Carrot or Stick?

Yesterday the plumber confirmed we had a broken sewer pipe from when the gas company put in the new gas lines.. He told me I needed to try and get the city to fix it.. He warned me this would be a long process, and said I should have our lawyer contact them. The "committee of old dudes" who live on our street popped over to see what the hell was going on.. they too warned me about dealing with the city. They told me to raise hell and demand the city earn the taxes we pay. I chose not to do this. I called the city. Due to a bad connection I had to go down there. One of the public works guys came out and told me I needed to contact the gas company. He gave me two names. So I did, I called, and they said they'd look into it. I figured that was their way of giving me the runaround.

Today, Fred from the gas company came out to investigate. "Guilty as charged", he said. "We did work here. If it's broke it's on us." He left to notify the contractors who did the work. Within an hour he called and said they'd be out today to fix it... within an hour of that call he was here waiting for the backhoe to arrive. I was shocked, thanked him for being "johnny on the spot". He replied, "well, you were civil. If you would have yelled at me about it I probably wouldn't have worked with you. You can get a lot done if you're decent." From there he told me stories of people who were jerks to city workers and inspectors and were treated poorly because of it.. One guy was fined over 15,000 bucks for not filling out proper paperwork before tearing down his house. When the code enforcer showed up to tell him he needed to stop work immediately, the guy said, "who the fuck are you to tell me what to do on my property." That line cost the guy over 15,000 bucks, the code enforcer was just going to make him stop and get the proper permits, but after that he decided to fine him.

Our sewer line has been has been fixed. The contractors came out at lunch time and did it. In less than 24 hours of reporting it, the problem was solved. I never once had to raise my voice, or demand anything. They also have assured me any bills or costs from this will be reimbursed in full.. just goes to show you can get a lot further by not being a douchebag.. it's taken me 30 some years to get here, if only I'd learned this lesson a bit earlier in life...

from Michael Goscinski

You Can Earn Respect or Disrespect.

Being nine years old was no excuse for what I'd done.
It all happened at a grade school carnival. I'd left a booth, opened a paper sack, and saw my prize--a green toy with a yellow propeller. Not much, but it was mine.
A security guard stood by a hallway pole. His gut hung over his gun belt.
As I passed, he snatched my prize. He smiled. "What have we here?"
I stopped. "Give it back."
"Just a minute now."
"Give it."
He raised my prize higher, higher, and higher. I tried to reach it by standing on my toes. Once I jumped. Then I looked at his holster.
While he laughed, I took his gun.
He dropped my toy. "That's not funny, kid."
"You took my toy."
"That's different. I was just playing. Now hand over my gun."
I stepped back. "No." But after he frowned and held out his hand, I returned his weapon.
He wasn't through with me. "Don't ever do anything stupid like that again."
The guard never apologized for taking my prize, and I never apologized for taking his gun. I knew what I'd done was wrong but felt no shame.

Shared by Steve Attkisson 

High School Flashback

There was an unusual kid in algebra. One day a couple kids were harassing him. I told them to knock it off. Then I started sitting by that kid in class. I don’t remember his name, but I remember this:

You know those afternoons when you couldn’t keep your eyes open? When you had to lay your head on your desk? He was having one of those. Eyes drooping. Head nodding. He put his head down in the center of his algebra text. And then . . . and then . . . a string of drool emerged from his mouth like a snake. It stretched, down, down, until it made landfall on his book. I looked around. His arm encircled his head, shielding the view. The slobber began to flow. It formed a viscous puddle, pouring into the binding. For forty minutes it flowed.

Nearing the end of class his eyes opened. Half-mast at first. Then they burst open WIDE, I presume from the wetness. But he did not move. He had to plan his escape. He had to extricate his face from the the spit-lake without drawing the attention of a single student. Still feigning sleep he looked down. He brought his fingertips to investigate. It was worse than he imagined. The size of a pancake.

After a moment of planning, in a single elegant move, he raised his head, swiped his face with his jean jacket sleeve, then folded the book halves together, gently. Drool squeezed out the top and bottom. He cleaned it with a surreptitious waxing motion of his forearm. His face — reconciling terror and resolve — panned the room. Three of us had seen it, I’d say. He could see that we had. But that it could have been us, well, it could have been. And we didn’t say a word.

Written by John Willis 

Land of the Free and other Lies

You took civics in high school.  Well, because they made you take civics in high school, but hey.  You know that you live in a democracy where everyone has a vote, the majority rule, and even if you’re born poor in a log cabin with a dirt floor, you can become the President of the United States some day.  And of course you believe this because your teachers, parents and probably even your pastor told you this.  But it’s a lie.

The truth is you are ruled and regulated by a slim minority who decide what they want you to do, and what they don’t want you to do.  This same minority decides things like how much you’ll pay in all kinds of taxes, what you can and can’t say, or hear, even if you can marry the person you love. 

And guess what?  That’s all your fault.  Yup.  Because it is a democracy, and you let the minority do this to you.  How, you ask?  By not voting. 

There are 10 million people in my state of Michigan.  About 75% are registered voters.  That’s pretty much 100% of the people who are eligible to vote.  But it is forecast that next Tuesday, the 5^th of August, only 20% of registered voters will show up for the State’s primary election.  So if 51% of the people who vote that day decide something, it would be a little less than eight hundred thousand voters telling ten million residents what they’re going to do.  And that, my friend, is called majority rule. 

Bullshit, you say?  Well, try smoking in a bar in Michigan.  That right was taken away by this exact kind of majority rule a few years ago.  Land of the free.  Uh huh.

Before you toss that off with “It’s only the primary” you should know that a lot of the people who win their primary will be unopposed in the November election.  Also, ballot issues will be given a thumbs up or down next Tuesday.

What?  You say you didn’t even know there was an election next Tuesday?

Thank you very much.

.

A Kind of True Story

Yes, this really happened.  It was just another ordinary day when you answered the phone.  The voice at the other end explained that she was a doctor; that you had given a blood sample to a donation bank, and now there was someone who needed a kidney, a man who was a perfect match with you.  And so after the procedure you eventually went back to work and he eventually went home, grateful to you for giving him a second chance at life.

But it didn’t end there.  A few months later you took another call, from someone you did know, asking if you’d seen the papers.  The man you helped had killed some people a time ago, and had just been charged.  He was going to trial, and could face the death penalty.

Then you felt like you’d been punched in the stomach.  Was all that sacrifice for nothing?  Endangering your own well being, and your family's, for what?

Well this is a kind of true story.  And it does involve you; and a man who killed a lot of people.  Except the man wasn’t a man, it was a corporation.  And the donation wasn’t a kidney; it was an eleven billion dollar bailout. Your tax dollars.  Our tax dollars.

Now the corporation is going to trial, and the result might be death, the bankruptcy we thought we helped avoid. 

I don’t know about you, but I feel punched in the stomach.

.

Tell Your Stories!

Thanks Anne Lamott 

and

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Sometimes All You Need is a Little Perspective.

The bank teller had just finished helping a very grouchy customer.  It was a slow afternoon and the lobby had emptied.  He turned to the teller next to him and said, "Boy, I hope that guy pulls the stick out of his ass before he comes back again."  Without looking up the second teller replied, "Well, you'd feel like that too if your wife had just been in a car accident, and was lying in the hospital with half the bones in her body broken."