys on the island!! Every now and again there would always be an older guy 17 or 18 who could get beer and we would go drink it on the dunes for fear of being caught and ruining our gig of being at the beach. Schlitz Light never tasted so good. Hey,we were desperate and didn't know what "good" beer was...Those were good times.
We did this for a couple of summers til reality set in...we figured out we were teenagers...we wanted all those things associated with being one...which meant you needed money for a car and clothes and soon, finding a job became more important than perfecting my hook shot and getting tanned. I recently spent a weekend on Holden's Beach and the flood of memories came roaring back when we drove down to the campground. The 'ole basketball court is still there and it's still 3 miles back to the pier according to my odometer. For the life of me though...the one thing that I still can't comprehend is that Mom and Dad trusted us at such a young age...for that I will always be grateful and I can still see clearly in my memory bank the scene of our entire family sitting underneath that awning of that trailer watching The Love Boat on a Saturday night while in the background you could hear the waves pound away at my favorite beach. Take care everyone and go enjoy the beach.
Friday, August 5, 2011
Defining Great
It's a word that gets tossed around alot and it can sometimes be misconstrued. For example: Great Dane. What is so impressive about MarmaDuke? Take away the "Great" in it's name and all you've got is a very large dog who you don't want crapping in your yard. Then there's Great Scott! Some say the orgin of this euphemism comes from the Union General Winfield Scott who was said to be in the range of 300 lbs and couldn't ride a horse due to his extreme girth. I call it a euphemism because...lets be honest here... it's just a nicer way of saying, "Hey, look at that Fat Bastard!"
Now, the word does bring justice to specific nouns or events such as Alexander the Great, or The Great Death, also known as the Black Death...the Plague. It can also define an animal for what it really is such as The Great White Shark and my favorite use of the word as a cynical expression, "Great...another beatdown in basketball by the Tarheels and Blue Devils" (If you bother to look up Cynical in the dictionary, it's cleary written..."See NC STATE WOLFPACK fanbase).
Great could also be just a few miles down the road. My Grandmother...by coincidence is a Great Grandmother too. She hadn't been feeling well of late and needed a procedure to relieve pain in her stomach. Mind you...she is going to be 93 years old this fall, so when she isn't feeling well, we tend to listen. Eventually, she had to have a minor procedure to remove a mass in her gall bladder. At her advanced age "simple" isn't really simple and she had to spend a few days recovering in the hospital.
Upon my return from a weekend beach trip I joined my cousin Carol and my uncle, Roger to visist one Clara Rosser Page in the hospital while she convalesced from her "simple" procedure. We enter her room and much to our suprise she is half sprawled on the bed as if she had attempted to get up...except that she apparently forgot she still had an IV still attached to her arm. It would have been comical except it was my Grandmother and she was frantically pressing the nurse "call" button...did I mention she is 92 years old? Carol rushes to her side and attempts to help her and at that moment the nurse arrives and relieves my cousin.
Here's the Great part about G'ma...as the nurse is assisting her to reach her feet, the dear sweet matriarch of our family stops in mid motion and asks the nurse, "Have you met my family?" Now, we just witnessed her in a most vulnerable state and in dire need of assistance but as is her nature she always has to be the most gracious and unassuming host...making everyone comfortable and always putting her needs second.
If you've followed my writing, I tend to make light of most situations and I really don't have a problem laugihing at myself and those that live with me but when it comes to that "little old lady" that resides on Raven Rock Road in Harnett County I just smile a little and thank her for showing me the "Greatness" of her dignity and grace. It's almost time for "Jeopardy" Grandma; put your feet up and let me fetch you some Ice Tea.
Now, the word does bring justice to specific nouns or events such as Alexander the Great, or The Great Death, also known as the Black Death...the Plague. It can also define an animal for what it really is such as The Great White Shark and my favorite use of the word as a cynical expression, "Great...another beatdown in basketball by the Tarheels and Blue Devils" (If you bother to look up Cynical in the dictionary, it's cleary written..."See NC STATE WOLFPACK fanbase).
Great could also be just a few miles down the road. My Grandmother...by coincidence is a Great Grandmother too. She hadn't been feeling well of late and needed a procedure to relieve pain in her stomach. Mind you...she is going to be 93 years old this fall, so when she isn't feeling well, we tend to listen. Eventually, she had to have a minor procedure to remove a mass in her gall bladder. At her advanced age "simple" isn't really simple and she had to spend a few days recovering in the hospital.
Upon my return from a weekend beach trip I joined my cousin Carol and my uncle, Roger to visist one Clara Rosser Page in the hospital while she convalesced from her "simple" procedure. We enter her room and much to our suprise she is half sprawled on the bed as if she had attempted to get up...except that she apparently forgot she still had an IV still attached to her arm. It would have been comical except it was my Grandmother and she was frantically pressing the nurse "call" button...did I mention she is 92 years old? Carol rushes to her side and attempts to help her and at that moment the nurse arrives and relieves my cousin.
Here's the Great part about G'ma...as the nurse is assisting her to reach her feet, the dear sweet matriarch of our family stops in mid motion and asks the nurse, "Have you met my family?" Now, we just witnessed her in a most vulnerable state and in dire need of assistance but as is her nature she always has to be the most gracious and unassuming host...making everyone comfortable and always putting her needs second.
If you've followed my writing, I tend to make light of most situations and I really don't have a problem laugihing at myself and those that live with me but when it comes to that "little old lady" that resides on Raven Rock Road in Harnett County I just smile a little and thank her for showing me the "Greatness" of her dignity and grace. It's almost time for "Jeopardy" Grandma; put your feet up and let me fetch you some Ice Tea.
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