your tax dollars at work

On Wednesday, I was sitting at my desk wondering what I should do now that I'd finished up all of my work. And then I noticed that the police were barricading off our street. I looked down the block, and I saw that they had barricaded the next block down as well. They also seemed to have blocked off the cross street south of us. I pointed this out to the secretary, and we saw that there were several police cars around the Carl's Jr. across the street. Oddly enough, however, the police weren't stopping all of the gawking pedestrians who were sauntering along the street.

A couple of unmarked police cars were waved through the barricades and went to the Carl's Jr. A news chopper circled overhead. But there was nothing on the radio or online to tell us what was going on.

We saw the cute security guard from our building go over to talk to the policeman who was blocking State Street. But then we saw someone ask him what was going on, and he shrugged his shoulders like he didn't know.

Then the UPS guy called to say that he wasn't going to make it to the building, since the area was all closed off. He said that he was in the Marriott, and that they were debating evacuating the building. He also informed us that the reason for all the fuss was a suspicious package that had been seen somewhere, although he didn't know where. The secretary said, "I can tell you where. It's at the Carl's Jr." The UPS guy also told us that he had been told that our building was in lockdown. The secretary and I looked at each other and said, "I sure hope that's not true." People had been coming and going from the building the whole time, and they hadn't announced anything over the loudspeakers.

Finally, about two hours after everything started, we heard a soft exploding sound, and we figured they'd detonated the package. Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later they started removing the barricades.

That night I saw a brief story about this on the news. Turns out the package contained . . . a trumpet. They'd sent a bomb robot over to inspect it and then detonate it. So some poor guy lost his trumpet. But at least we all got some entertainment.

The news story said, "Police say this underscores an important lesson. If you leave something somewhere please tell the police." That's some good advice. "Someone call the police! I think I left my book on the bus! And I left my trash in the trash can! And I left my car in the parking lot!"

a shopping expedition

As you all know, I went without a car for a long time, so I know what a pain it is. Also, lots of people were very nice about giving me rides places. And so, I promised myself that when I got a car, I would use it for Good. That's why I hang out with the Old Person every weekend. And that's why, when my ward passed around a sign-up sheet for those who owned cars and would be willing to take others grocery shopping, I signed up, even though I'd rather go to the dentist than go shopping.

I then got a phone call asking me if I'd be willing to take a Korean girl in my ward to Walmart. I said sure, and the girl on the phone said, "That's great! I told her you would, and she's really excited." The girl then said something about us going at 9:30, and I asked if she meant 9:30 that night. She said, "No, of course not. You should arrange it with Korean Girl. But I told her 9:30 on Saturday morning."

I hang out with the Old Person at 10 on Saturday mornings, so I called Korean Girl and told her that I would be free after 2 on Saturday to give her a ride. "Okay," she said, "2:00." "Are you saying that you want to go at 2:00?" "Yes, 2:00." "Okay, I'll see you at 2:00 then."

I sometimes give Korean Girl rides to church, and she usually comes up to my apartment to meet me, since we live in the same complex. I assumed she would do the same on Saturday, but she hadn't shown up by 2:20. I gave her a call to ask if she was ready and whether she was going to come up to my apartment or whether I should pick her up in the parking lot by her apartment. "Parking lot." "Okay, I'll see you in the parking lot then. I'll be there in just a minute." "No, at 3:00." "At 3:00? I'm ready to go now, so is now okay?" "No, at 3:00. We go at 3:00." "All right."

At 3:00, we left for Walmart. I figured we'd be there about an hour. Little did I know . . . .

It turns out the Korean Girl was not only unfamiliar with Walmart's layout, she was also almost completely unfamiliar with American products. "What is this kind cheese, Cindy? What is Hot Pockets? What is good kind food?"

We spent about 45 minutes looking for the kind of meat she wanted. "I want meat, Cindy." "What kind of meat?" "Meat. Um, beef. Yes, beef. I want beef." "Okay, what kind of beef?" "Normal." "Ground beef?" "Yes, ground beef. I want ground beef." I took her over to where the ground beef was. "No, not this kind beef. Not ground beef. I want normal beef. For cooking." "Okay, so a cut of beef?" "Yes, but not steak. I do not want steak." "Do you want a roast?" "Yes, roast. I want roast." I showed her the roasts. "No, I do not want this kind beef. I just want normal beef. For cooking. This beef is too . . . not thin. How you say other than thin?" "Thick?" "Yes, thick. Too thick. I need less thick beef." "Okay, well the rest of the cuts of beef are in this section, so why don't you just look around for what you want." "Um, I do not know. I want normal beef." "Yes, I know, but I never buy cuts of beef, so I can't help." "You do not buy beef?" "No, so I can't help you."

Somewhere around this point, she pulled out her electronic translator. It wasn't very helpful, however, since the word that came up was fatback, and she specifically said that she wanted beef and not pork. Her next idea was to ask someone else. She spent about twenty minutes looking for someone to ask. (I think she was looking for a Walmart employee, which was clearly a lost cause.) Finally, she just took the kind that looked right to her. Which would have been the sensible solution from the beginning.

And then we moved on to hotdogs. She came over to me with hotdogs in her hand and asked, "What is good kind sausage?" "Well, those are hotdogs. Do you want sausages, or do you want hotdogs? They're different." "I want this." "Okay, so you want hotdogs?" "Yes. Is this good kind sausage?" "Hotdog. That's a hotdog. And I don't buy hotdogs, so I don't know." "You don't buy hotdog either?" "No, I don't like them." "Oh, but what is good kind?" "I don't know. I don't buy them." "Okay, but what do people in America like?" "I don't know. I don't like hotdogs, so I don't discuss them with others." "Okay, but do you know this kind, Oscar Meyer? Is it good sausage?" "It's a hotdog, and I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, how about this kind? Is this kind good kind hotdog?" "I still don't know. I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, but you know this kind? Is this kind good?" "I don't know what kinds of hotdogs are good." "Okay, we should ask somebody. Who should we ask?" "If you want to ask somebody, that's fine." "No, I will not. Maybe I get this kind. Wait, what is difference between this kind and other kind?" "Well, the one is long and skinny, the other is short and fat." "Which is good?" "That depends on whether you want a long and skinny one or a short and fat one." "Okay."

We mananaged to get through the juice and milk section in only about 20 minutes. Then it was laundry detergent. "What is good kind laundry detergent?" "Well, I use Tide, but I don't know which is best." "Oh, but what do Americans think is best?" "Everyone likes different kinds. There's not one kind that everyone agrees is best." "Okay. What is All?" "Um, it's a kind of laundry detergent." "How is All different from Tide?" "Advertising? I don't know." "Okay. What is this word?" "Bleach? Um, it's like an extra cleaning thing, or something. And it can fade colored clothes." "Okay. What is difference between this kind All and this kind All?" "Um, scent, maybe? You can smell them to see which smells better." "Okay. I like this smell. But what is concentrate?" "That means you can put in a smaller amount, and get the same result." "Okay. But maybe I should get other bottle, because it is bigger." "Yes, but the concentrated one says it washes more loads. Because you don't need to put in as much." "Okay, but it is still smaller." "Yes, but that doesn't really matter." "Okay. Maybe I get big bottle. Oh, but what is Wisk?" "It's just another brand of laundry detergent." "Is it better than All?" "I don't know. I always buy Tide." "Oh, but do Americans like it better than All?" "I still don't know. You're just going to have to pick one yourself."

Finally, we had to find lettuce. "I do not see kind lettuce I want." "Well, maybe they don't have it here." "We must ask someone else." "Okay, go ahead." "No, you must ask. I do not speak English well enough." "But I don't know what you want." "I want lettuce. Other kind, not this kind." "I don't think that's going to help." "You must ask." "Sorry, but I'm not going to ask the surly Walmart employee what kind of lettuce you want."

And so it went.

And at this point I should probably apologize to anyone who ever took me shopping, since I know I'm a pain to shop with too. Although I've never made anyone spend 3 hours grocery shopping.

a modern fable

One day a girl named Cindy was watching football on TV, and the announcer said that one of the athletes was suffering from turf toe. "Turf toe," Cindy laughed. "Is that like a minor case of athlete's foot or something? Maybe that football player should stop being such a big baby."

Shortly thereafter, Cindy got turf toe herself. "I want to die!" cried Cindy. "The pain is too horrible to bear!"

From time to time, Cindy's turf toe injury recurs. Then Cindy is in much pain, and she wishes she hadn't made fun of the football player.

Moral: Laughter is not always the best medicine.

Alternate moral: Don't mock people's pain unless you're willing to walk a mile in their orthotic shoes.

An educational conversation

Bus passenger: Did I ever tell you about how Napoleon went to Mexico?

Bus driver: No.

Passenger: Well, he did, and I can prove it.

Driver: That would be hard to prove, since that was before anyone knew about America.

Passenger: Well, I can prove it, just like I proved that the sun revolves around the earth and not the earth around the sun.


Hopefully tomorrow we can cover more enlightening topics, like
Elvish Reactions to the Aztecs' Defeat at Waterloo;
Atlas's Weight-Training Regime; and
The Hollow Earth: Was it discovered by Leonardo da Vinci or Vasco da Gama?

A Bewildering Phone Call from the Old Person

. . . wherein adverbs are overused and explanations are awaited.

Phone, loudly: *Ring*

Me, responsively: Hello?

Old Person, agitatedly: I'm sorry to bother you, Cindy, but we've got a problem. They've changed the numbers, and they won't tell us the new ones, and I don't know how to get them, so do you think we should call Aging Services about it?

Me, befuddledly: What?

Old Person, frantically: The numbers! They changed them! And they won't give me the new ones, and I don't know what to do. They said they'll only give them to the firemen and emergency services and paid help, and the access cards cost $8, and I told them that you're an unpaid volunteer, but they still wouldn't give them to me. And they told the doctor's office not to give the numbers to me either. Can you believe it? It don't seem right that they'd do something like that. I just don't know what to do. What do you think we should do?

Me, confusedly: I have not the pleasure of understanding you. Of what are you talking?

Old Person, deliberately: The numbers. At the gate. Where you come in. It's locked on Saturdays. They won't give me the new numbers, and they said an access card would cost $8.

Me, comprehendingly: Gotcha. You're saying that they changed the entry code at the gate to your complex.

Old Person, anxiously: Yes, and they won't give me the new ones. You should call my manager and ask for them and explain that you're an unpaid volunteer. And call me back tomorrow after you've talked to her.

Me, reluctantly: Okay.

Old Person, annoyedly: I don't see how they can do that. This is HUD housing, and don't they have to respect the rights of the people? How can they take away our rights like this? You're sort of like a paralegal or something, so what do you think?

Me, patiently: I'm not licensed to practice law; even if I were licensed I wouldn't be licensed in Utah; and even if I were licensed in Utah, I still wouldn't know anything about housing law.

Old Person, resignedly: Okay, well just call me back tomorrow after you talk to my manager.

Me, conclusively: All right. Goodbye.

compliments from the old person

Yesterday when the old person and I were at Walmart, looking for the 100th time at the bin of cheap DVDs, I saw two girls in my ward. Both of these girls, I must add, are older than I am. However, the old person was shocked when I told her that they lived in my apartment complex. "They do! But you look so much older than them." Pause. "Not that you look old. I think that it's because they're so tiny." Pause. "Not that you look fat. It's just that you're, um, tall, and um, womanly."

Nice recovery there, old person.

strange things taught in church

Relief Society Teacher: "Are any of you mad at God for making us forgive everyone? Like, he made it a commandment, so we have to do it. Does anyone find that really frustrating? Anyone? None of you are annoyed with God for requiring us to forgive others? Well, okay then. Let's move on with the lesson."



Sunday School Teacher: "We all think of Jesus being perfect and all, but let's read Mark 8:22-25. So, the first time Jesus tried to cure the man's blindness, the man couldn't see correctly, and Jesus had to do it again to get it right. That makes me feel better, because it shows that even Jesus didn't get everything right the first time."


Me: Okay then. Maybe I'll just read the scriptures to myself instead of listening.

book tag blog game, take two

The Pickwick Papers, by Charles Dickens

"Now sir," said the little man, as he carefully closed the door, "is there no way of accomodating this matter -- step this way, sir for a moment -- into this window, sir, where we can be alone -- there, sir, there, pray sit down, sir. Now, my dear sir, between you and I, we know very well, my dear sir, that you have run off with this lady for the sake of her money. Don't frown, sir, don't frown; I say, between you and I, we know it.

Wow. Those were some long sentences.

(The book that was closest to me was actually my journal, but page 123 is blank. So, I couldn't use that.)

book tag blog game (say it fast ten times)

For further enlightment, go to Ben's blog.

The rules of the game:

1. Find the nearest book to you.
2. Name the book and author.
3. Turn to page 123.
4. Go to the fifth sentence on the page.
5. Copy out the next 3 sentences and post to your blog.
6. Tag three other people.


Book: United States Code Annotated, Title 18, Crimes and Criminal Procedure. Author: Congress, with annotations by Westlaw.

Excerpt: "As a necessary adjunct of the exclusive power delegated to Congress to establish uniform rules of naturalization, Congress had power to determine that an alien could not, with impunity, falsely claim to be a citizen when in fact he was not, and to make such false and willful representation a crime. U.S. v. Anzalone, W.D.Pa. 1951, 100 F.Supp. 987, reversed 197 F.2d 714. . . ."

Are you sure you want me to continue? It doesn't get any better.

Maybe I'll find a different book when I get home from work.

on TRAX again

Worst pickup line ever:

"Really, I'm not a stalker. I just want to know all about you. And please, be specific."

strangers on a train

Things overheard and/or said to me on the bus or on TRAX:

"Hello there, little lady. May I sit here?"

"What do you think of those trans-sexuals?"

"Your hat matches your scarf. I like that."

"I like riding TRAX. It makes me feel high-class."

old people are interesting to shop with

A conversation with the old person.


Old person: I need to get some DVDs for presents for my family. Let's see what they've got here.

[Some time later . . . ]

Me: Here's one I like. Have you seen About A Boy? It does have a fair amount of swearing, but I like it.

Old person: What's it about?

Me: Well, it's about how a guy learns that we need other people, that we don't live for ourselves alone, stuff like that. It's a really sweet movie.

Old person: No, that doesn't sound like something my family would like.

[Some time later . . . ]

Old person: Oh, this looks like a good one.

Back of movie cover: Fifteen-year old Girl falls in love with Boy who mysteriously appears at her grandfather's ranch. Although her grandfather forbids their love, they don't let that bother them. When she becomes pregnant, her grandfather sends Boy away and explains that Boy is actually her half-brother. She marries Some Other Guy, who helps her raise her kid, but that marriage ends in divorce. Twelve years later, she runs into Boy again, but she's now dying of cancer. Will their love cure her cancer?

Me: Okay then.

old people give interesting career advice

Another conversation with the old person:


Old Person: So what do you do at your job? Do you run the typewriter?

Me: No, I use a computer. I do legal research and writing. On a computer.

Old Person: So you just do paperwork?

Me: Not exactly. I look up cases and other legal information on the internet, and I draft opinions and stuff like that.

Old Person: That's kind of weird. When nurses go to nursing school, they practice doing the kinds of things they'll do as nurses, but you're just doing paperwork, which isn't what lawyers do.

Me: Actually, lawyers do a lot of legal research and writing like I do.

Old Person: Well, lawyers talk a lot. Are you sure you can be a lawyer? You'll have to talk a lot more if you become one.

Me: It kind of depends on what kind of law I decide to practice. Many lawyers spend a fair amount of time sitting in their offices and doing legal research and writing, not talking.

Old Person: Well I think you should become a paralegal. Then you wouldn't need to talk.

but only in my dreams

In the past few days, I have dreamed that I have done the following things:

1) taken my little sister to see Ursula, the sea witch, so she could get a Snickers bar;

2) produced a musical about seasonal depression;

3) run through a hurricane to try to stop my fellow physician from taking a performance-enhancing drug that he thought was innocuous, but which I had discovered would cause his skin to rot and fall off; and

4) become a really good driver.

say what?

The court reporter seems to have had some difficulty taking down the lawyer's argument here:

"Many of us have been taught to love thy neighbors theist but not to love thy neighbor nor unanimous oust."

It sounds like the biblical spam I get on my school email account.

crazy men and old people

Scene: The McDonalds inside of Walmart
Characters: The Crazy Man, The Old Person, and Me

Old Person: Look at this food. This MacDonalds has sure cut back on their quality. I can't believe they sell this stuff. They don't even give you fry sauce. Isn't that weird!

Crazy Man (from behind me): [something unintelligible]

Old Person: That man is talking to himself. He's probably doped up -- you know, on drugs. You'd be surprised how many people are on drugs.

Me: Probably not. That's what I spend the majority of my time on at work.

Old Person: What's he drinking? It's green. I've never seen any kind of drink like that before.

Me: I think it's some kind of sports drink, like Gatorade.

Old Person: I don't know what it is. It's really weird, isn't it? It don't look like soda or anything.

Me: Yes, but it looks like Gatorade.

Old Person: I don't know. It's really weird.

Crazy Man: Rosemary!


Old Person: So, you're a lawyer, right?

Me: Sort of. I'm not licensed.

Old Person: Okay, so is there like some law or something saying that cleaning services can't abuse the elderly?

Me: Um, I can't give legal advice.

Old Person: They always abuse me, like that one girl -- she was a Polynesian, and they're not that clean, you know -- and she drank from my soda. Can you believe that? See, she brought my soda to me, and there was a straw already in it. They don't give it to you like that, so I know she must have been drinking out of it. And I asked her why she drank out of it, and she said, 'I never drank out of your soda.' But I know she did, and who knows what kinds of diseases she's got. Can you believe she did that? And then when I complain, Aging Services say that the cleaning people say I abuse them, but I never abused anyone in my life.

Crazy Man: Cilantro!

Me: I don't know anything about that area of law, and even if I did, I couldn't give legal advice.

Crazy Man: Vinegar!

Old Person: Well, it seems real weird that they can abuse the elderly and there's no law against it. And then they accuse me of abusing them. You wouldn't believe the kinds of people they send to clean our houses. They're all mentally ill.

Crazy Man: Parsley!


Old Person: I don't think they should let that man in here when he's on drugs. Who knows what he might do people. And he's drinking that weird stuff.

Me: I really think it's Gatorade.

[Silence for a few moments as we eat our surprisingly low-quality McDonalds food.]

Old Person: I can't believe how hard it is to find clothes here nowadays. They don't have good stuff like they used to. And it's all two-piece. Just shirts and skirts -- all two-piece. Isn't that weird?

Me: Umm . . .

Crazy Man: Rosemary!

Old Person: And everyone wears jeans nowadays, even if they're fat. I don't think fat people should wear jeans, do you?

Me: I haven't given it that much thought.

Crazy Man: Sage!

[The Old Person speaks to one of the employees.]

Old Person: The girl said that man is not on drugs -- he's just schizophrenic or something. I don't think they should let him in here if he's crazy. Of course, he seems pretty harmless. He just seems to think he's making some kind of a stew. But that still means he's crazy, and who knows what delusions he'll start to have next.

Crazy Man: Rotten milk!!!

this could be interesting

The judge told me that he wants me to drive him to the airport and then drive his car back the office tomorrow. This could be interesting. It would be bad if I ran into something with my boss's car. I was definitely not hired for this job based on my driving skills.

old people are not politically correct

More conversations with the same old person:

Old person (pointing to some men taking a lunch break on the lawn near their work equipment): Look at those Mexicans sitting around instead of raking leaves. Don't that beat all? Of course, they like doing it.

Me: ????

Old person: Blah, blah, blah . . . Mexicans . . . blah blah blah. So, are you ever going to get married?

Me: Um, well, I would have to be dating someone first.

Old person: I guess that's true. But don't wait too long to start a family, or you'll have retarded kids.

I guess I know what I'll be getting as a wedding present -- this very special book.

another dream

On Sunday night, I had a rather interesting dream. I learned in my dream that I've only got a year left to live. I'd more likely be concerned that the dream was prophetic if I had dreamed that I was going to die of something credible, like cancer or a car accident or polar bears, but I somehow can't seem to muster up much concern about dying of tooth decay.


Dream dentist: If you'd only come in earlier, we could have done something to help you. But it's too late now. The decay is irreversible, and you'll be dead within the year.

Dream me: I didn't even know that people could die of tooth decay.

Dream dentist: Well, you're about to find out that they can. And, as you'll discover, it's a rather ignominious way to die.


Let that be a lesson to you all. Go to the dentist, or else.

how rude!

My roommate told me that her former roommate was coming over to visit her tonight. Sure enough, about 30 minutes ago I heard the doorbell ring and my roommate went to get the door. Her friend came in, sat down on the couch, and continued talking on her cell phone for the next 25 minutes, completely ignoring my roommate. I thought this was extremely rude. Either hang up the phone and continue that conversation later, or else sit outside (or maybe in your car, so you don't freeze to death) until you've finished talking. Is that too much to ask?